“I’m definitely not Mrs. Winkle,” I said, jumping off my stool and crossing to him.
“Obviously,” he answered with a twinkle in his eyes. Fudge, the kryptonite had a twinkle.
“Dr. Campbell, right?” I asked, and he nodded his head. “I’m Chloe, Chloe Patterson?”
“Nice to meet you Chloe, Chloe Patterson,” he replied, tilting his head at me, looking a little confused as he took the hand I offered.
“From the email? Lou told me I should stop by and introduce myself.”
“Thanks, Lou,” he murmured, shaking my hand.
“He thought you might have some advice for me about setting up here in town.”
“Setting up here in town?” he repeated, still shaking my hand.
“Our Gang. He wants to set up an operation somewhere up north, and he was considering Santa Cruz or Salinas until I suggested Monterey. I just got into town last night and—”
“—had dinner at Spencer’s Grill,” he interrupted. Still shaking the hand.
“Yes, yes that’s right,” I replied, going a little starry-eyed. But I quickly rallied. “Were you there?” I asked, not so much fluttering my eyelashes as just blinking once or twice. Rapidly.
Still shaking hands—just a reminder.
“I was there. In fact, I could have sworn you saw me too. In the mirror?” he pressed, a knowing grin on his face.
I blinked my wide eyes, but my blush gave me away.
“I may have seen you,” I allowed, and his eyes danced. Dancing and twinkling. I was in trouble here. “I was exhausted; I’d just driven all the way from San Diego.”
“To set up your operation. Not in Salinas or Santa Cruz.”
“Exactly. So, think I could pick your brain a bit sometime?”
“Absolutely,” he answered, squeezing my hand firmly. Because we were still shaking the hands.
“Chloe?” I heard from the door. Another tall man, with silver hair and welcoming smile, dressed in a suit and tie, white lab coat, and a name tag that said Dr. Campbell.
I nodded my confused head.
“Hi, Chloe, I’m Dr. Campbell. Lou said you might be stopping by, but I didn’t expect you so soon. I see you’ve already met my son, Lucas.”
“Nice to meet you, Chloe,” Lucas said, finally letting go of my hand. “Well, I’ve got to see a poodle about some quarters,” he said, meeting my eyes one more time.
“I think the Winkles are in exam seven,” the elder Dr. Campbell said.
“Could have sworn Marge told me I needed to go to six,” Lucas said, which was confirmed a second later by Marge herself as she breezed down the hallway in a cloud of Jean Naté.
“I did tell you exam six. I needed someone to keep Chloe company until your dad was ready for her,” she called over her shoulder.
“Could’ve clued me in, Marge,” Lucas shot back.
To which Marge responded, “Now where’s the fun in that?”
“She’s got me there.” Lucas looked back at me and I shot him a knowing glance, which made him unleash that killer grin once more.
“Um, son? The Winkles in seven?” Dr. Campbell nudged.
“On it. Nice to meet you, Chloe. You’ll have to tell me all about this operation you’re setting up; sounds fascinating.”
Then he was gone and I was ushered into Dr. Richard Campbell’s office, where we did indeed discuss the possibilities of opening up another Our Gang in Monterey. And while we talked, I didn’t think about how great Lucas’ butt looked in his scrubs. And by didn’t, I mean only for a little while.
Dr. Campbell had a wealth of knowledge. He worked with pit bull rescue all over California, and was instrumental in helping towns get rid of the laws that made it illegal to own dogs like pit bulls. He also donated his services to provide free medical care to some of the dogs pulled out of the fighting rings that were a popular pastime for very sick and cruel people.
He thought it was a great idea to open up an Our Gang here, and with some of his close friends being county supervisors, he was confident that the approval wouldn’t be a problem.
I left his office feeling like a plan was literally taking shape before my eyes. On my way out, I stopped at the front desk to say good-bye to Marge.
“Thanks for making the meeting with Dr. Campbell happen this morning,” I told her as she sorted folders at a dizzying pace.
“Which Dr. Campbell are you referring to?” she asked with a coy smile.
I raised an eyebrow. “The father, of course.”
“And the son?” she asked, raising her own eyebrow. Oh boy.
“You’re a little bit wicked, aren’t you, Marge?”
“Only a little bit?” she asked, and I laughed out loud. This woman was a trip. “So Lou mentioned that you just moved into town from San Diego, is that right?”
Whoa. Subject change. “Well, I wouldn’t say I’ve moved into town. Visiting would be the right word.”