“Too late. Already done.” Ryan accepted his change and dropped it into the tip jar. The girl didn’t acknowledge it.
They took their drinks outside. Most of the tables were empty. Grayson chose one in the corner, partially shaded by the awning but still in enough sun that the light caught in his eyes. Ryan sat across from him and wrapped his hands around his cold cup, needing something to do with them.
“So…” Grayson said.
“So…” Ryan echoed.
They both laughed. The awkwardness broke like a bubble popping. Ryan took a sip of his latte and the sweetness helped settle his stomach.
“This is weird, right?” Ryan said. “The whole planned-coffee thing. It felt more natural at the clinic.”
“We could talk about work if that helps.”
“Please. I've been thinking about dog wounds all week. I need a break.”
“All week?” Grayson’s mouth curved. “We just brought them in on Thursday.”
Ryan felt his face heat. “You know what I mean.”
Grayson leaned back in his chair, looking more relaxed than Ryan had seen him. “Okay, no work talk. What do you do when you’re not at the clinic?”
“Sleep, mostly.” Ryan traced a finger through the condensation on his cup. “I know that makes me sound incredibly boring.”
“Long shifts?”
“Sometimes. And I pick up extra hours when they need coverage.” Ryan took another sip of his latte. “What about you? When you’re not doing construction or rescuing dogs?”
“Not much else, honestly. The rescue stuff takes up most of my free time.”
“Do you have a big team? For the rescues?”
“Just a few people. We keep it small.” Grayson’s fingers tapped against his coffee cup. “Easier that way. Less complicated.”
Ryan wanted to ask more, but the slight tension in Grayson’s shoulders told him to leave it alone. He shifted topics. “How long have you lived here?”
“About six months. Moved from two towns over when I got the construction job.”
“You like it? The town?”
“It’s quiet. People mostly keep to themselves.” Grayson looked at him over the rim of his cup. “You grow up here?”
“Born and raised. Everyone knows everyone, which is great until you’re trying to have any kind of private life.” Ryan caught himself. That sounded too much like he was implying something. “I mean, not that I have much of a private life. Just, you know, small towns.”
“I get it.” Grayson’s expression suggested he did, actually, get it. “Must be nice though. Having roots somewhere.”
“I guess. Sometimes it feels more like being stuck.”
“You ever think about leaving?”
Ryan considered the question. He’d thought about it plenty, especially during college when all his classmates talked about moving to cities and finding jobs at fancy specialty clinics. But then he’d come back for a weekend visit and Mrs. Henderson's beagle had been sick, and Dr. Sullivan had offered him a job, and somehow, he’d never left.
“Sometimes,” Ryan admitted. “But I don't know where I’d go. And the clinic needs me.”
“They’re lucky to have you.”
Ryan looked down at his latte. The compliment sat warm in his stomach. “What about you? You plan on staying?”
“For now. Work is steady. And there's enough need for the rescue stuff around here.”
