And honestly, that scares me.
There’s no one standing by to swoop in and fill her shoes, to give us a fighting chance in a crowded Seattle market.
Without Dr. Ezzie, Pawsome Hearts won’t exist.
Not without a buyout from one of those big corporate places where they count dollar signs more than healthy animals. I can only pray that doesn’t happen.
Having our supplies and every hour I work micromanaged to “streamline” efficiency is not what I signed up for.
I glance at my smartwatch. It’s eight o’clock now—closing time.
Finally.
I head to the door to flip the sign and make sure it’s locked, pausing at the window to glance over the property.
Across the courtyard, on the edge of the parking lot, there’s the building for the kennels that backs up to the park, where dogs are bedding down for the evening. Keith, our lone night shift boarding guy, gives me a friendly wave as he circles back inside to check on them.
For Seattle, Pawsome Hearts is a unicorn. One of those rare overgrown green spaces bursting with small-town vibes in the big city, where people still know each other’s names and greet you with a smile.
No, I wouldn’t dare change a thing, even if our daily operations demand it.
When I first hired on, we had more kennel workers for boarding. We had larger kennels too.
It’s been a tough year. Even without Dr. Ezzie leaking deets about her finances, I know that.
It’s pretty impossible to miss when we’ve had to make cuts left, right, and center.
I suppose I should be happy, though.
I still get to work here.
I still get to help awesome pets and mend their owners’ worried hearts. All in a day’s work for a tireless vet tech who runs on iced lattes and ginseng tea.
Hopefully that won’t change.
I’m still mulling that over when I see people approaching the door. Just before I can reach them to say we’re closed, the bell jingles.
Great. I was so distracted I left it unlocked.
I instantly know this won’t be an easy job.
Not because of the dog but because of the people bringing it in.
They’re picture perfect, like they were built from the ground up with Olympian genes and born to make cameras smile. They look like they know their best angles better than their own names.
The man—he’s a giant.
Insanely tall with thick, dark hair pushed back off his face and flashing blue eyes that stop me in my tracks.
Pretty boy doesn’t do him justice.
Not when he’sbillboard pretty, all short, trimmed beard and sculpted muscle and this big lopsided smile that suggests he’s used to getting his way.
Late twenties or early thirties, I’d guess.
Although he looks casual, dressed down in a crisp T-shirt and shorts, his outfit has that timeless quality that tells me everything he’s wearing drips money.
Not to mention the Apple Watch with the designer wristband on his arm. That gold looks real, and it’s totally not the default rubber wristband those watches come with.
