“You’re telling me.” Ryan unscrewed the cap of his water bottle and took a long drink. The cold felt good going down. “Those dogs are lucky you found them when you did.”
Grayson looked into his coffee cup. “We try to get to them as fast as we can. Sometimes we’re too late.”
“But not today.”
“Not today,” Grayson agreed.
Ryan set his water bottle on the table and leaned back in his chair. The fluorescent light above them flickered slightly, the way it always did. He should probably report it to building maintenance, but he never remembered to until he was sitting right here underneath it.
“So you do this often?” Ryan asked. “The rescue thing?”
“Often enough.” Grayson took another sip of coffee. “There's a network of us. We get tips, follow leads, try to shut down the operations when we can.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“It can be.”
Ryan traced his finger along a scratch in the table's surface. Someone had carved initials into the laminate years ago, before he’d started working here. “What was it like? Where you found them?”
Grayson’s expression changed. Something closed off in his face, though his voice stayed even. “Not somewhere you’d ever want to visit. Trust me on that.”
The weight of those words settled between them. Ryan didn’t push. He could imagine enough from the condition of the dogs, from the scars and the fear in their eyes. Some things didn’t need to be spelled out.
“Well,” he said, trying to lighten the mood, “at least they’re safe now. That’s what matters.”
“Because of people like you.” Grayson looked at him across the table. “The rescue is only half of it. They need someone who knows what they’re doing after. Someone who cares.”
Ryan felt heat creep up from his collar. He twisted the cap back onto his water bottle, just to have something to do with his hands. “I’m just doing my job.”
“You’re good at it.”
“You said that already.”
“Because it’s true.”
The coffee maker gurgled behind them. The fluorescent light continued its unsteady flickering. Ryan became aware of how quiet the break room was, how the sounds from the rest of the clinic seemed distant and muffled.
Grayson set down his coffee cup. His fingers stayed wrapped around it, like he needed something to hold on to. “Can I ask you something?”
Ryan’s stomach flipped. “Sure.”
“Would you want to get coffee sometime? Actual coffee, not whatever this is.” Grayson gestured at his cup. “Maybe somewhere that doesn’t smell like antiseptic?”
Oh. Oh. Ryan’s brain stuttered over the question, trying to process it. Grayson was asking him out. This man with the amber eyes and amazing forearms and the gentle way he’d handled those traumatized dogs was asking him out for coffee.
“I’d like that,” Ryan said. The words came out quieter than he meant them to, but they came out, and that was what mattered.
Something shifted in Grayson’s expression. Relief maybe or satisfaction? “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Ryan felt himself smile, the kind of smile he couldn’t control even if he wanted to. “That sounds really nice.”
“Good.” Grayson pulled his phone from his pocket. “What’s your number?”
Ryan rattled it off and watched Grayson type it into his phone. Those hands, which had been so careful with the dogs, moved across the screen with surprising deftness. A second later, Ryan’s own phone buzzed in his pocket.
“That’s me,” Grayson said.
Ryan pulled out his phone and saw the text. Just a simple “hi” with a coffee cup emoji. He saved the contact, typing in “Grayson” and then, after a moment's hesitation, adding the emoji next to his name. Stupid, maybe, but it made him happy.
