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The stethoscope came next, easing it below her outstretched paws to her chest, and I watched his lips move as he counted.“That’s a good girl,” he cajoled again when she blinked at the cool metal.“Her eyes look clear and bright, so I’m not worried about an infection.” He withdrew the stethoscope to run a hand down her back, gently lifting her tail to check her behind. Only then did he pull on a pair of latex gloves and assess her bloody paw. The blood had started to dry, turning her coarse white fur rust brown. As soon as he touched it, she yowled and withdrew.
I moved on instinct, dropping to my knees so our elbows brushed. I gave her head a comforting stroke.“Come on, Mel C, as soon as it’s over you can have an extra treat.” The look she returned said only three treats would do.“Deal,” I muttered.“Manipulative little fox.”
“Mel C?” Callum’s voice broke our battle of wills.
“Yeah, like the Spice Girls. There’s five foxes in total.”
His lips twitched.“Big fan, are you?”
“Aren’t we all?”
He considered, then said,“Fair enough.” Pushing to his feet, he snapped off the gloves and stuffed them into a pocket.“Do you want the good news first or the bad news?”
My heart clenched.“Good news.”
“The paw will be just fine. I’m going to give you a few days’worth of antibiotics as a precaution to stave off any infection.”
My breath was short.“And the bad?”
His grin was back. So like Mal, yet not at all.“He’s going to need a name change.”
My head whipped back to Mel C.“He?”
“Yep.”
“Well, damn.” I snickered.“You’ll always be a Spice Girl to me, Mel.”
Callum’s next laugh was rasping.
Sipping my milky coffee on the lowest porch step, Iwatched Mel C and his friends scamper off toward the line of hedges, smiling happily to myself at the renewed pep in his step.
Callum had managed to get an antibiotic in him yesterday before I threw his smirking arse out the door. Nicely, of course. Playboy or not, he’d done me a huge favour and hadn’t charged me a penny, no dinner necessary. Not that he hadn’t offered.
This morning’s events were far more entertaining. Mel C had eyed every offering of food shrewdly, managing to spit the small white pill out no matter what treat I concealed it inside. Peanut butter was the eventual winner and Dudley had ducked beneath the kitchen table the moment the jar appeared. With peanut butter usually came claw clipping.
Mel C had eaten that shit up, his rough little tongue licking my finger clean.
I was just finishing off the dregs of my coffee when Boy came bounding into view.“Hey, handsome.” He sniffed the hand I held out to him before fleeing to the kitchen to seek out Dudley.
His owner appeared moments later, hair a damp dark brown from his morning shower, a carton of eggs tucked beneath his arm. My eyes dragged over him, taking in the usual jeans and fitted navy T-shirt he wore. No man had a right to look that good in jeans and a T-shirt, especially a man who I knew put very little effort into his appearance.“Morning.” He stopped a few feet away, unable or uncaring to hide the way his eyes swept over me in return.
I pressed my bare legs together and stood. When his eyes moved with me, they sharpened on my pyjamas. Tight shorts in a soft pink that ended at the top of my thighs and a slightly cropped strappy top that matched. They weren’t London skimpy, but they were sleepy-island-village skimpy. And judging by the way Mal’s entire body drew to a stop, he agreed. His expression changed in an instant, from calm to panicked, along with something I couldn’t quite read, as if the situation had evolved into something he was not equipped to deal with.
I glanced down.Shit.My nipples were saluting him good morning. I started to draw my arms up and then stopped. It was a million degrees outside and they were just nipples, what were a couple of nipples between friends? I’d seen his yesterday, after all—and you can’t stop thinking about them.Still, the point was valid. I backed up into the house, refusing to cover myself and draw more attention to them.
“Good morning,” I finally said back, bare toes pressing into the cool tile. I held my empty mug aloft.“Coffee?”
“What?” He shook his head like a wet dog.“Oh… aye.” He followed, his booted steps slow and measured as if treading on cracking ice. I filled both our mugs, leaving his black as he seemed to prefer, and we fell into preparing our breakfast, keeping to separate sides of the island. Breakfast was usually a quiet affair, but this felt different—a pressing tension saturated the already humid air. I felt his sidelong glances while I chopped a banana, throat moving as he worked himself up to say something, then backing out at the last moment.
The difference betweenthisand yesterday afternoon with Callum suddenly felt stark. A rush of guilt trailed the thought. I’d enjoyed Callum’s attention, his flirting. It meant nothing, but it felt like I’d wronged Mal somehow. Which was stupid, since there was nothing between Mal and me.
I settled in at the bar with my bowl of yoghurt and fruit. Content to wait Mal’s silence out, my attention drifted to the idiots rolling around on the rug. I worried about Dudley with bigger dogs at the park sometimes. Not only was he a lot smaller, but his three legs also meant he didn’t have the best balance and couldn’t take the level of roughhousing other dogs could. But Boy seemed to know exactly when to draw back.Ugh, their little hearts will break when we head back to London.
“I noticed my brother’s car here last night.”
“Huh?” I snapped from my thoughts.
He was staring down into the pan as he stirred the sizzling eggs, throat working.“My brother. His car was here last night.” It wasn’t exactly a question.
