Suddenly, I feel a little sick myself. “She hasbloat?” I ask, wanting to climb under the nearest bridge and die.
Orson’s eyebrows climb. “Well, yes. How do you know about bloat?”
“I grew up on a fucking farm,” I mutter and return my head to my hands in utter defeat. “It’s my fault.”
“Nope. It could’ve happened if you followed the perfect diet. We don’t blame ourselves at this clinic unless we’re feeding dogs straight baker’s chocolate for weeks in a row. Even then, if the reason is good, I won’t likely assign blame. Now”—Orson stands, bringing me with him with the firm grip he has on my forearm—“come see her because I’m keeping her overnight. If all goes well, she’ll be back home with you in three days.”
“I’ll pay anything. I don’t care. She’s my…” I choke off and squeeze my eyes shut against my tears. “She’s my best girl. I’ll pay anything.”
“Oh, I know. Now, come give her some kisses, then go home, eat something really sweet, and cry it all out before you take her home.”
Orson leads me back to where they’ve got Cupcake all cozy in a kennel. My heart does that dangerous spin and dive again at the sight of her. Her gaze is hazy as she blinks at me, but I dip down to the ground, ignoring the painful twinge inmy knee. I kiss her slightly warm nose and over her eyes, then rub her snout until her eyes fall closed and she’s back asleep.
“I love you, old girl.” I press another kiss to her snout and bite back hot tears. “Never scare me like this again, okay?”
“She’ll be okay,” Orson says softly.
I stand slowly, coming to my full height. I meet Orson’s gaze despite being a little taller than him. He shrinks back a little, probably because I forget my size sometimes and forget about my resting bitch face, as my teammates used to say I had.
“Please give her the best care. I can afford it.”
Orson’s mouth bunches at the corner. “It’s my job to keep her alive, and failure isn’t an option to me. Plus, I don’t really feel like killing the dog of one of my best friends’ probably future boyfriend.”
“What?” I squawk out.
Orson chuckles. “Ah, I love tying the tongue of a big man like you. Now shoo. Sue will call you when Cupcake is ready to come home.”
Orson all but shoves me out to the front waiting room. Sarah gives me a stack of papers about Cupcake’s care and what to expect, and both of the women give me very kind smiles and promise to call me if there are any urgent updates. But I can tell their speeches are practiced and that the likelihood of anything going wrong is small. My father would no doubt be embarrassed by my tears over an animal, but I left the farm for a reason. My tears for Cupcake are allowed.
The drive home is quiet without Cupcake’s usual noises in the car. But it’s even worse once I get home. Her usual bed is empty, but the shape of her is still pressed into the soft blue material. The lid of the jar that holds her favorite biscuits islopsided after last night’s treat, so I fix it with my throat tight and hot. It feels silly to be this distraught over an animal.
I decide to spend Saturday out on the back porch practicing my guitar as a distraction, then in the evening I practice cooking a gluten-free meal from the new cookbook. Tucker had seemed so shocked at the idea of me altering my kitchen for him. Maybe I am a little crazy, who knows, but maybe Orson is a little right. Maybe I do want to be Tucker’s… friend. Maybe more than a friend. I’m not rushing into a relationship with a guy who clearly just escaped something very seriously abusive. But, when he’s ready, it might be nice to be here waiting. I feel that small kernel of something inside me that I don’t often feel, that attraction for someone, that makes me wonder what it would be like to kiss Tucker. What do his lips taste like? I bet he tastes like cotton candy, sweet and mysterious at the same time. Like blue raspberry, a flavor that’s delightful but shouldn’t exist.
The next morningI wake up for my jog before the sunrise, but I don’t feel like jogging today. Instead, I get dressed in some sweatpants and a loose T-shirt, grab some gluten-free snacks I picked up at the store, and make my way toward the beach behind Mark and Brent’s house, where I’m sure a guy with a pink buzz cut will be waiting.
The walk is pleasant with the ocean breeze blowing over me. The surf is calm and gentle, just a little foam washing up on the shore with each step I take toward Tucker. A couple of shells give me pause on my way, so I lean down to pick them up, then rinse them in the foamy waves at my feet. One has apurple sheen to it, which seems exceptionally perfect for the morning.
Finally, after what feels like forever, I spot a familiar beach towel and light pink hair on the horizon. Tucker smiles shyly on my approach. I send him a friendly wave before wordlessly joining him on the blanket. The sun is just below the horizon, already starting to send the sky from dark blue and orange to light pinks, purples, and oranges.
I wordlessly hand Tucker the bag of gluten-free mini rice cakes with chocolate glaze on them. He takes them with a furrowed brow and clear question on his face.
“Saw them at the store the other day, thought you’d like them.”
Tucker holds them to his chest for a moment, closes his eyes, and when they reopen, I see a sheen of tears. “Thank you. These are my favorite. No one has ever… brought me gluten-free snacks before.”
Everyone is clearly an asshole. “Not even River?”
“River just expects me to always be prepared and bring my own.”
“Ah.” I bend my legs and wrap my arms around them as the sun starts to break free from the horizon. “Almost wish time. I have the perfect wish.”
“I always wish for the same thing,” Tucker admits so quietly I almost miss it.
“Well, I hope it comes true for you one day.”
“Me too.” Tucker opens the bag of mini rice cakes and eats one slowly, seeming to savor each bite. After a few of his own bites, he holds the bag out for me to try one. I take one with a grateful smile, and it’s pretty good for what it is. “Will you be coming to dinner tonight?”
“Yeah, but I have to leave early.”
