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Just like Patricia had said, the hard part was over. That thought made me giggle as I readjusted my shoulders to get cozier. “Alright, ham it up.”
Patricia sighed while wiping her left eye. “My apologies, Anita. I shouldn’t have laughed.”
“No, it was hilarious,” Liam said through broken chuckles. “I think I have to write that one down.”
Heat flooded my chest. “Don’t tell me you’re going to tell your kid about that.”
“Maybe when he’s older.”
“How do you know he’s ahe?”
Liam wiped his face with his shirt and straightened his posture. His gaze landed on our hands that were still locked together.
I should probably let go.
Reluctantly, I pulled my fingers from his hand. I pressed my hands together and tried to fold them neatly on my stomach. It didn’t feel nearly as normal as holding his hand. But that didn’t make sense, considering it shouldn’t have felt normal at all. By all accounts, Liam was a stranger to me. His comfort shouldn’t have meant much.
Yet it meant everything.
About twenty minutes later, Patricia deemed me fit to get back into my regular clothes, and I was dressed for the lobby several minutes later. My hand went right to my belly as I stood next to the medical table where what basically boiled down to deconstructed sex had just happened.
This was where it all began. For me.
And for Liam too.
***
Work felt more like an afterthought when I walked into the white lobby ofBeaufort Care Clinic for Cats. Six plastic chairs lined either side of the automatic entrance—twelve in total—most of them occupied. The third one on my right near the front window creaked. As per usual, I made a mental note to replace it.
But I knew I probably wouldn’t get to that.
Behind the white counter painted with colorful confetti, Sara typed frantically into her computer while balancing a wireless phone between her right shoulder and ear. Wavy blonde hair with strawberry highlights fell into her face. Bold black letters lit from underneath named my clinic, set to a light yellow background.
Yellow was supposed to be ahappycolor. But all I could see around us was utter chaos. Someone’s cat was crying. Another cat wasyeowlingin the back. Three people were laughing obnoxiously loud to something on their phone.
I massaged my temples as I went behind the desk and lifted the next ticket number from the pile in the basket.
Sara hung up the phone and turned to me, cherry-brown eyes frantic. “ThankGodyou’re here.”
“Yes, thank God, indeed.” Number forty-seven.Mrs. Drake and Cayenne. I sighed heavily while waving the snippet of paper. “Mrs. Drake?”
An older woman with tan leather skin, gray curls, and the fattest black cat anybody had ever seen hobbled over to the counter. She dropped Cayenne on her belly, the poor thing, and scratched under her chin.
Her lips were as dry as her tone. “Miss Coleman, I can’t seem to get Cayenne to eat her wet food.”
“Have you toned down the treats, Mrs. Drake?”
“I’ve done everything under the sun. She just doesn’t want herWhiskersanymore.”
Irritation made me want to claw the woman’s eyes out. I forced a smile instead. “Mrs. Drake, we’ve been over this many times. You can’t keep giving a bag of treats to Cayenne every week. She’s bloated.”
I gently patted her tummy. Sweet little (or rather, big) Cayenne lazily gazed up at me like she was trying to tell menotto discourage her human from giving her tons of fishy treats a day.
Mrs. Drake sighed. “But she keeps begging for them.”
“How about we start with a different wet food brand and work from there?”
It took a bit of back and forth with Mrs. Drake, but she eventually agreed to stop giving Cayenne treats and start offering heronlywet food. Once that was settled, I buzzed myself into the main hallway to the left of the front desk and hopped into the storage exam room.
