I froze, halfway to the mug. Smiles from Austin thus far were rare creatures—more myth than reality. And the way it tugged at the corners of his mouth… my breath caught. His smile was quick, and I hated that it made me want to earn another one. I hated it even more that I already had a list of ways to try.
“Wow them?” I repeated, gripping the mug with both hands to disguise the way my fingers shook. “That’s a lot of pressure.”
“If anyone can,” he said, and this time there was no 'almost' about it—his smile was real, and quick as a spark. His confidence was reassuring. My heart responded like an idiot, all dance and thunder.
The look was over in a second, gone as if it had never happened, but it left my chest fluttering. My heart, traitorous thing, was already getting dangerously attached to Austin.
The Everwood Fairgrounds smelled like a mix of hay, fryer oil, and the last fair's cotton candy. A large barn loomed at the edge of the green, its wide double doors propped open to reveal neat rows of folding tables and bleachers stacked against the sides. Compared to the second choice of the open stables at Roster’s farm, the place looked reassuringly… containable.
“Indoor,” I sighed with relief, “That means fewer runaways,” I murmured to myself, clutching a crate of supplies and treats to my chest. “That’s already a win.”
“Don’t jinx it,” Austin said from behind me, his voice dry as he hefted two folding tables like they weighed nothing. He carried them inside, boots thudding against the packed dirt floor, and set them down.
Patients had already started arriving, even before the official opening. A small line snaked along the wall: Ed Simmons withhis limping beagle, two teens clutching a squealing crate that rattled ominously, and—most surprising of all—Dr. Samuels, the town’s aging vet. He leaned on his cane, offered me a weathered smile, and said, “Figured it’s time someone younger carried the load.” He tipped his hat in something that felt like a benediction. The words hinted at futures I was afraid to dream of. A clinic of my own, in a place that didn’t look at people like numbers and dollar signs, but saw them more like neighbors and friends. My heart did a little tap dance before I stamped the dream back down. Too early for dreaming,let’s get through today first and then see what happens next, I told myself.
By the time I turned back to the line, the crate the teens were holding started jerking to one side. Then the teen lost control of it and dropped the crate.
The latch popped open, and out burst a piglet—plump, pink, and as fast as a greased bullet.
“NO, NO, NO—” The teen cried out, tears springing to her eyes.
I lunged, missed, and skidded on the dirt floor. The piglet squealed in glee, ricocheting off a stack of chairs and bolting straight for the bleachers.
Before I could think, Austin was there, cutting off its path with a smooth pivot that would’ve made a linebacker jealous. The pig veered, squealing louder. I scrambled after it, my vet instincts taking over.
“Hey, hey, easy, little one,” I murmured, crouching low and holding my arms wide. My boots dug into the dirt as I moved slowly, herding it toward the corner, treats in hand. The pig hesitated, snorting, tiny hooves churning. “That’s it. You’re safe. Are you hungry?” I held out a treat.
The piglet froze just long enough for me to scoop it up. Warm, wiggly weight tucked into my arms like a football, it let out a final squeal before going still. My pulse hammered, andmy braid slipped against my shoulder. I did it. I’d wrangled the pig. In vet school, we grazed over farm animals and exotics like snakes and lizards, so pig wrangling was a little outside of my norm.
I looked up—and Austin was watching me. Not the piglet, not the chaos. Me. His mouth quirked as if he wanted to smile, but his eyes stayed sharp, taking in every detail.
I hugged the pig closer, my cheeks burning. “First patient checked in,” I managed, breathless.
“So,” Austin shrugged, “Should we get this party started?” He joked, handing me the clipboard.
A laugh bubbled out of me, and just like that, the tension broke.
I set the piglet back in its crate, checked the latch, and scrawled a new sticky note for my list, reminding me to have additional crates and pet pens on hand. Austin leaned over my shoulder, close enough that the clean scent of his soap and the lingering smell of coffee clung to him. His breath against my ear, tickling my skin. My pulse jumped, and instinctively, as if he knew, he placed a hand on my shoulder, his thumb at the base of my neck—a reminder that he was there. A tingle made its way through my pounding heart.
“Wise security precaution,” he murmured next to my ear, his voice low and rumbling.
My pulse jumped. My pen slipped, and the clipboard slipped from my grip. Austin snatched it from mid-air and handed it to me, his hand over mine for a few seconds. The small little world I’d built hiccupped, and just like that, a thought caught me off guard. He’s rigid and simple, but I liked it. He was the yin to my chaos.
And for one crazy second, I thought maybe this clinic wasn’t the only thing about to get out of hand.
By the time the piglet was secured—and glaring at me through the crate, possibly plotting revenge—the moment was over when I saw the line had grown. Word traveled fast in Everwood.
Ed Simmons waved from the front, his beagle trotting at his side with a limp so theatrical it could’ve won awards.
Behind Dr. Samuels came Mrs. Whittaker with her Persian cat, carried like royalty in a wicker basket, and a pair of kids carrying a shoebox with air holes punched in the lid. The sound of frantic scratching hinted at something very unhappy inside.
I glanced at Austin. He stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching everything with that alert stillness he carried like second nature. He was an enigma in my little world. I was whimsy, and he was rigid—polar opposites yet orbiting each other. He was cataloging, assessing, studying the edges while I stood in the middle, surrounded by the chaos.
“Ready?” he asked quietly.
“Not even close,” I whispered back, but my hands reached anyway for Ed’s beagle. The familiar weight of fur in my palms was more familiar to me than coffee ever could.
The clinic found its rhythm quickly—diagnosis and advice, gentle reassurance, a scribbled note about worming schedules. My nerves gave way to muscle memory and years of training. The fear from yesterday seemed laughable now that I was here and back in my element.
