Chapter Text
It wasn't how he'd intended to return to Honnleath—but, then, when had his life ever gone as he'd planned?
It was a bit overwhelming, the reality of the end of years of study and a shiny new certification, and Cullen could feel his head spinning as he followed Dr. Amell—"Call me Solana."—out of her office. By the time they'd made their way out of the administrative building and onto the grounds proper of the Hope for Tomorrow campus, though, he was able to focus more on her words and less on his nerves, and found her to be an entertaining tour guide who peppered the tour with anecdotes and wry humor that reminded him of his eldest sister.
He was unable to keep from admiring the facility as they walked; nestled in the hills outside of Honnleath, its twenty acres were filled with a variety of buildings—hopefully he'd remember which she pointed out for each purpose—and recreational areas. Patients were scattered across the area, engaged in everything from quietly staring at the sky to what appeared to be a rousing game of volleyball; it was easy to forget the troubles that had brought them there, to view it as a simple retreat.
Solana stopped often to introduce him to passing staff or discuss areas of particular interest, and the hour they'd planned for came and went well before they'd completed the tour. Cullen's nerves had long since settled, and he was chuckling at a story about the time the center's intake coordinator got treed by a deer when something large hit his shoulders and pushed to plant him face-first in the grass. A cold, wet nose snuffled through his hair as he struggled to dislodge the weight pinning him.
"Oh, Maker—I'm so sorry! Beowoof, that was very inappropriate. Let the poor man up."
The weight left his back and Cullen levered himself off the ground, plucking a few blades of grass from his mouth as he turned to find a woman shaking her finger at a mabari whose backside was wiggling furiously despite the sorrowful set of its ears.
"Dr. Rutherford, this is Evelyn Trevelyan, our animal-assisted therapist."
The woman—Evelyn—must've noticed the reflexive quirk of his eyebrow, as she smiled, red lips curved in a wry line. "It's a family name. Most people just call me Evie." She extended her hand, shaking his with a firm grip when he clasped it. "You've already met Beowoof." She released Cullen's hand to scratch behind the mabari's ear. "Apologize to Dr. Rutherford, Woof."
"That's not nec—" Cullen began, but cut off when Beowoof nudged his hand, then held up a paw. Bemused, Cullen shook it as well, then patted his broad head. "No harm done. And Cullen is fine. My name, I mean. Not Dr. Rutherford." Maker, did he always have to stutter around attractive women?
"Cullen," she repeated, and her low voice lit something warm in his belly. "Solana, could you let me know when you have a moment? I have an idea I'd like to discuss."
"Of course. Shall we, Dr. Rutherford?" Solana tilted her head toward the path. "We're almost done, then you can settle in."
"Oh, yes." Cullen took a step, then turned back. "It was a pleasure, Evie."
"I'll see you around, Cullen," Evie said and gave a small wave, then left in the opposite direction as Beowoof trotted at her side.
Solana's delicate throat-clearing made Cullen flush, and when he faced her he found a knowing smile on her lips. "Staff housing isn't segregated, by the way; we share living spaces, so we get to know each other quite well."
"That's good to know," he said helplessly, and ignored her little laugh as they resumed the tour. She and Mia would definitely get along, he decided—a strangely comforting thought, familiarity in the new. Now, if only his cheeks would stop burning.