“Morning,” she said, putting her lunch into the refrigerator. “Why is Cash filling the trough?”
I hummed around a mouthful of cereal, then said, “He’s gonna bathe and brush out the dog.”
“Good,” she said. Her tone made it clear that she approved, and I relaxed a little. I’d felt her silent judgment at the state of the dog’s coat. Like every vet tech I’d ever met, Kayla had strong opinions. And sure, I might be the one with my name on the front door—well, notthisfront door, which had Uncle Jim’s name instead—but we both knew it was Kayla who kept the practice running. And my time here would be a hell of a lot easier if I stayed on her good side.
The phone started ringing even though we weren’t open yet, and Kayla rolled her eyes before striding briskly out to reception and answering the call. I heard her explaining to the caller that no, we weren’t open and whoever it was couldn’t just pop on by.
I stood and rolled my shoulders and then went to check on Cash. I opened the door to the laundry, half expecting chaos. But instead I was greeted by the sight of Cash calmly bathing the dog, making soothing noises and petting his spine. He turned the water off, grabbed a towel, and dried the dog. He was careful to avoid his ear.
Once he was done, Cash eased down to the floor, still holding the dog in his lap. He discarded the towel and reached for the brush, using slow, gentle strokes as he worked and humming a tune I couldn’t quite name. After a few moments the dog relaxed, resting his chin on Cash’s thigh, and let out a deep sigh of satisfaction. It didn’t look like he was moving any time soon.
I stood leaning against the counter, and Cash glanced up at me and gave me a shy smile. He seemed to have everything under control. He mostly managed to work the brush through the tangles in the dog’s coat without incident, although there were a couple of times the dog tugged away and whined. Whenthat happened, Cash put the brush down and teased the knots apart with his fingers, waiting patiently until the dog had settled before going back to the brush.
I had plenty of things I should have been doing, but I was apparently as hypnotized by Cash’s slow, careful brushing as the dog was. I stayed and watched instead, caught by the intent expression on Cash’s face. There was nothing half-hearted or “good enough” about his efforts. The dog was the entire focus of his attention, as though the rest of the world had ceased to exist for him. I wondered fleetingly what it would be like to have that attention focused on me and remembered how good his hug had felt before I pushed the thought away. Cash was cute, but he’d shown no signs of being interested in me.
It took less time than I thought before Cash was able to run his hands through the dog’s coat. He had a tiny, pleased smile on his face.
“Good job,” I said. “Like,reallygood.”
Cash looked up, startled, and his smile grew. “Thanks,” he whispered.
He hugged the dog, who clambered up in his lap and licked a stripe up his face. Cash gave a soft laugh and whispered something in the dog’s ear. The dog panted his agreement.
Cash pushed up off the ground and stood, and it was then that I saw how soaked he’d gotten while washing the dog. His pale gray T-shirt was dark where it was soaked through, and it clung to his chest and biceps. He was lean without being scrawny, and the wet fabric did nothing to hide the fact. I could see the planes of his chest and the peaks of his nipples. If he’d been standing at a car wash with a group of sorority girls with a sponge in one hand and a bucket in the other, I would have paid well over market value to get my car washed.
I must have been staring because Cash raised an eyebrow at me.
“Sorry,” I said. “Just, you’re really wet.”
He shrugged, still grinning, and glanced down as an adorable flush rose on his cheeks.
“I’ve got spare scrubs if you want to change.” I nodded at the stack of scrubs on top of the dryer. “Just grab whatever fits.”
From reception, the phone rang again, and Kayla didn’t answer it. I followed the noise out and saw through the front windows that she was heading for her car. She must have forgotten something.
So it was my turn to tell Mrs. Clayborn that no, we still weren’t open and wouldn’t be until eight, and if it wasn’t an emergency—it never was, with her—she could phone back after that and make an appointment. She took my refusal well, somehow managing to sound as though she was doing me the favor by agreeing even though it was at great personal inconvenience to her.
Snorting, I headed back to the laundry room.
“I swear, people think business hours are optional,” I said, stepping into the room. And if I’d been planning a follow-up to that, and I wasn’t sure if I was or not, the words died on my lips.
Cash had his shirt off. I’d imagined pale skin, and yeah, there was a lot of that. But there was something else too, a shadow or a faint stain, that started at his shoulders and extended down his back in splotches of pinkish-brown skin. It was faded, but there was enough of a contrast with his complexion that it was still noticeable.
Cash froze with a scrub shirt in his hands, and I suddenly knew that the worst thing I could do was ask. So I said, “If it’s too big, I think Kayla has some safety pins.”
I could see the moment that Cash relaxed, just a fractional softening of his posture that relayed his relief.
“And when you’re done with the dog,” I said, ignoring the sudden urge to reach out and touch his skin, to reassure myselfthat whatever had happened to him a long time ago, he was okaynow, “you can do me a favor and fold the towels.”
He nodded and whispered, “Okay.”
And I nodded back and smiled, and we both pretended I hadn’t seen the scars and didn’t know that at one point in his life, probably years ago now, Cash had been badly burned.
CHAPTER 6
CASH
We didn’t usually have spaghetti night on a Saturday, but Avery had to go help one of his millions of brothers or sisters move house tomorrow in Richmond or something, and he wouldn’t be back until late. It wasn’t the change in routine that threw me and made me late, though.
