Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100277 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100277 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Like sunshine bursting through a cloud, Rafe grinned at me. There was that little dimple.
His smile gave me butterflies.
And those winged creatures in my stomach were a warning I was way in over my head.
A little while later, after I’d watched Rafe take a man-sized bite out of his burger, he swallowed, then wiped his lips with his napkin. “You’re right. That’s a great burger . . . but I know of a better one.”
“Hush.” I leaned across the table, smiling. “That’s blasphemy here.”
His eyes gleamed with amusement. “It’s also true. There’s a gourmet burger place in Harrison and I know that sounds pretentious, but trust me, when you taste their burgers, you’ll agree with me.” He said it like it was a foregone conclusion that I would. Taste them, that is. “What other kind of food do you like?”
Realizing he was diving into our getting-to-know-you stuff, which was the entire point of our lunch, I shrugged. “Most foods, except for raw fish and offal. I’m also allergic to strawberries, which is ironic considering my hair.”
Rafe’s lips twitched around a fry as he eyed my hair.
“You?”
He shrugged. “I’ll try anything once. Don’t like oysters, pesto, dates, raisins, and watermelon. What is the point of a watermelon?”
At his boyishly perturbed question, I chuckled. “I’m actually not sure, but I quite like it. It’s refreshing.”
“It’s just water.”
Laughing, I shrugged, giving him that. “Favorite food?”
“My mom makes this steak dinner with these amazing potatoes and fried eggs. It’s my favorite.”
Not fancy at all. I liked that. “Sounds good.”
“Yours?”
“I’m a big fan of pizza.” I shrugged. “My tastes are simple.”
We discussed music, movies, and books, and I vowed to make Rafe find more time for himself. He hadn’t been to the movies in a year, and the last book he read was six months ago. His clinic had totally taken up all of his free time, but I had a feeling he’d allowed it. After all, he was here with me right now. He’d made the time. So he could make the time to do other things. To leave space for the things that brought him joy.
“Is your job the reason for your glass-half-empty attitude? I know you love animals, but is the job more demanding than you expected it to be?”
“I love being a vet.” Sincerity shone in his eyes. “Starting my clinic has meant longer hours, but Owen has been great. And soon we might hire a third vet.”
“That’s good. You’ve made it work in a short amount of time.”
Humor sparked in his eyes. “Maybe you were on to something about me and Owen.”
I chuckled. “The hot vets. That’s probably what you should have called the clinic.”
He rolled his eyes, but I saw the corner of his mouth tug upward.
“Why did you become a vet? It seems a little random, considering the family business.”
Rafe shrugged. “It’s as simple as I love animals. We had a ton of pets growing up. Our last family dog passed away a year after Gigi moved out, so my parents never bothered to get another dog. I miss him. The house doesn’t feel the same without the sounds of paws clicking on the floor and barking out in the backyard.” I could see the fond memories in his eyes. “And while I sometimes keep my clients’ pets at my apartment with me overnight so I can monitor them, I just don’t have the time to keep a dog of my own.”
“You could make it work. He or she could spend the day at the clinic with you.”
Rafe considered this. “I have thought about it. I just . . . I don’t want to take on such a tremendous responsibility while we’re still building the clinic into something.”
I understood, but I hoped he’d get a dog someday. It was obvious how much he missed having a furry friend in his life by the tinge of longing in his tone when he was talking about it. “I’ve never had a pet.”
“Never?”
“Nope. After Dawn and Arlo realized what a responsibility a kid was, they weren’t interested in adding any more responsibility onto their plates. Thankfully, for all animal kind.” I grinned.
Rafe didn’t smile back. A hard glint entered his gaze. “You said you were used to being judged. What did you mean by that?”
It was a little too heavy a discussion for our get-to-know-you, so I answered with a light tone, “My parents flaunted their nontraditional values, and their love of pot, and sent me to school in clothes no one else was wearing. They were investigated a couple of times by social services, and I was bullied at every school I attended. While I had a few casual friendships, none of the parents of the kids I became friendly with wanted anything to do with me because of my parents. It got a little better in high school, but”—I shrugged—“I still never felt like I belonged.”