Tom’s smile is broad when he arrives. He rocks back on his heels, looking at her, Cathy thinks perhaps flirtatiously. ‘In the back is a spayed German shepherd,’ she says, ignoring his expression. ‘She had a pyometra.’

‘Right, boss,’ he says. ‘Nice dress. Strange attire for a vet.’

‘I changed.’

‘For me?’

‘We need to check her obs.’

‘Okay,’ he laughs.

He’s in a pale denim shirt, sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows. She pauses, standing by the door to the recovery room. He stands right next to her, body heat emanating off him. He doesn’t kiss her, but his hand comes to her waist and his index finger curls around it, just for a second. ‘Okay,’ he says again.

She pushes open the door. The German shepherd still has the oxygen tube in, is lying on her side in her cage. ‘Looks worse than she is,’ Cathy says over her shoulder to him.

‘God,’ Tom says, looking shocked for the first time.

‘She’s really fine.’ Cathy kneels down and puts on a pair of gloves, easing the blue tube out of the dog’s mouth. ‘Right, then, Thomas,’ she says over her shoulder to him, ‘please can you get me a syringe out of’ – she points – ‘that drawer there.’

‘Yes, boss,’ he says easily, springing to his feet and passing it to her. ‘Next?’

‘That’s all for now,’ she says with a laugh. She draws up and injects painkillers and anti-inflammatories. The dog moans softly, and Cathy cups her face gently. ‘Okay, let’s give her a few minutes. Prescription duty for me. You – keep an eye on Bella.’ She points to the dog.

‘Absolutely, dog sitting,’ Tom says, settling down cross-legged in front of the cage. ‘The best job in the world.’

Cathy checks the prescription pile in the backroom and authorizes them one by one, but she keeps sneaking a look at Tom. She can see him through the little window, sitting diligently, intermittently stroking the dog’s head. He doesn’t check his phone, never looks around, never noses through their things. Just sits stroking the dog, exactly as she told him to.

He leans back on his hands the way he did at the baggage claim and Cathy’s heart turns over in her chest.

The prescriptions are almost finished, but she wants to go now. ‘All set,’ she says through the door to the recovery room.

‘Bella is in fine spirits,’ Tom says easily. ‘We’ve been chatting about all sorts.’ He dimples as he turns around to look at her.

‘Good,’ Cathy says, smiling back. She stretches out her hands to him to pull him up and suddenly his body is right against hers in the dimness of the recovery room. She leans back slightly, tilting up her head to him, wanting nothing more than to be completely enveloped by his smell, to have those lips on hers.

‘Cathy,’ he says, a note of mock admonishment in his voice. ‘What will Bella say?’

‘I don’t care,’ Cathy says, discarding every single thought about Verona, about how she shouldn’t get close to somebody new.