Pawsitively Irresistible

ANDI

“We regret to inform you that Dr. Young has passed.”

The final, soul-shattering line of the email still echoes in my head like a bad song on repeat. It arrived in our inboxes the morning after the accident, when we all thought he’d pull through. That fateful message shook the entire hospital, not the least of all my best friend, Jennifer, who sat beside me like a ghost, silently sobbing into her hands. Her tears streamed down in a river, each one full of grief and perhaps, more than a little guilt. She was taking the news harder than anyone else, and I knew precisely why.

She had no idea that I was fully aware of her secret affair with the much older doctor. At least twenty years older, in fact. But real love knows no age limits, right? I wasn't one to judge. I tried to hold in the gigantic sigh that swelled up inside, but it broke free and echoed in the uncomfortable silence.

Jennifer sniffed, wiped her eyes, and pretended to compose herself, but I wasn’t fooled. She was devastated.

"I know," I said gently, watching her shoulders tense as if my words had already reached inside and grabbed hold. She sat up straighter, trying to maintain her usual defiant demeanor, but she was trembling. "About you and Dr. Young."

The look she shot me was one of raw panic, mixed with a heavy dose of guilt. And underneath all of that, fear. She knew the whole clinic would flip out if word got around about her relationship with the doctor—especially if Veronica, his wife, got wind of it. That would be a rodeo.

“I love him,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she said it. A single tear snuck past her lashes and slid down her cheek like a runaway train.

“Okay,” I said, trying with all my might to sound supportive, watching her for signs of imploding.

“Thank you for not judging me. And we will have a conversation about this later. Just not here.” Jennifer stood with the grace of a dismantled mannequin and walked around the high-walled reception desk like she was on autopilot.

She flipped the sign on the door from closed to open, then unlocked it, ushering in the first patients and clients of the day.

I marveled, not for the first time, at how generous Dr. Young was to let me put my grooming studio in his practice. The arrangement brought in a flood of business for both of us. So much, in fact, that I was forced to hire myself an assistant.

Said assistant was now walking in with a shocking red and green mohawk, wide as a ski slope. The sight made me toss my head back. Was it too early for this? Probably. Once again, Baxter had left me completely speechless.

“Bax, didn't we talk about this already?”

“Hey, Andi.” He greeted me in his ever-laid-back California surfer-dude style.

Funny, because he’s not even from California. We live in a tiny speck of a town in Oklahoma with a population barely topping five hundred. I’m not even sure if Baxter has ever set foot out of the state.

But anyways, I digress.

“Baxter, as much as I love your fashion sense, you need to be more professional.” I tried not to sound like a nag but wasn’t entirely successful. “Old lady Barnes complained to Dr. Young again. My lease is almost up, and I need to make a good impression if I want to keep the space.” I hesitated, feeling the weight of it all. “Especially if I want to be able to stay after finding out Doc didn't make it after his accident.”

His eyes went wide, a visual embodiment of shock. He whispered something between a gasp and a chant: “Duuuude.”

Three days ago, Dr. Erik Young found himself in a dangerous dance with fate. He was vaccinating a herd of cattle when they suddenly stampeded, a furious blur of hooves and horns. A stray steer rammed into him, a horn piercing through his side, leaving everyone in a traumatic daze.

No one ever stops to think that being an animal doctor is as risky as it is. Being a dog groomer can be dangerous too, although much less so.

All I have to worry about are sharp teeth and the occasional runaway tongue. Let's not forget Mrs. Abel's huge Maine Coon cat, Spatula. That beast comes in once a month for his bath and trim, leaving me wrestling with him like a rodeo clown in the ring.

The rest of the day went off without a hitch. In fact, I’m amazed. Stunned, really, that it all went so smoothly after the chaos of the morning. For a minute, I thought it was going to be touch and go, but for the most part, it was good. I even managed to avoid getting mauled by kittens or shredded by Spatula the Maine Coon, which I consider a major win.

That is, until Jennifer barged into my office twenty minutes before closing. Her eyes were wild, glowing with a manic energy that I know all too well. She’s like a pressure cooker about to blow.

“Have you seen the new email?” she asked nervously, her voice cracking on the last word.

“No. But honestly, I've been pretty busy,” I replied. My fingers tapped away at the keyboard as I turned to log into my computer. “I had a full booking today. What's wrong? Is it bad?”

“Depends on how you look at it,” she said, out of breath and in a huff.

A knot formed in my stomach. Jennifer has never been one for change. Even when we were in school together, the slightest thing would set her on edge. A pop quiz was like the world caving in; a substitute teacher was a full-blown apocalypse. And today looks to be one of these days.

And here I thought I was the one who was having a bad day.

“Erik's daughter is taking over the practice. His freaking daughter.” She paced my small office space, her shoes echoing nervously against the floor. She was getting louder with every word. “I didn't even know he had a daughter, much less one that was old enough to be a doctor.”

Whoa...

That's a plot twist I didn't see coming.

“A daughter?” I know the shock that was on my face mirrored hers.

“What does this mean for me, Andi? What does this mean about my job here?”

The look of panic on my face mirrors hers. "Hold on," I say, raising both hands to stop the runaway train of doom and gloom that’s speeding along at a breakneck pace. "Pump the breaks on the Crazyland Express. No one but me knows that you were seeing him." I try to sound as reassuring as possible, but I know Jennifer is the queen of jumping to worst-case scenarios. "There’s no reason to believe that you’re going to be canned." I know that the uncertainty is gnawing away at her, and it's only a matter of time before her impatience gets the better of her.

Her hands wring together as her eyes betray the chaos in her mind. "But what if she knows?" Her voice climbs an octave, hitting that pitch that usually makes dogs howl. "What if he told her about us?" The last word breaks apart, leaving her near-hysterical and on the verge of tears. She paces the small confines of my office like a wild animal, the echoes of her shoes ricocheting off the walls and slicing through the air with each step. Her nervous energy fills the space until I can barely breathe.

I lean back in my chair, the old leather creaking under my weight like a sigh. The afternoon light filters through my office window, casting golden shadows across the chaos of grooming supplies scattered on my desk. The scent of lavender dog shampoo mingles with the faint musk of wet fur that perpetually clings to everything in here. "Jenn, breathe." My voice is firm, but not unsympathetic. I reach for her hand to ease some of her frantic energy, but she slips away, worry draped over her like a second skin.

"Dr. Young was a private man. You said so yourself—he kept your relationship under wraps for a reason." I don’t know if my words reach her, if they register through the thick fog of anxiety clouding her mind.

Her pacing slows, but she’s still wound tight, every muscle tense and ready to spring. She stops mid-stride, her brown eyes glistening with unshed tears. "There's something else." The soft admission is followed by a pause, heavy with implications, each one more alarming than the last.

The knot in my stomach tightens, transforming into something cold and slithery. "What kind of something else?" My voice betrays my own dread. I watch her, the suspense stretching like a rubber band about to snap.

She opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again like a fish gasping for air. The silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating, filled with the distant sounds of Baxter cleaning kennels and the hum of the ancient air conditioning unit that's been threatening to die since I started working here. I notice her hand drifting down to her navel where it hovers, unsure.

"Jennifer, you're scaring me." I finally blurt out the words that have been dancing on the tip of my tongue.

"I'm late." The admission is so soft, so barely there, that I almost miss it. Her gaze falls to the floor, as if the linoleum tiles might offer some kind of answer or comfort. Her entire posture is that of defeat, shoulders drooping, legs wobbling like they might buckle beneath her. “Like, really late.” She pauses, uncertain, waiting for some kind of judgment or reaction.

My brain short-circuits, leaving me staring at her like she just announced she's secretly an alien from another planet.

"I think I'm pregnant." The words tumble out in a rush, so quiet I almost convince myself I imagined them. But the way her hands instinctively move to her still-flat stomach tells me everything I need to know.

Holy. Freaking. Hell.

ANDI

The Pine Creek Animal Clinic is my happy place. Every morning, I skip through those glass double doors and breathe in the distinctive blend of pet shampoo, disinfectant, and the occasional whiff of wet dog that somehow smells like home to me. Today is no different as I juggle my oversized tote bag (covered in tiny silver stars that catch the morning light) and a precarious cardboard tray holding three coffees.

"Morning, sunshine!" Jennifer calls from behind the reception desk, her dark curls bouncing as she waves enthusiastically. My best friend since third grade, when she defended my sparkly unicorn backpack against Tommy Wilson's ridicule. Some friendships are just written in the stars.

"I come bearing caffeinated gifts," I announce, sliding her caramel macchiato across the counter. "Extra whip, because it's Tuesday and Tuesdays deserve whipped cream."

Jennifer takes a grateful sip, leaving a perfect lipstick mark on the lid. "You are an angel sent fro