“I know the last time I called I said it would be the last time, but something’s come up.”
“Sure. What’s your question?”
“It’s the turtle this time. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feedhim. I’ve used the last of the food my friends left me yesterday. I tried calling them, but no answer. The pet shop owner said crickets were the way to go, but he hasn’t touched them.”
“Do you know what type of turtle it is?” I twirl the cord of the phone over my pinky.
“Ugh, no.”
“Can you email or text me a picture?”
“Sí.”
“Great. Most turtles are omnivores, but there are a few species that don’t care for insects.” I rattle off my cell number to him and take another sip of my drink while I wait. A moment later, my phone chimes. “Got it.” I open the message and enlarge the image. It has a high-domed shell, a hooked jaw, and webbed feet. “Hmm... it looks like a box turtle to me. They usually enjoy a diet of small insects and veggies like lettuce, carrots, and celery. When did you offer him the crickets?”
“An hour ago?”
“Just like with your friend’s cat, give the turtle some time. He’ll eat when he’s ready. Does it have a sunlamp and access to water?”
“Yes.”
“Great. Just make sure it’s on during the day and off at night.”
“Gracias, I will. Thank you again for all the help. This time is thelasttime, I promise.”
“You’re welcome.” I stand and stretch, knowing this time, he’s right. “We’re getting ready to close the clinic, but if you think of something else, feel free to text me. You have my number now.” I just hope I don’t live to regret it. I know it’s something I shouldn’t technically do, but this guy truly needs help.
“I’ll try hard not to bother you.”
“You won’t—and oh!” I snap my fingers together. “Before I let you go, there is something I wanted to ask you.”
“Yes?”
“What’s your name?”
I hear a laugh on the other end. It’s rich and gives me a few goosebumps. “It’s Fernando. Fernando Alvarez.”
We chat for a few more seconds, then end the call. “Fernando,” I muse to myself, replacing the phone in the cradle. “That’s the perfect name for a guy with a voice like that.”
Does Fernando have dark hair or light hair? Is he tall or average height? Does he wear glasses? Have any tattoos? As I finish my coffee, I daydream about what he might look like. However, I keep circling back to one image: Dylan’s.
Chapter Two
Later that evening, after I’ve eaten dinner and walked my spoiled chocolate lab, I lounge on the couch with a glass of wine and binge the latest episode of the reality dating showCupid’s Arrow. I enjoy all the drama.
If I applied to be a contestant, would I get Dylan’s attention? Probably not. I doubt he has any clue about the show. I sigh. Well, if I became a contestant, at the very least, it would propel me back into the dating world. I’ve been a single woman since my undergrad days.
I’ve been on dates here and there since then, but my last serious boyfriend broke up with me between our freshman and sophomore years. He claimed I was too focused on studying. Which, in his defense, I was. I was obsessed with maintaining a perfect grade point average. Getting into vet school is more competitive than med school. I needed every advantage I could get.
Once I’d finally made it to Colorado State, I continued to make the university library my second home. I was always cramming for an upcoming exam or working at my internship. I never made time for having a life. That was until Dylan came along.
My brain relives this morning’s interaction. My mood drops.Maybe watching a dating show isn’t the best idea right now. I click off the Connected Hearts Network and flip to the Hallmark channel. It’s the middle of November, and they’re already showing their holiday movies.
There’s a girl and a guy on the screen sitting in a grand ballroom in front of a Christmas tree. Perfect. I need something low stress and predictable. I may have missed the first hour of the movie, but at least I can count on the couple getting together and being able to magically save whatever business is about to go bust, or one of them learning the true meaning of Christmas.
Padding over to my freezer, I pull out a pint of my favorite dark chocolate, fudge, and cherry ice cream. Hopefully it’s still good. Who knows how long it’s been sitting in my freezer. Actually, I take that back. I remember buying it about six months ago on the day Dylan mentioned he’d accepted a research position at our alma mater, studying vultures.
I pry off the lid and take a small test bite. A chunk of chocolate hits my tongue at the same time as a piece of the tangy cherry. I chew and swallow. There’s a hint of freezer burn, but it’s still delicious. As I move around the kitchen, looking for my supply of gummy bears to throw on top, Max lets out a low whine. I laugh. “Don’t worry. If I get a treat, you do too.”
