Page 17 of Pugs & Kisses

B ryson bobbed his head to Nas’s collaboration with Lauryn Hill, “If I Ruled the World,” as he secured the final suture in place. He secured the knot, then snipped the pink nylon.

“And that’s that,” he said. He smiled at the surgical tech. “Thanks for your help with the surgery. I appreciate it.”

“Are you kidding? I had to win a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors to make it into this operating room,” Eli Parker said as he lowered the volume on the sound system. “Competition to work with you is fierce.”

Bryson laughed. “Is that what’s going down in the employee break room?”

He did his best not to let that tidbit go to his head, but hearing shit like that was like a steroid shot to his ego.

“I’m sure there will be the opportunity for every surgical tech to join me in the operating room,” he said. “I just started here and don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon.”

Eli shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. All the techs will want to say that they’ve performed the most surgeries with you. Next time, I’m challenging them to a dance-off.” He did a hand and shoulder move circa a 1980s hip-hop video.

“Doesn’t seem like a fair fight,” Bryson said as he inspected the site where he’d made the small incision to remove the Egyptian mau’s bladder stones.

The feline was one of the most expensive domesticated cats in the world, but it was just as susceptible to common ailments as the strays living on the streets. Bladder stones showed no mercy.

“If not for the pink stitches, I wouldn’t know where to find the incision,” Eli said from just over his shoulder.

That’s the point, young grasshopper.

His unwillingness to come off like an arrogant dick prevented Bryson from speaking the words out loud.

“I just do the best I can to reduce the recovery time as much as possible,” he said instead.

“Bianca’s owner asked us to call once the surgery is done, but I want to hold off until she comes out of anesthesia.

I’ll be in my office. Just give me a ring once she’s awake and produced her first post-surgery urine. ”

After cleaning up, Bryson checked in on Bella, who was frolicking around the playroom with her new best friend, a cockapoo named Ginger, before going into his office. He pulled his cell phone out of the desk drawer where he’d stashed it and grimaced at the forty-plus text messages waiting for him.

He read the two from his mother first, telling him that she’d cooked his favorite—beef stew with potatoes and carrots—and was putting some in the freezer for him.

She’d followed it with another text that their neighbor Ms. Lucille Green had brought over a container of shrimp étouffée that would be placed in the freezer alongside the stew.

Bryson hadn’t factored in the added bonus of having both his mother and her friends filling his freezer with food when he’d made the decision to move back home.

It more than made up for the few nights he’d had to sleep on the lumpy mattress in the short-term rental.

Hopefully that would soon be a thing of the past. Another text was from his Realtor. A two-bedroom condo with a view of the water had just come on the market in the building near Lake Pontchartrain that Bryson had set his sights on.

He shot her a quick text back.

Interested. Set up a tour asap.

He was tempted to tell her to put in an offer, but if he planned to make this his permanent home, he couldn’t be hasty about it. Regardless of the current, highly competitive real estate market his Realtor continually reminded him that they were in.

The rest of the texts were from the group chat with the vets at his old practice in Raleigh. There was no reason for him to still be in a chat that discussed the day-to-day workings of a place where he was no longer employed, yet every time he made an attempt to leave it, he held back.

Bryson stared at the phone. He’d just told his Realtor he wanted to tour a condo but couldn’t let go of a group chat? Either he accepted that he lived here now, or he didn’t.

He started typing. Stopped. Then started again.

Sorry to be that guy, but I’m going to remove myself from the group text.

A flurry of “sorry to see you go” and “miss you” and “trying to lure you back” texts came through.

He smiled, but finally went through with removing himself from the text.

“That wasn’t so hard,” he said.

Now, if only he could figure out how to deal with the other issue he was having, all would be right in his world.

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” he muttered.

He set his elbows on his desk and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

With the exception of when he was performing a surgery, his mind couldn’t seem to focus on anything but Evie.

Ever since she walked back into his life wearing those jeans that hugged her curves to perfection, he had to make a concerted effort to direct his attention elsewhere, and it was already starting to wear on him.

For a while Monday afternoon, Bryson had felt a glimmer of hope that he could exist in this city with Evie as his friend and colleague.

He’d accepted within moments of her leaving The Sanctuary that such an existence would not be feasible.

He could not simply be friends with her.

He had never wanted to be only a friend to her.

From the first moment he saw her, he’d wanted more.

As if that ever would have happened back then.

He and Evie came from two entirely different universes.

His success of the last few years had evened the playing field, but only slightly.

Her upbringing, her family’s money and standing within New Orleans’s social circles, was something that would always be out of his reach, no matter how much success he achieved.

He no longer aspired to be part of that lifestyle. He was satisfied with what he’d accomplished. But back then? Back then, he would have done anything to be part of Evie’s world.

For a moment, he had been part of it.

When Evie showed up at The Sanctuary the summer he volunteered, Bryson viewed it as a test to his character.

He’d known that if he could spend the summer working alongside her without crossing that line he had been desperately wanting to cross, then he could achieve anything.

But then she’d started to respond to his corny jokes, and their innocuous exchanges had become decidedly more flirtatious.

It was all the incentive he’d needed. Once it became obvious that she was feeling him just as much as he was feeling her, he gave a middle finger to the part of his brain that told him a girl like her could never be serious about a guy from the wrong side of the swamp.

Bryson rested his lips against his folded hands.

He’d spent an entire year after he left Louisiana dissecting just what had made him take such a drastically wrong turn when it came to Evie. Why had he run instead of fighting for her? Was it because of Cameron? Was it because her rich, successful parents would never have approved of him back then?

None of that should have mattered. He’d allowed it to. He’d allowed Cameron to get into his head, along with his own hang-ups. And in doing so, he had lost—he didn’t want to think about what he’d lost, what he and Evie could have shared.

He dropped his head back into the headrest of his desk chair.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

He’d known returning to this city would be like a plunger, bringing up all this old shit he’d put off dealing with for years. What surprised him was how thoroughly thoughts of Evie had taken over his life.

He had to quash this, and quickly. Even if Evie was remotely interested in being anything more than a friend, the timing was off. He needed his focus to remain squarely on his job and on readjusting to life back in Louisiana.

His cell phone rang. Bryson slipped it from his desk and sat up straight when he saw the name on the screen.

EVIE WILLIAMS

Unlike with The Sanctuary’s number, he’d never been able to bring himself to delete her contact from his phone. Apparently, she hadn’t gotten rid of his either.

Don’t read too much into it.

He still had the number of a man who’d once tried to sell him solar panels for his car saved in his phone. Evie still having his number wasn’t as consequential as he wanted it to be.

Not that he wanted it to be of any consequence.

“Evie. Hey,” Bryson said.

“Hey,” she replied. “I hope you don’t mind me calling out of the blue like this.”

“Not at all,” Bryson said. “A little surprised, but I don’t mind. Was there something you needed?”

There was a brief pause, then, “I’ve been thinking about our meeting with Doc.”

His pulse quickened.

“What about it?” he prompted when she didn’t continue.

“Knowing The Sanctuary is in trouble and that the mentorship program isn’t even operating doesn’t sit right with me.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking a lot about it too,” Bryson said. Not nearly as much as he had been thinking about her, but The Sanctuary had been on his mind. “That mentorship program was a vital part of my training. I hate the thought of the community losing both the program and The Sanctuary.”

“Yes, well, that’s why I called,” Evie said.

A knock on his office door interrupted them.

“Dr. Mitchell.” It was the surgical tech he’d worked with on that Hot Wheels car extraction. “Captain Jack is prepped for his sialoadenectomy,” she said.

Shit.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Bryson said. “Hey, Evie, I have to deal with a salivary mucocele in a fourteen-year-old Chihuahua. It shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

“Go,” she said. “Call me when you’re done.”

The surgery took a little longer than Bryson had anticipated because, as he’d feared, the gland was infected.

He had been forced to go into the procedure without all of the information he should have had because the owner had declined to do a pre-op CT scan.

He got it. The CT scan would have added another thousand dollars to the already expensive surgery, but it only made his job more difficult.

It was yet another reason why operations like The Sanctuary were vital to the community.

The world needed more places that offered pro bono veterinary care.

If they somehow managed to save the rescue, he would suggest to Doc that he implement a program that helped to defray the cost of surgeries for low-income pet owners.

Suggest it to Doc? Who was on the verge of retiring?

“You cannot run The Sanctuary,” Bryson murmured under his breath as he shucked off his gloves.

He was certain that’s why Doc had taken him to the rescue following their lunch last week.

Wanting to give him that lapel pin had only been an excuse to get him into the building, but Evie being there had thrown everything off.

Bryson was just waiting for Doc to bring up the subject.

He could not run The Sanctuary. He had enough on his plate with this new job, new move, the speaking engagements still on his calendar. Doc would have to find someone else.

He made his way to the waiting room to talk to Captain Jack’s owner. His steps faltered when he caught sight of Evie standing next to the wall covered with photos of past patients.

“Uh, Mrs. Stewart, I just wanted you to know that everything went well with Captain Jack’s surgery,” Bryson said, watching Evie out of the corner of his eye. “We found a slight infection, which will require an extra night of IV antibiotics, but he should make a complete recovery.”

Evie had turned at his voice and was watching him with open curiosity.

“Does he have to stay here to get those antibiotics?” the woman, who looked to be in her seventies, asked.

“Yes. He needs to be monitored.”

She frowned. “How much more will that cost on top of the surgery?”

Did it matter? She had just spent nearly four thousand dollars getting that salivary gland surgically removed. Was she going to allow her dog to die of an infection because it would cost an extra two hundred?

Bryson took a mental step back. Who in the hell was he to pass judgment?

Maybe she didn’t have an extra two hundred dollars.

Maybe she had scraped together every cent she had for the surgery.

He knew better than most what it was like to have to make tough financial choices.

He’d spent the better part of his life doing it.

He took Mrs. Stewart’s hand in his. “I know it’s hard not to stress about the cost, but please don’t. The receptionist can tell you about programs that will allow you to pay in installments so that you don’t have to cover everything all at once.”

The worry marring her features lessened. “Thank you again for all you did for my little Jack.” She gave his hand a gentle squeeze before slipping past him and walking over to the reception area.

Bryson turned to Evie, who had crept a few feet closer to him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

She disregarded his question and nodded toward Mrs. Stewart. “That couldn’t have been easy. I’ve seen too many people have to make the hard choice of providing care or saying goodbye to their pet because they can’t afford the expense. I’m glad you encouraged her to save her dog.”

“I didn’t really give her any other option,” Bryson said.

“It’s a habit I’m trying to break, if I’m being honest. The choice isn’t mine.

Sometimes, saving the animal isn’t what’s best for it or for the owner.

But Captain Jack still has a few years left in him, and I have a feeling he’s her only companion.

She needs that dog as much as the dog needs her. ”

The corner of Evie’s mouth curved up in a crooked half-smile and his skin grew hot. Shit.

“Why am I not surprised that you turned out to be this kind of vet,” she said.

Bryson cleared his throat. “What kind of vet is that?”

“The kind who approaches patient care with both the owner and the pet’s well-being in mind.”

He shrugged. “It’s part of the job.”

“Not every doctor sees it that way,” she said. “But of course you do. Like I said, I’m not surprised at all.”

Bryson tried to dismiss the way his pulse amped up as they stood in the reception area. He should at least try to get a handle on his body’s reaction to her.

“Um, what are you doing here, Ev? I thought I was supposed to call you back?”

“I just dropped Waffles off at doggy daycare—I want him to socialize for at least a few hours each day—so I decided to drive over. It would be better to discuss this face-to-face.” She glanced around the reception area and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Is there somewhere we can go to talk? Someplace a bit more private?”

His mouth suddenly felt as dry as the Mojave.

He was a grown man. He could handle this.

“Sure,” Bryson said. “Follow me.”