Page 65 of Fake It Till You Make It
A chorus ofheck yeahs,hee haws, andme toos rang out. Next thing she knew, she and the flowers were in Eli’s arms. Warm and, dare she think it, desired.
“That’s enough singing,” he whispered in her ear, swaying as the band started up with a slow dance song of lovers and turned-down lights. “We’ve got more kissing to do.”
Indeed, they did.
Chapter Seventeen
MIDWEEK HAD ARRIVEDwith a surge of post-wedding business for Calvary Vet. Amarie’s heroics on Ruth and Phoebe’s behalf had spread beyond Service. News of her investment partnership took on a new life. The added attention boosted the Calvary brothers’ bachelor auction bids, too. Donations poured in and the appointments slots filled as fast as Amarie opened the booking portal. Seemed folks wanted their pets examined by the Sexy Kitty Vet and his fierce assistant. He’d expanded their daily operations to include half-day Saturday clinics, and of course, more TikTok videos. They were saving Calvary Clinic, together.
Spending his day with Amarie made work easier. The nights with her under his roof, studying anatomy and textbooks, not each other, had morphed into cruel and unusual punishment. As her licensure exam date approached, Eli noticed she’d begun to second-guess her responses to questions she’d answered with ease weeks prior. Also, she’d polished her toenails twice in two hours, trading a French violet for a brighter heliotrope with pale-purple polka dots. While he’d mistaken it for vanity early on, he now understood she used self-care as a method to control anxiety.
They arrived home after six o’clock. He fed the animals and started dinner, while she sat cross-legged on his couch, her purple gel-ink pen perched over her notebook. Yep, notes by hand. Everything else, she became a computer cyborg who only spoke SEO optimization and keyword metadata, but notes needed to be old-school.
“How about R&B with dinner tonight?” Eli asked, popping a grape tomato in his mouth. He scrolled through his phone’s playlist, searching for a song to set the mood. Needing Amarie to feel wanted and relaxed in his space had grown in importance. It pleased him to do little things that brought a smile to her face—keeping Pepsi on ice for needed caffeine bursts, adding a cotton-ball dispenser and nail polish remover pads to his bathroom toiletries, and of course, a steady supply of his momma’s biscuits. Just for kicks, he’d tried to replicate the recipe a few times.
“I need to study.”
“Let’s do both. What are the three smallest bones in the body and their location?”
When Amarie didn’t answer, he kicked the refrigerator door closed with his foot. “A woman who does not respond doesn’t eat.”
“I’m number crunching, duh. Mere mortal, that’s you, will have to wait.”
“Your exam doesn’t accept excuses. Neither do I. The answer, please.” He added that last bit to soften the not-so-gentle nudge.
“The malleus, incus, and the stapes. All three are located in the middle ear.” She stuck out her tongue at him. “Happy now?”
“Actually, I’m kinda turned on.”
She rolled her eyes, but then she laughed. “You are a horndog.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“Stop distracting me,” she whined. “The auction has eight hundred and twenty-two financial supporters.”
Amarie had constructed a stepladder approach to get her started each day, reproducible patterns that, once engrained, she acted upon in an automated sequence. Intelligent and innovative, she’d developed a system for analyzing their social media campaign effectiveness with efficiency.
“Thanks to your social media prowess.” He dialed the stove back to a simmer under his pots.
“Oh,” she cooed, “talk dirty to me, Dr. Sexy Kitty.”
Pulling the baking dish from the oven, he placed the hot pan on a trivet. The caramelized sugar on his apple crisp smelled almost as sweet as Amarie—nah, not even close. “Keep that up and somebody’s not getting dessert.”
“Aw, no fair. The punishment doesn’t fit my crime. Oh, let me check our insights before I upload the video of you explaining some of the hidden dangers of pet food marketed as organic.”
He’d rediscovered his passion for teaching. Providing accurate animal care advice required research. Like Amarie, he found himself back in the books, crafting evidence-based medicine in everyday language. And educating against the ever-growing body of misinformation and at times dangerous trends circulating on social media.
“When it comes to calling me out of my name—I’m the judge and jury.”
“Meh.” She shrugged. “Would you change your mind if I told you…” She scribbled something on her pad. “Eli,” she paused, “the video of you at the wedding with the basket of kittens went viral,” she screamed. “We just broke the fifteen-thousand-dollar mark.”
Eli stilled, not quite believing his hearing. “Say that again.”
“We. Have. Received. Over. Fifteen thousand dollars from online donations and auction bids.” Amarie jumped to her feet, dancing, shouting, chanting, “We’re famous!” in her pretend megaphone. “And there’s more.”
“Stop holding out on me, woman.” There was a double meaning there. Eli would broach the subject of her spending the night, every night, in his arms, after dinner.
“#KittyKibbles cat food is following our page. The vice president of branding sent a private message. They want a meeting with the president of Calvary Veterinary Clinic. I’m adding them to the list.”
