Into You Series: The Complete Collection

26. Grace

CHAPTER 26

GRACE

I ’m starting to wonder if I’m in a vet’s office or if I died in my car on the way here and I’m sitting in purgatory. Hank and I have been transferred from one waiting room to another since we arrived this morning. By the time we’re placed in another one deeper in the vet’s office, I’m fairly sure we’ve been here for half of my life.

Did you know people camp outside of a vet’s office before it opens? I sure didn’t. I pulled up five minutes before they unlocked the doors, and you would have thought it was the night before Black Friday. I had to park across the street hopefully in a legal place, but really, who knows. This place needs a bigger parking lot.

At the time, I thought, Do these people think they’re going to get a deal on the services? But after this ridiculous waiting room hop-fest, I’m realizing those people had the right idea. You would think I hadn’t owned a dog that’s been to the vet regularly for eleven years. Apparently waiting rooms are serious business.

I’ve been passing the time by occasionally checking emails, sketching, or shamelessly texting my boss like we’ve known each other since elementary school.

Grace: Am I missing anything important today?

Cam: Meetings are running smoother but that’s probably because I don’t have some redhead blurting out things every two seconds.

Grace: Boo.

Hank and I are finally waved into a private room to wait, yet again.

Grace: We’re in the last room on the left. Am I the only one that finds that eerie?

Cam: You’re both gonna die.

Grace: Knew it.

Cam: How is the old guy doing?

I look down to Hank, who’s already splayed across the tiles. His eyes are closed. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was meditating.

Grace: Not miserable.

Cam: Stronger dog than I am. Vets freak me out. Buddy and I are total wrecks whenever we have to go.

Grace: Is Buddy’s tail between his legs the whole time or is yours?

Cam: Even the cats bully me when I walk in.

The door to the waiting room creaks open and a tall curvy woman walks in. She has a clipboard in one hand, and the other is placed in the pocket of her white coat. She’s wearing lime green crocs, but for some reason she totally pulls them off. She smiles at me and it’s like sunshine radiating from her pores. Without hesitation, Hank gets up and walks to her.

Woah, she’s an animal whisperer , I think.

“Well now, how are we today?” she asks, bending down to take Hank’s face in her hands, moving it back and forth, lifting his lips up to inspect his teeth.

“Good,” I answer for him.

“Bit of gum bleeding,” she says, tutting. “Tsk, tsk, not good, huh?”

She removes her gloved hand from his mouth and gives him a pat on the head. She goes on to tell me that he’s got a tooth issue. Apparently, a lot of older dogs have it and a simple surgery will fix it. Simple, but not cheap. But I’d spend my entire life savings on this dog, so I sign the paperwork. Luckily, there was a cancellation, so they can fit us on the schedule in a couple hours.

And back to the waiting room we go. Although, this time it’s a nicer one in the back with comfy couches instead of hard, cafeteria-esque chairs. And there’s a coffee machine. They must save the good stuff for the patients shelling out the big bucks.

I make a fancy cappuccino for myself and plop down into a chair, booting up the laptop to check emails and see any adjustments to designs before taking out my tablet to work.

I check my phone one last time. No more texts from Cameron, so I stash it away and do some warm-up sketches before jumping into my project. Sketching calms me; makes me feel like things aren’t completely falling apart. Let’s look at the bright side of things: My dog is fairly healthy, I’m settling into work with confidence, and I didn’t kiss my boss. Could be worse.

I heard once that one hour of coloring is equivalent to one session with a therapist. Ever since I picked up art again, I can attest to the fact that it’s true. I zone in and lose track of time. My phone rings and draws me out. My heart hopes it might be Cameron, but my brain is relieved to see it’s not.

“Hey, Mom.” I lean the phone between my shoulder and ear, filling in the remainder of the design with block colors.

“Oh, how is my poor boy?” My mother’s southern drawl coos out from the phone.

“Hank is fine,” I reassure her. “Just a tooth issue. We’re going into surgery in a bit. They say it’s a pretty low-risk procedure.”

“Is he scared?” she asks.

I look over and see Hank lying on the floor, eyes closed, a small snore leaving with every deep exhale.

“Absolutely terrified.” I can’t remember the last thing that stressed him out.

“I can make him hygiene chews,” she says.

“That’s the ingredient? Hygiene?”

“Very funny,” she says. “Do you brush Hank’s teeth regularly?”

I look down at him and he lifts his head to look at me as if saying ‘Don’t even lie to yourself.’

“Maybe once a week.”

Hank barks in protest. Smart ass.

Mom sighs. “I’ll buy some teeth cleaners for him. So, how’s work going?”

My design stares back up at me, filled with colors, heart, and my purest form of relaxation.

“I finally feel a little bit like myself,” I say, almost surprised at my own words.

It’s odd to think I procrastinated on this career for so long. What was I waiting for? The depression from a relationship heading south to kick me into high gear? My resolve to overcome said relationship trauma?

“And your boss?”

I pause—my heart stopping. I’d forgotten about Cameron for a bit, but the thought of him makes my limbs turn to jelly.

“What about him?” I try to sound nonchalant.

“I just want to make sure this job that you love isn’t going to disappear. Your career means more than a man.”

“Nothing is going on. We’re just coworkers.”

“No,” she presses. “You’re not coworkers. You’re his employee. There is a distinct difference, Grace.”

I know when she uses my name, she means business. But it’s not like she’s wrong. And it’s not like I don’t know that. I glance at my tablet again. I need this job. I want this job more than I’ve ever wanted anything before—even more than Cameron’s muscular arms and mouthwatering abs.

“We’re just working together.” I pick up my tablet and put it in my lap, sliding the pen out of its looped holder and start to work. “That’s it.”

Two hours pass, and I’ve made some progress on my project, but my hand is starting to cramp up and Hank’s pacing the empty waiting room. He may as well have been crossing his legs and jumping side to side.

“Want to go outside?” I ask, standing up and stretching. His tail wags and he walks over to me with a small whine.

I go toward the door, crack it open, and look out.

“Hello?”

Thankfully, a nurse is walking past the hallway looking down at her clipboard. Her eyes widen.

Oh my god, did this place forget about us?

She looks back down to her clipboard again, running her finger down the page then stopping halfway. “Grace and Hank, right? We’re, uh, we’re almost ready for you. The doctor is washing up right now.”

“I think the ol’ boy needs to pee first.”

“You can head out through this hall.” She points. “Down to the first door to the left. Once he’s finished, just knock on the door and I’ll let you back in.”

“Thanks.” I turn around and pat my leg. Hank hurries over and squeezes past me in an effort to get to the door faster than I can. I take his leash out of my pocket—the only jeans I own with deep enough pockets! Darn you, fashion—and clip it to his collar before he can dart off.

We turn left at the door when I hear a very familiar, low voice.

“Grace Holmes. I think she’s in the waiting room?”

“Which waiting room?”

“There’s more than one waiting room?”

I call out: “Cameron! Down here!”

A head pops around the corner and there he is, mister boss man himself. Cameron Kaufman with his bearded grin and his tousled hair.

He turns back behind the wall. “Found her!”

“I can’t believe you actually came,” I laugh, barely concealing my anxiety at the sight of him.

He’s wearing a raglan baseball tee with the sleeves a dark navy blue and, like most of his shirts, it’s fitted to his torso. His skinny cut jeans rest on top of the dark brown, lace-up boots that are slightly worn and practically scream, “I am man!” I have to keep myself from drooling.

He’s actually here.

“I needed a break from work stuff,” he says.

We take the left toward the door and head outside. Hank reaches the heaven full of grass just waiting to be claimed as his bathroom. I let him roam.

“So,” he starts, “you weren’t avoiding work today?” The edge of his mouth exposes a grin and his dimples deepen enough to be seen through his beard.

Those dang dimples.

I bark out a laugh. “Last time I checked, I have a dog going into surgery.”

“Surgery?” His thick eyebrows shoot up and he looks at Hank. His concern is enough to make a girl swoon.

“Teeth and gum issues,” I say.

“Do you brush his teeth?” he asks.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Unbelievable.” Cameron shakes his head in mock disappointment.

I squint at him. “Don’t mess with me, guy. I’ve got enough stress on my plate.”

“And what stress is that?”

He’s testing his limits and I want to test mine. I want to grab his shirt, pull him close, and say ‘Hey buddy, you’re killing me here.’ I want him. But that just isn’t in the cards for me.

“The kind of stress put on by work and my dumb boss,” I say.

He points a finger at me. “Watch it, Holmes. Are you ever not trying to push your luck?”

I’m always pushing my luck.