Gibbs didn’t give either of them a chance for more as he bolted for the front door when it opened, taking her with him via her grip on his leash. Minor chaos erupted, but with the help of the receptionist, she managed to wrestle the dog into an exam room.
After more than a dozen different treats and a collaborative effort from two assistants and the doctor, Abbie let Gibbs race out the front door. His tail whipped around in excitement with his newfound freedom as they headed to her car. One that would need to be upgraded before too long; Gibbs wouldn’t fit in the back seat come Christmas.
Her eyes scanned the parking lot, but there was no sign of Logan’s truck. Fear clawed at her chest as she dug her phone out of her purse. The first instinct was to send him a text, and her fingers tapped out half a message before she stopped herself.
He’d reach out when he was ready to talk. If something bad had happened, he would need space.
She’d managed to shuffle Gibbs in the back seat and roll down the windows before her phone buzzed in her hand. She nearly fumbled it under her seat, but her fingers clutched at the edges and saved it from the abyss.
Vince: I want to see a draft of your article.
Vince: Tonight.
She speed-typed a reply saying she had until Sunday and didn’t need to be micro-managed, but she deleted it. Seemed text messages were her enemy this morning. Without censoring herself, she might’ve lost it and said a few things she couldn’t take back later, when her emotions were no longer at their height. It was something she’d never been good at, but she was trying lately.
“Looks serious.” Logan leaned folded arms in her open window.
“Are you part ninja, too?” She hadn’t heard anyone approach. Hadn’t even caught that wafting of cologne on the breeze until now. She spied a wicker basket at his side. “What’s that?”
He lifted the basket covered with a horse-patterned dish towel that looked suspiciously like one from Erin’s kitchen. “A picnic.”
“You brought a picnic basket to a vet clinic?”
“There’s a park a block over.”
She followed his eyes down the street, wanting to be upset about this park’s location. But shewashungry. “What about Gus?”
“They’re running some bloodwork. They want to keep him a while for observation. Not much I can do until they call.” He reached out a hand to pet an eager Gibbs and earned a big lick on the arm. “What do you say? Keep a guy company while he waits?”
Her phone buzzed again, but she shoved it in her pocket. Talking to Vince right now was a bad idea. She would write a great article, if only he gave her the space to do it.
“Vince?”
“That obvious?”
“If you’d rather go into the office than eat with me, I won’t stop you. But I won’t be saving you one of Erin’s raspberry scones.” That smirk had always been her greatest weakness when it came to Logan Attwood.
Her stomach rumbled. Erin’s scones could be used as currency in desperate times, they were that good. “If I come, I’ll be working on the interview,” she warned. Maybe she wanted him to tell her no. If so, she’d run far in the other direction and save herself. Heartache would surely follow at the end of the week if things kept up like this between them.
“Okay.”
Abbie was taken aback at how easy that response came but wasn’t about to say anything that might change his mind.
Once Gibbs was on his leash, the trio made their way to the park. Without much luck, she scouted the area for a picnic table that didn’t promise splinters. “Maybe I should write a story about this sad little park,” she said. “Could convince the community to come together and spruce it up.”
“I didn’t bring a blanket because I was cold,” Logan teased. He led them to a shaded spot beneath a large tree. Before he could smooth out all the corners, Gibbs plopped down in the center and rolled onto his back, causing them both to laugh.
As she joined them on the blanket, her phone buzzed again.
“I’ll talk to you about this interview”—Logan stretched out his legs and busied his hands with unpacking the basket of goodies Erin had gathered. Did she see orange juice?—“but you need to talk to your uncle about writingyourstories.”
“It’s not that simple, Logan.”
“Sure, it is.” He poured her a Solo cup of OJ and handed it over once she was settled. “You can’t just wait for him to retire. That could be years away.”
Though she didn’t want to believe it, she couldn’t imagine Vince stepping down in the next decade. That didn’t mean he couldn’t gradually hand oversomeresponsibility. But Logan made a valid point. She wasn’t willing to wait ten years to write the kind of stories that mattered most to her. “Okay, I’ll talk to him.”
“When?”
