“It’s nice to meet you,” Joe says.
He heads toward where I’m standing in the middle of the reception area. His white mustache curls slightly toward his eyes, and I wonder if it’s to draw attention to the insane almost-purple color of his irises. He extends a hand and we shake.
“You look so much like your grandfather that I would’ve known you anywhere,” he says.
“I’ve heard that before. I’ve also heard that I have his acute ability to tell bad jokes.”
He grins. “Let’s hope not. We went golfing a few weeks ago. He told the dumbest joke about knees.”
“Kid-neys?”
“That one.” He points at me. “I guess you’ve heard it too.”
“I think everyone he’s met in the last year has heard it.”
He releases my hand but places his on my shoulder. His smile grows wider. “I also heard you were getting cozy with Sophie Bates last night at Tank’s.”
“I . . . What?” I look over my shoulder at Dottie. She just shrugs. “I’m staying at her bed-and-breakfast, and we went to Tank’s for a bite to eat.”
Joe laughs. “Small-town chatter. Better get used to it. Either way, I’m glad you and Sophie hit it off. She’s a dandy. And Dottie said that aside from being late yesterday, you guys hit it off too. She also mentioned that you love Birdie’s apple pie as much as I do.”
My head drops to the side as I take in Dottie’s smug grin. “Is that true, Dottie?”
She holds her hands out to the side. The look on her face proves she knows she’s been caught in a fib and doesn’t know what to do about it.
I raise a brow and turn back to Joe. “I was on time yesterday, Joe. I was here all day, and I assure you that I haven’t tried Birdie’s apple pie yet . . . even though she did deliver one yesterday.”
He gasps.
Dottie gasps in mock horrification.
“Dottie Mae,” Joe says. “Are you holding out on me?”
“You little shit,” she says with a laugh. She smacks my shoulder as I walk behind her. She shakes her head. “Lord help me. I’m going to head into the back and start sorting deliveries before I fire you both.”
We laugh as she marches through the archway into the supply room. She throws her hands in the air, mumbling to herself about not trusting insolent men.
“Tell your grandfather I said hello,” Joe says.
“Will do,” I tell him.
Joe leaves with a floor mat stuck under an arm.
With him gone and Dottie still in the back, the building is eerily quiet. I slip off my jacket and hang it on the hook by the window. Then I grab a seat on one of the wooden stools behind the desk.
I’ve just reached for the schedule when I notice a small stain on the edge of my shirt. Lifting the hem, I see that it’s gravy from breakfast.
Chuckling, I drop the fabric.
I had a suspicion that Sophie was a good cook from watching her in the kitchen last night. But I had no idea she could whip up a meal like she did this morning. From-scratch sausage gravy, biscuits that seemed like they were handmade this morning, and eggs so fluffy that they were like pillows awaited me when I woke up. I could totally get used to that.
I could totally get used to other things too—things like having her in my life again. I’ve had women in my life in various roles, but none I’ve enjoyed being around quite like her. She was my first best friend. When we toilet-papered Dottie’s house, she was my partner in crime.
Just thinking about it makes me laugh.
Glancing down, I see the schedule is open. An oversize green sticky note is slapped in the center. I don’t know how I missed it yesterday.
Holden,
If I haven’t called by now, I’m reeling in king mackerel the size of my body and the phone service in the Gulf stinks. Hope Dottie is treating you well. If she gets out of hand, bring her a doughnut in the morning. It’s a trick that’s worked for years.
Love,
Pap
Beneath that, there’s a circle with a different set of handwriting inside.
I can read this, you know.—Dottie
I grin and stick the note in my pocket. I’m about to take another drink of my coffee when the door to the clinic bursts open.
A boy, probably around sixteen or so, comes in. His eyes are wide, panic clearly set in, as he carries a ferret to me.
“Where is Dr. Fred?” he asks.
I get off my stool. “He’s not in today. Can I help you?”
“Are you a vet?”
“Yes.” I round the corner of the desk and do a quick visual exam of the ferret. It appears fine as it squirms around in its yellow harness. “I’m Dr. Holden. I’m filling in for Dr. Fred for a while. Is something wrong with your buddy here?”