Nigel and I ate in a silence that felt heavy with unspoken things. The only sound was the intermittent whine from Danish, begging for another morsel from Nigel’s sandwich.
“I just worry about you,” Nigel said, balling up his napkin and tossing it in the bag. “I’m allowed to worry.”
“You are, and I promise that I’m fine. Any man worth having won’t begrudge me doing my best to save a thousand cats like Pickles.”
Nigel was quiet again, and I got the distinct impression that something was bothering him, but Nigel spoke before I could ask.
“You said the right man would appreciate your work.”
I nodded and waited for him to continue. It was obvious that he was going somewhere with this.
“How do you tell they’re the right man?”
I laughed gently, doing my best not to be too self-deprecating when I answered. “Have you met me? I’ve had a lot of trouble finding the right guy.”
“But you did find him. I mean, it seems to be going well between you two.”
To avoid coming up with a response to that specific statement, I shoved a bite of food into my mouth. It was obvious Nigel was conflicted about something. Maybe he was getting cold feet. If he called the wedding off, that would solve exactly none of my problems. Because, sure, I wouldn’t need a fake boyfriend anymore, but that was its own problem because I liked Perry. Spending time with him had become the highlight of my week. His texts had become the brightest spots in my day.
“It might not be easy to spot the right guy, but I have a bit of practice with the wrong ones. Sometimes, knowing what you don’t want is just as important as knowing what you do want.”
Nigel nodded thoughtfully, and I was saved by whatever he was going to say by my timer going off.
“I have to check on Pickles. Come with me.”
He followed me to the kennel room where Pickles had been made as comfortable as possible while she recovered from what I believed to be an unintended poisoning. It was clear to me that Pickles had come into contact with something that didn’t agree with cats.
Pickles looked better than when she’d come in, but I’d have to draw some blood and check her kidney function to make sure she had turned the corner. She hadn’t touched the food, but she’d drunk a little of the water, which gave me hope.
Pickles was an easy patient to work with, only mewing slightly when I did things she didn’t enjoy, like draw blood. Nigel watched from the sidelines, his hands tucked in his pockets.
“Did you want to hold her while I get this bloodwork started?” I’d invested in my own testing equipment so that I wouldn’t have to send every blood sample out to someone else. It made things faster for my patients. “She could use a bit of extra love.”
Nigel came over, and I gently put Pickles in his arms. She settled against him and started to purr almost instantly, even with the IV in, pumping her full of fluid to try and flush out her system.
“She really got someone through chemo?”
“Yeah. Her human is a twelve-year-old girl who is now in remission, and she thinks it’s entirely because of Pickles.”
Nigel let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of pressure to put on Pickles. And you.”
“I do just fine.”
“Do you think I’m getting married too fast?” he asked me. It wasn’t even out of the blue, not really. I knew he’d wanted to talk about something when he suggested we get breakfast, and though I did my best not to guess, I didn’t exactly succeed.I’d figured that he would have some pre-wedding jitters to sort through.
“I think only you can answer that. Some people get married within days of meeting each other and other people never get married, but stay together for a whole lifetime.”
Nigel scoffed. “You’re always so helpful.”
“Was that sarcasm? I can’t tell if you’re serious right now.”
“It was sarcasm. A bit. Maybe fifty-fifty. I mean… aren’t you supposed to have a bunch of opinions about my life?”
“Oh, I have opinions, believe me. I think your couch is hideous.”
Nigel gasped and pretended to cover Pickles’s ears. “My couch is glorious.”
“That’s not how you pronounce grotesque.”
