Well, that probably isn’t the best way to put it.
I peer into the cage at the five frightened guinea pigs. I had a small plastic hut that I put on top of a bed of hay, and four of them managed to squeeze inside. The fifth one only got its head inside, choosing to burrow as far into the hay as possible to hide its body. Poor things. I can only imagine what they must be thinking.
I quietly leave the back room, walking down the long hallway of my clinic. When I purchased the clinic years ago, I immediately changed the name. My predecessor had chosen a name based on location, and I wanted something cuter. I settled on Precious Paws Veterinary Clinic. I decorated the space with pops of blue and yellow, because those are the two colors dogs and cats primarily see. I added extra insulation between my exam rooms, because I’ve always hated how paper-thin walls seem to be in clinics of all kinds. An anxious dog doesn’t need to be made even more frantic because of every sound reverberating off the walls. It’s bad enough that they’re at the vet. I want myspace to be as calming as possible for them, and I’m pretty damn proud of the environment I’ve curated.
When I hear a very loud gasp, I look up to find Chelsea staring wide-mouthed out the window. I may not consider myself lucky in a lot of ways, but I know how lucky it is to have my best friend working as my office manager. “Aud, why is there an absolutely gorgeous woman walking toward our door with a man who bares a remarkable resemblance to Jax Mitchell?”
Leave it to my lesbian best friend to explain Jax and his wife like that. “They’re coming to give me advice on the guinea pigs.”
She turns to me, brows furrowed. “You know you’re the vet here, right?”
“I know. But I don’t get a lot of rodents in here. Jax is apparently pretty knowledgeable about them, and …” I break off, trying to figure out how to explain how I know Jamie, “…a mutual friend suggested he come to help.”
“Mutual friend?” she asks, as Jax and Becca open the door. She glares at me as she hisses, “You’re not off the hook, ma’am. We’ll discuss this later.”
I nod as Jax approaches, a friendly grin stretched across his handsome face. Arm around his wife, he’s wearing fitted jeans, a blue henley that perfectly matches his eyes, and a worn Denver Wolves baseball cap. Becca smiles warmly at me, and I immediately notice her tee shirt, which says ‘women belong in all places where discoveries are being made.’
“I love that shirt,” I gush.
“Thanks! I’m pretty partial to women in STEM,” she says with a laugh.
“Me too! Well, duh. I mean, that’s obvious. I’m a vet. It technically falls under science. I guess it sort of falls under engineering as well. Maybe even math? Vets are jacks of all trades, really. But I guess meteorologists are too. You definitely get the technology aspect of STEM. Did you know that they’venow added the A for art to the category? Now it’s STEAM. I guess neither of us gets to say we regularly use art in our jobs. Well, maybe you do, a little, if you do any projects when you visit the elementary schools. That must be fun, right? I’d probably freak out and I become a chatterbox —” I break off, horrified.
“You two are going to be great friends,” Jax says with a chuckle. “My lovely wife here also likes to monologue.”
“Jacob!” Becca says, eyes wide as she lightly slaps his chest. “That isn’t something you tell people!”
“Why not? She just said she does it too, so I know y’all are gonna be comfortable with one another.” Jax shrugs as he glances at me. “Apologies if that made you feel awkward. I love when Becca gets going, especially when she talks weather to me. I know it can be hard to find female friends who understand the plight of a woman in a male-dominated career.”
“Actually around sixty-eight percent of veterinarians are female,” I blurt out.
Chelsea whips her head to stare at me. “Seriously? You know the statistics of that?”
“I got curious one night. The numbers are slightly increasing. It was sixty-seven percent a year ago.”
“The numbers are going up in meteorology as well,” Becca pipes up. “Twenty-nine percent not even ten years ago, and now it’s around thirty-eight percent.”
“See?” Jax says proudly, squeezing Becca into his side. “Like-minded women who think statistics are sexy.”
I glance at Becca, who shrugs. “He’s not wrong.”
“Great. You both can exchange numbers in a bit. Now show me the piggies!” Jax says enthusiastically.
I motion for them to follow me down the hallway to the procedure room. “They seem to be adolescent age, I think. Not fully grown, but definitely not pups. I’d say around four months old.”
“I bet they’re adorable,” Jax gushes.
“Rein it in, hockey boy,” Becca mutters. “We have enough.”
“Party pooper,” Jax mutters. As we approach the cage, he leans toward me and whispers, “I bet I can talk her into at least one.”
“Nope. I know you’ll want an even number, which is why we’re leaving with zero.”
A cacophony of squeaks interrupts their odd quarrel, and we all peer into the cage. The pig who couldn’t fit into the cage earlier has now wedged itself on top of the others, and a different pig is on its back, all four paws flailing as it attempts to right itself.
“Spitfire, you got the veg?” Jax asks, holding out a hand.
“Oh, right.” Becca opens her handbag, pulling out a Ziplock bag of fresh mixed vegetables. She opens it, pulling out a handful of spinach, and gives some to Jax. “Our girls love spinach. Let’s see if these lovelies do as well.”
