Micah, my assistant and absentee best man, trails in shortly after, setting a large cup of coffee on my desk.
“Bless you,” I say, taking a long drink of the sweet, sweet nectar. “What do you have for me?”
“Cheez Whiz is waiting in the exam room for his checkup, old man Wilson called about Clover again, and there’s a litter of doodles coming in for vaccinations at eleven.”
Back in Denver, I specialized in treating large animals, mainly livestock, but in Oak Ridge, my patients run the gamutfrom the tiniest of creatures to the largest. I love the variety. One day can be incredibly boring, and the next, I could be treating a donkey with pink eye.
Clover’s a frequent flyer for that affliction.
“Got it. Call Wilson back. Tell him he needs to give the antibiotics more time and to reach back out tomorrow if there’s no change.”
Micah sits in the chair across from me and scribbles on his notepad. “You know he’s just going to call back later, right?”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “I’d be concerned if he didn’t.”
“Would you mind if I take off early today? We’re heading to Nashville for Hudson’s sister’s bachelorette this weekend, and he offered to set up the suite for the bridal party.”
Micah’s in his twenties and somehow has his life together more than I ever have. He’s been married to his partner, Hudson, for two years, and they live on a four-acre hobby farm on the outskirts of Willow Valley. My twenties were spent getting my degree and line dancing in dive bars on the weekend. I thought I’d be settled by now, impromptu wedding notwithstanding.
“That’s fine. There’s not much on the schedule for today. Worst case, I’ll give Doc a call if there’s an emergency.”
Doctor Briggs retired after I took over his practice, but he still comes back to work when I need someone to cover for me. He says it keeps him sharp, but I think he misses it more than he’s letting on.
I stand, roll my neck, and straighten my spine. “Let’s go. Wouldn’t want to keep Cheez Whiz waiting.”
After a visit with the orange cat from hell, a spaniel with an ear infection, another call from old man Wilson, and vaccinations for six golden doodle puppies, I head back to my office to fill out some paperwork.
A while later, a quiet knock sounds at my office door, but Idon’t look up from the folder in front of me as I finish transferring my notes from the last appointment. “What is it?”
Micah’s face peeks through a crack in the door. “Hey, Ange? There’s a hot cowboy looking for you. Says he’s your husband.”
A deep chuckle reverberates over the threshold.
I look up and lock eyes with none other than the man I’ve been avoiding for the better part of a week. “What are you doing here?”
“Came to have lunch with my wife,” he says matter-of-factly, dropping into the chair opposite me.
I catch sight of Micah over Griffin’s shoulder, his green eyes wide with shock. “Holy shit,” he mouths the words, miming fanning himself. “He’s hot.”
I shoo him away. Smirking, Micah closes the door behind him.
Griffin’s eyes land on my empty ring finger. “Where’s your wedding ring, Angel?”
“Lost it during a rectal exam,” I deadpan. It’s a lie, but I’m not about to tell him the truth. It’s burning a hole in the pocket of my scrubs because I couldn’t bring myself to leave it at home. “Actually, I’m glad you’re here. I had the annulment papers drawn up. It just needs your signature.”
I pull out a folder from my top drawer and slide it across the desk. Before I can move my hand away, Griffin’s palm encases it. “I don’t remember agreeing to an annulment. Matter of fact, not more than a week ago, I told the world that you’re my wife.”
His voice is low and gruff, and it sets off a riot of butterflies in my belly.
“You’re kidding, right? We were drunk. Let’s sign the papers and move on with our lives like it never happened.”
Like you did five years ago when you walked out of my apartment and never looked back.
Griffin stands and walks around my desk until he’s towering over me. I’m a woman cornered, and I should be scared, but this is Griffin—he won’t hurt me. Not physically, at least. I hardened my heart to this man when I woke up to a cold bed. Or so I thought—the events in Las Vegas might suggest otherwise. I can’t be held responsible for what jilted Angie did. She was operating on free will and margaritas alone.
He grips the armrests on either side of my hips, leaning forward to bring us nose to nose. “I’ll never forget that night, Angel. Not in a million years. Not when I’m six feet underground. Not even in the next life.”
My pulse quickens at the force and sincerity of his words. The annulment is what I wanted, so why does it suddenly feel wrong?
