“So I’ll text you?” Grayson asked. “When I figure out my schedule?”
“Yeah. Yes. Definitely.”
They sat there for another moment. The coffee maker dripped. The light flickered. Ryan became aware that he was still smiling, that his face was probably doing something ridiculous and obvious, but he didn’t particularly care.
Grayson stood up, taking his coffee cup to the sink. He rinsed it out and set it in the dish rack. “I should get going. The others are probably wondering where I disappeared to.”
“Right. Yeah.” Ryan stood, too, though he wasn't ready for this conversation to end. “Thanks again. For bringing them in.”
“Thank you for taking care of them.” Grayson moved toward the door then paused. He turned back, and his eyes met Ryan’s. “I meant it, by the way. About the coffee.”
“I know.”
“Okay. Good.”
Grayson left. Ryan heard his footsteps moving down the hallway, heard the distant chime of the front door opening and closing. He stood alone in the break room, his phone warm in his hand, and felt something buoyant and fluttering take up residence in his stomach.
He looked at his phone again. Opened the text message. Stared at that stupid coffee cup emoji like it held secrets.
“Get it together,” he muttered to himself, but he was still smiling.
Dr. Sullivan called for him a few minutes later, and Ryan returned to work. There were medications to administer, charts to update, kennels to clean. The afternoon shift arrived, and Ryan briefed them on the three rescue dogs, explaining their conditions and care plans. He checked on each dog again, noting their vital signs, making sure they had fresh water.
The pit bull wagged her tail when she saw him. The small movement felt like a victory.
But through all of it, through every task and conversation and routine procedure, Ryan felt his thoughts circling back to the break room. To Grayson’s voice asking him to coffee. To the way their eyes had met across the table. To the phone number now saved in his contacts.
He checked his phone between patients. No new messages, but he hadn’t really expected any. Grayson had just left. It would be weird if he texted right away, wouldn’t it? Or maybe it would be sweet. Ryan didn’t know. He’d never been good at reading these situations.
“You’re distracted today,” Janet said when Ryan passed the front desk for the third time in ten minutes.
“I’m not distracted.”
“You’re smiling at your phone.”
“I’m just checking the time.”
Janet raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. Ryan hurried back to the treatment area before she could ask more questions.
The mastiff was awake now, watching him with wary eyes as he approached her kennel. Ryan knelt and spoke to her through the wire door, keeping his voice low and soothing. She didn’t move, but her tail twitched once. Progress, he thought. Small and slow, but progress nonetheless.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
Ryan pulled it out so fast he nearly dropped it. A text from Grayson: How are they doing?
Ryan leaned against the wall and typed back: All stable. Pit bull is already wagging her tail.
The response came quickly: That’s good to hear.
Then, after a pause, How are you doing?
Ryan bit his lip. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard. Good. Tired but good.
When does your shift end?
Six.
Long day.
