I scoop the plump cat up in my arms. The way it purrs even louder in my hold confirms that this little fur ball is probably a pet that’s been abandoned or lost. The one animal hospital in Paia is less than a mile up the street from this beach. In my car, I make it in less than two minutes. When I burst through the doors of the clinic cuddling the injured cat against my chest, the receptionist behind the front desk peers at me over the top of her glasses with a suspicious stare. Clearly, she wasn’t expecting a bikini-clad woman wrapped in a beach towel to walk into the office today.

“So sorry to bother you, but I found this cat on the beach with its tail mutilated. I think he belongs to someone. He’s so friendly.”

The cat’s purr echoes in the tiny space. The receptionist must hear it, because she glances at the cat, her expression softening. “Let me see what I can do.”

After twenty seconds of typing on her computer, she looks back up at me. “Looks like Dr. Choi has a bit of time between appointments. We can squeeze you in right now. Follow me.”

We make our way down the hall to an exam room at the end. A good two dozen framed photos of cats adorn the walls of the room. I’m staring at a photo of kittens fast asleep in a basket of yarn when the receptionist tells me Dr. Choi will be by as soon as he’s done with an appointment. She shuts the door, and I set the cat on the exam table. Its green eyes dart around the room nervously. Chin scratches seem to soothe it though. It relaxes on the table, blinking slowly in appreciation of my pets. The door opens behind me and I turn around. When I see Callum decked out in blue scrubs, my eyes go wide.

“What the . . . You’re Dr. Choi?”

“What? No.”

“Then what . . . what in the world are you doing here?”

The shock of seeing him at a veterinary clinic rivals the shock of seeing him naked days ago. But it’s a different kind of shock. This sterile room is like a reset, taking us out of our usual environment of the beach and food trucks. It’s like we’re characters in a play, and instead of being nasty to each other like normal, we have to pretend to be civil.

He tugs at the hem of his scrub top. “I volunteer here a few mornings a week.”

“As a veterinarian?” I can’t hide my disbelief. If that’s the case, I hope he’s managed a better bedside manner than the lack of people skills he displays at his food truck.