Chapter Eleven

Stella was the perfect amount of tipsy. Enough to give in to the temptation she buried daily and not chastise herself for it. But Zach took the choice away as he stepped back. The air grew cold and mortification washed over her, chasing away any traces of her buzz. Rejection was sobering. He held her gaze and she knew—she knew—he’d done the right thing and still, she wanted to storm out of the room and hug him in equal measure.

She turned toward the desk where she’d been trying to sort through the piles of paper. In just over a week, Zach Mason had made her life…breathable. She couldn’t muddle that by sleeping with him. Whoa. I was just taking a little taste. Just a kiss. No one said anything about sleeping. She snorted. If she ever got Zach in bed, she would not waste her time sleeping. But they weren’t going there. Because he was in the middle of pulling her business—which was her life—out of the quicksand.

“Why are you in here all alone, Doc?” She appreciated that he kept his distance and didn’t ask her to turn around.

“I need to clean this out. We need the space.” The fact that he’d slid into her practice with so much ease and made things smoother was tough to swallow. When her dad died, she’d promised herself she’d make him proud. Like she’d planned on doing when he was alive. Instead, he’d died, and she felt like she was the one buried.

“Why tonight? Why now? And where’d you get the whiskey?” His tone went soft and the room no longer felt cold.

She pointed to the shelf where she’d left it while going through her father’s textbooks. She’d never seen him open one, but they’d sat on those same shelves for as long as she could remember.

The sound of his feet shuffled across the room and then he was standing beside her, knees bent to see her face, whiskey in hand. “How much did you drink?”

She shrugged, her thoughts a little blurry. “Not enough. How’d you know it was whiskey?”

The smile he gave her made her insides feel just like the first shot of the aged malt. Warm and tingly. God. You must still be buzzed if you’re using the word tingly.

“A man goes without the finer things in life long enough, he learns to recognize them pretty easily.”

Her body was starting to feel heavy, and she was regretting her effort to sort through the mess her father had left behind. This one was literal, not financial. The man was a damn hoarder.

Zach screwed the cap onto the bottle and placed it on the desk. He surveyed the room, and Stella watched him. It was no hardship.

“You were gone a while,” she said.

Glancing at her, he nodded. “I have your money. Stopped by On Dec on the way home. Shit. I brought you food. Let’s go eat.”

He’d brought her food? For some unfathomable reason—probably the single malt whiskey—the fact that he’d thought of her, just that simple gesture, made her want to cry. She wouldn’t, but she’d hold on to that the way others would a kind word or embrace.

“We should have another shot first. Then it’ll be like I wasn’t drinking alone,” she said.

Zach lifted the bottle. “You don’t have a glass.”

She laughed, and heat zipped up her spine making her forget that she knew all about how workplace romances ended. Maybe they didn’t always crash and burn with a guy proposing just to avoid losing a good doctor, but still. It wasn’t wise. And you are? Yup. Older and wiser. “You too delicate to drink it out of the bottle?”

The lust she’d felt had been reflected tenfold in his gaze earlier, but now he just looked amused. It settled the temporary awkwardness she’d felt. Unscrewing the cap he’d just replaced, he took a quick swig. Stella watched his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. She had the urge to move in, go up on tiptoes, and press her mouth to the column of his neck. He lowered the bottle and passed it to her.

Looking up, swallowing down tears so she could choke down the whiskey, she whispered, “Happy birthday, Dad,” before taking a drink.

“It’s his birthday?” Zach asked, taking the bottle from her.

Stella nodded, staring at his chest. Setting the bottle beside her on the desk, he moved in, and without warning, yanked her into a hard hug.

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

All she could do was nod. Being sorry was as useless as tears. But that didn’t change the fact that she felt both.

Zach’s arms created more warmth than the alcohol. She gave herself one more minute of just letting it all go, and when it was up, she pushed back, away.

“You said you brought food?”

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he smiled. “And money.”

“Then you are definitely my favorite person today.” They shut the lights off and locked up, walking over the gravel, up to her farmhouse. It sat like a sentinel, watching over the land. White washed with nearly wraparound porches, it looked sturdier than it was. Kind of like you. There were repairs and renovations needed. Maybe, if things kept moving forward, she could take care of some of them.

The dogs greeted them with the enthusiasm of long lost friends. Zach laughed when Nacho jumped up, planting his paws right on his chest. It didn’t even cause him to step back.

“Down, Nacho. That would have knocked me over completely.” Stella laughed, even as the dog wagged his tail and dropped to all fours.

“I’m a little bigger than you,” he commented, walking toward the kitchen. Stella followed behind, enjoying the view. He was definitely bigger than her; he was bigger than a lot of people. But he moved with a gentleness that surprised her, like he knew his size alone could intimidate and wouldn’t want that.

Still feeling the brave that came with several shots, Stella poked him in the side. “Size isn’t everything.”

Zach turned—almost in slow motion—and looked down at her with more fire in his eyes than there was whiskey in her belly. When he stroked a hand down her hair, she nearly purred and leaned into it. Sometimes she was so damn tired of looking out for herself. It would be so easy to let him take over…just for tonight as he seemed to want to. But, she knew better than most that it wouldn’t last. Nothing did. And she wasn’t getting caught up in a whirlwind of emotion and sensation—no matter how great those sensations might be—just to have the proverbial rug ripped out from under her feet. No thanks. She was better off alone. Like you have a lot of choice there.

“You have more heart, despite your size, than most people I’ve met. If heart counts for size, you have me beat.”

Tears filled her eyes and she sniffled. It was strange, how he didn’t know her at all, but he knew exactly what to say to make her feel like herself again. Feeling that tug in her belly, the desire to be closer to him, she was about to give in, make another attempt at crossing a line she shouldn’t when he dropped his hand and stepped back.

“All right, food, water, and Tylenol, then you need to get some sleep.”

She opened one of the takeout bags and snagged a fry. “Pretty sure I don’t need a babysitter.” Taking the sleeve of fries out, she took the plate he handed her and went to the table.

“You do remember what tomorrow is, right?”

Sitting in one of her ladder-back chairs, she pulled her knee up to her chest and picked at the fries. She wasn’t all that hungry, but she appreciated his gesture, so she kept eating.

“Saturday.” It was usually one of their busiest days. Zach joined her at the table, his plate loaded with a couple of burgers and fries. He handed her a burger, but she shook her head.

“Brockton Days?”

Stella’s shoulders sagged. Shit. How had she forgotten about that? Because you have eight dozen other things on your plate.

“It’ll be fun. I’m excited.”

Rolling her eyes, she finished another fry. “Everyone and their dog, pig, or cat will be there. It’s a chaotic free for all.”

Taking a large bite of his burger, he grinned around it. “Come on. It’s a great opportunity to mingle with the locals and the businesses. Plus, there’s games and fried food. How bad can it be? I’ll win a big teddy bear for you. And this year, you won’t be alone at your booth.”

No. She wouldn’t be alone this year. And what about the next? Best not to think about that, since she still had this one to get through. She thought of a bright spot and grinned back at him.

“You’ll meet Charlie and Adam. That’s Megan’s fiancé and his son. He loves horses as much as you and I do. Charlie, not Adam.” She remembered the look of fear on Adam’s face the first time he’d climbed onto Chocolate Chip in an effort to show Megan how much he loved her. Would a man ever climb on a horse for her? Her brain was hitting that muddled point between loopy and maudlin.

“I look forward to it. I have to help my mom out as well. She signed me up for a couple of hours at different booths, but I’ll still be there to do animal checks with you.”

“Which booths?” She didn’t get a chance to wander the fair last year as she’d been busy helping her dad. It was a happy memory and made her smile.

Zach dragged a couple of fries through ketchup. “Dunk tank is one, but I’m hoping she was joking about the other.”

Stella simply stared and waited.

“I don’t remember there being a kissing booth,” he said, his voice rather grumbly.

Stella’s smile widened. “Oh, there most definitely is.” Just because she hadn’t wandered the fair didn’t mean she didn’t hear chatter. “Last year, Jeb Stanson punched Curtis Holden in the nose for kissing Sonja Winston.”

Zach leaned back in his chair. “Well, I doubt it’ll be that exciting this year.”

Zach had left immediately out of high school, and though Stella didn’t know what he’d looked like then, she was certain he’d changed, matured, and filled out. He might not think the booth would be exciting, but the women of Brockton Point—particularly the single ones—were going to double their contributions once they got a look at Doctor Zach Mason. Stella pushed her fries away, hoping it was the blend of alcohol on the heels of an emotional day causing her mixed feelings about Zach kissing someone.

“You look done, Doc. You should get to bed.”

You really should. Before you do something stupid and ask him not to make you go alone.

…

The Saturday sun greeted Stella several hours before she was ready. Dragging herself out of bed, into a shower, and cursing the invention of alcohol and sexy men who were also sweet, she dressed and went into the clinic. Zach, the show-off, was already there, looking way too happy for the hour and the pounding in her head.

“Morning,” he said, looking up from a file he had in his hands.

Stella mumbled something unintelligible and walked to the back room to gather the equipment they’d need for the day. They had two overnight guests. Mr. Wimbly, a gray tabby, and Prickles, a hedgehog. Their respective owners would be there shortly to pick them up. Stella opened Mr. Wimbly’s cage, and he yawned through a long meow.

“I feel you, buddy. Did you and Prickles have too much to drink, too?” He arched his back as she stroked his fur. When he lay down, batting at her fingers, she checked the incision site visually and was pleased to see he looked good and wasn’t licking.

When she turned, Zach was leaning on the wall watching her with a soft expression she couldn’t quite decipher. Her eyes went to the coffee in his hand and she considered tackling him. Her desperation must have shown because he laughed, pushed off the wall, and handed it over.

She appreciated that he didn’t try to make conversation before she was ready. They loaded her Cherokee with supplies: pamphlets, treats, training mats, toothbrushes, and signage her father had made years ago that could definitely use some updating. The fairgrounds at the north end of Brockton Point, overlooking the water, not far from where Zach owned property, had held the festival for over twenty years. It was as much a part of the town as the rocky landscape.

Local vendors, food trucks, artists, and anyone with wares to peddle was there, setting up their booths. She drove her Cherokee to the spot she’d been assigned, and she and Zach worked in tandem. A table was provided for them to set up their display items and without a word, they agreed on placement and product choices.

Zach adjusted the signs he’d attached to the table. Stella was thinking about the day she’d spent with her dad last year. He’d been trying to get her to open up about her breakup while she’d dodged most of the questions.

“Hey, you okay?”

Stella glanced over, her head feeling clearer than it had earlier. “I’m good. Thanks for the fries and burgers last night. I don’t think I said that.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll have the money in your account by midweek, so while I’m kissing strangers, you should think about us making things more permanent,” he said, his lips tipped up in a quirky smile.

“No wonder you’re single,” his mom said, coming up behind him. She had a clipboard in one hand and a ball cap on her head, along with an official looking badge that read: Staff.

Stella was positive Sheila would have cuffed his head if she could reach it. Just her tone made Stella smile.

“Hey, Mom,” Zach said in a monotone voice that just made Stella’s grin bigger.

“Hi.” She arched her neck so he could kiss her cheek and the warmth filling Stella’s chest had nothing to do with whiskey or the aftereffects of it.

Sheila patted his arm and then came to Stella, arms open. “You’re not just Chuck’s vet anymore,” she said, referring to her dog and pulling Stella into a hug. Apparently, the Masons were huggers.

When Stella pulled back, she looked at Zach. “I never even thought for your mom’s to be one of the files I passed over to you, but I will.”

Zach’s grin was quick and cheeky. “No way. She’ll make me work for free.”

Laughing, she waved to one of the vendors across the way. “Pretty sure that’s what I’m paying you, too.”

“Okay,” Sheila said, consulting her clipboard. “I have you on the kissing booth at two. Traffic tends to be heaviest around then. You can go from there to the dunk tank.” Sheila smiled at her son and then looked at Stella. “I’m sure Zach could cover you if you want to take part in another booth. Maybe the kissing booth? It might be our moneymaker this year.”

She started to laugh and say no, but Zach cut her off with a sound that was a cross between a grumble and a growl.

“That is not a good idea.”

Both women stared at him, and though she had no intention of letting Brockton’s selection of grumpy old men donate a dollar a kiss, she arched her brows and crossed her arms over her chest.

“And why is that?”

His mouth opened and closed. Then he looked at his mother and communicated his dislike of the idea with just his eyes. Stella was partially amused. And a little…pleased. So he didn’t want her to kiss someone? Interesting. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who felt something last night. She didn’t think she was, but most men would have given in to the moment and kissed her. Not Zach. So maybe the thought of her kissing someone else got under his skin. You don’t need to be anywhere near his skin! What do you care if he cares? He’s your part— Oh my God, no he’s not. He’s your colleague. Nothing more. Nothing less. He just happened to be the one who held her when she felt like she might fall apart, the one who brought her dinner because he was thinking of her, the one who called her on her attitude and made her laugh.

“I’m going to grab some donuts and coffee before people show up.” Zach stalked off toward Food Row.

Sheila turned her body and regarded Stella with a curious gaze. “I’m happy enough he’s home to stay. Understand that. There’s nothing like being thousands of miles away from your child. It sucks in ways you can’t possibly imagine. Knowing he was that far away, originally, because he was hurting after the loss of his friend only made it worse. So having him home is a dream come true. Literally. But now you’ve given him roots when he’s been floating around trying to figure out where to land. That’s icing on the cake. But the way he’s looking at you? The respect I have for you and had for your father? That would be an entire tub of whip cream on top of what is already the most delicious dessert a mother could ask for.”

Stella rounded the table, touched and concerned. “Sheila, Zach and I are colleagues. I don’t know what you saw, but we’re just…friends. I’m grateful to him and I think…” She stopped, staring in the direction Zach had gone. She hadn’t admitted this to him yet, but she looked at his mom and shared her thoughts. “I think it’s going to be a really good long-term match.” Which meant anything other than friendship and a working relationship was out of the question.

Zach’s mom gave her a look that Stella couldn’t quite decipher, but she thought it held a bit of amusement. Shaking her head, she squeezed her arm and tapped her clipboard. “I’ll catch up with you later, sweetie. Hope your day goes well.”

Stella busied herself with moving things around the table, only to put them back where they’d started. Sinking into the metal folding chair, she looked around at the other people rushing around. Laughter rang out, along with some hammering and the hum of many voices. She’d almost given this up. Even without her father, it felt right to be part of this age-old event. But there’d been a moment, when she thought she’d found her forever, that she’d considered not coming home. The idea never sat right, and when she’d pushed her fiancé to see her point of view, he’d shared his own.

He’d shattered her heart and her confidence, telling her that he had never wanted to marry her. That he thought they were a good match, good partners, and he liked sleeping with her. Who the hell said that? He liked sleeping with her? She’d nearly smacked him for that one, and then it registered that they’d never wanted the same things, and she’d almost given up all she’d worked for and thrown it away on a once-respected mentor turned crush turned so much more. She knew the rumor around town was that she had been left standing at the altar, but like most small-town gossip, it was only partially rooted in truth. There’d been no altar. Just a broken engagement and stone wall built around Stella’s heart.

She’d gotten in her car that afternoon and while driving, she realized not only was she not that person for him, she might never be that for anyone. Learning that mixing business and pleasure meant when one ended, so did the other had been a lousy side effect.

“You’re thinking way too hard, Doc,” Zach said, setting coffee and a large honey crueler in front of her. As if on cue, her stomach growled.

“Thanks,” she said, not looking up. He had this weird ability to see too much and she wasn’t sure what her gaze would reveal just now.

“So, was it busy last year?” Zach took the chair beside her and they settled into an easy conversation that chased away the bad memories and useless regrets. When people started showing up, coming by with their pets to get free advice and samples, everything else fell away. They worked well, side by side, agreeing on many of the same tips and suggestions. When it was time for Zach to head to the kissing booth, Stella almost asked him not to go. Instead, she pulled her bag out from under the table and unzipped it.

“You’re not even going to wish me luck?” Zach’s grumpy look matched how Stella was feeling, but she just shook out the T-shirt she pulled from her bag and grinned.

“Aw. You want me to feel sorry for you because a gaggle of women are going to be throwing money down to kiss you? No way. But, since you’ll be the center of attention, we should advertise.”

She held up the shirt that read: Lane Veterinary Clinic. Zach’s scowl deepened, and he grabbed the shirt, tugging it out of her hand.

“Is gaggle even a word?”

She bit her lip, trying not to smile. “Pretty sure it is, but I could be wrong. It might be you’ll have a horde of women.”

“Is that more than a gaggle?” He yanked off his T-shirt, revealing washboard abs—the kind she’d only read about—and rendered her speechless. She stared at the sculpted flesh, imagined running her fingers up over the curves and lines.

Her lips parted, and her breathing slowed. Not her heart though. It revved up like she’d pulled a string and set it free. She’d obviously seen a six pack before, and she knew he had great arms, but good God, he should have given her a warning. Given everyone a warning. Just a heads up or a hey, I’m about to make you salivate. He tugged the other shirt over his head and she immediately missed the sight of those cut abs and defined pecs. He had a light dusting of chest hair, the same color as his head, but not nearly as thick and she wondered if it was soft.

“You don’t close your mouth, something might fly in,” Zach said. He walked over to the table, tossing his shirt on the chair where he’d been sitting. When he leaned down, into Stella’s breathing space, she slammed her lips together.

“There you go. You okay, Doc?”

She nodded, her eyes narrowing because there was no way—humble or not—that he didn’t know how mouthwateringly good he looked. Unless he’d never seen a mirror. Or looked down. Jesus.

“You going to come by and pay for a kiss?” His words were teasing and husky and snapped her out of her ab-induced trance.

Stepping back, she laughed too loud to sound natural. “You wish.”

His eyes heated, going darker. “If you change your mind, I’ll give you a good deal.”

He was out of her line of vision by the time her pulse returned to normal. Normal. Ha! She wasn’t even sure what that looked like anymore.