Cynda and the City Doctor: 50 Loving States, Missouri (QUARANTALES Book 1)

by Theodora Taylor

  He bowed his head. But to his credit, he admitted, “Yes, that’s exactly what I wanted. I didn’t want to desire you the way I did. Especially knowing what would be expected of me once my fellowship concluded. But Cynda, you magnetized me. From the first moment I saw you, I knew it was you and only you that I wanted. In truth that was why I acted so coldly toward you in the beginning. You were the attraction I couldn’t resist.”

  “Well, you got me,” I answered with a bitter smile. “At least for one night. Enjoy the rest of your life with Svetlana.”

  “Ingrid,” he corrected. “And I’m sorry, Cynda. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about her. That was wrong of me.”

  “That’s alright. I know now,” I answered, my voice hard. But the truth was, the longer we stood there, the harder it was becoming to act like a big girl. All unbothered. Like these were just dating games that people play.

  “No, it’s not alright,” he answered, his voice as soft as mine is hard. “I know…I know I hurt you. I would have been enraged if you had a fiancé and he had shown up the way Ingrid had.”

  My heart soured at his empathy, wishing what he said wasn’t true. I liked being easy breezy Nurse America. The pretty girl who flitted into guys’ lives and ghosted right back out of them when they did something I didn’t like. And I definitely wasn’t one of those women who equated sex with love.

  But this was different somehow. Finding out Rhys had a fiancée had cut me deep. And I hadn’t quite recovered. It had been weeks since the confrontation in Rhys’s apartment, but I hadn’t so much as flirted with another guy.

  In fact, my last monthly call with Billie and Gina had verged on boring. Usually, I had a tale or two to regale them with. This month’s episode of Cynda and the (mid-sized and not nearly as glamorous) City. But for some reason, I hadn’t been able to bring myself to talk about Rhys. So Gina and I had ended up listening to Billie’s scintillating report on her challenging course load for her accounting degree.

  I hadn’t brought him up. Hadn’t allowed myself to dwell on him.

  Rhys had hurt me. Really hurt me. And admitting that made my stomach crumple in for a second. But only for a second.

  “Okay, fine, I understand. But understanding doesn’t mean forgiving.” I took my arm back. “So see you later.”

  I started up the steps with no plans to give him another second of my time.

  But then he yelled out behind me, “I ended things with Ingrid. I called off our engagement because I only want to be with you.”

  Don’t stop. Keep walking, I told myself. No good can come from you messing around with this White boy who was just engaged to a Swedish bikini model a minute ago.

  But my feet didn’t seem to be on the same wavelength as my brain. They froze me in place on the top step. And then the next thing I knew, I was turning around.

  “Really?” I asked him with my heart beating in my throat.

  “Yes, really.” His reserved expression softened. “I don’t want her. I want you. Only you. Now the true question is, do you want me back, Cynda?”

  I thought about saying no. But before I could come up with a particularly Cool Cynda to pull that rejection off, my body betrayed me. Yep, straight up betrayal. That was the only explanation for why I went flying back down the stairs and into his arms.

  No, I didn’t meet up with my roommate and her girlfriend that night. Instead, I invited Rhys up to my apartment for some make up sex.

  And somehow we just never stopped making up. I still didn’t do boyfriends, but I liked Rhys. A lot. He was fine, funny, easy to get along with, and freaking fantastic in bed. Hard as I tried, I just couldn’t think of any reason to ghost him. So spring passed into summer and then came fall. Then the next thing I knew it was time to go home.

  “It’s just a stupid anniversary thing,” I explained to Rhys the morning before my flight. I was at his place, rushing around and trying to throw everything I’d taken off last night into my overnight bag before my Uber arrived. “I swear Rachel is only doing this second wedding mess for gifts and attention. I don’t even want to go—have you seen my other Dansko? I can’t find it anywhere.”

  Which was crazy, because Rhys’s apartment was a combination of grey, white, and black, and my Dansko was a glittery purple. You’d think it would stand out like…well, a glittery purple thumb.

  “Why am I just now hearing about this trip that will take you away from me for a whole weekend?” Rhys demanded.

  “I dunno,” I answered, dropping to my knees to look for the shoe under the bed. “Maybe because we were too busy doing other stuff last night…and this morning. Which is why I’m now running late for my flight.”

  I shined my phone’s flashlight underneath the bed but no shoe there either.

  “If you told me I could have requested the weekend off as well,” Rhys said when I gave up the search and rose to my knees. “Kept you company at this supposedly horrendous event.”

  I looked up at him, and that was a mistake. He was sitting up in the bed I’d abandoned. And it had been so hot in St. Louis that fall, he only had one thin white sheet covering the special unit of magical anatomy I’d secretly dubbed the “The Real Prince.”

  “Oh, all I want to do is stay here and have brunch with you,” I admit, making a little heart with both hands.

  For the first time since I announced I was leaving, Rhys finally cracked a smile. “Then why don’t—”

  “But I can’t and it’s just a weekend,” I answered before he could finish that thought. “Plus, small town Missouri don’t play. If I bring a White boy home, there will be all sorts of questions and situations I’d have to prepare you for.”

  I scooted over to the bed on my knees to kiss him goodbye. “Plus, an expectation of marriage. And I know Rachel will assume I’m trying to take the spotlight on her second big day. And after Daddy got over you not being Black, he would spend the entire time telling you about how Guadalajara was such a great place to raise kids with its low crime and friendly neighbors. All because he’s trying to convince you to move to Guadalajara so he won’t have to sell out to DBCare.”

  Rhys frowned. “So your father doesn’t like DBCare either?”

  “No, my small town doctor father doesn’t have a lot of nice things to say about the international medical conglomerate whose main mission in life seems to be replacing doctors in clinics and small practices with nurse practitioners and a bunch of insurance forms.”

  Rhys tilted his head with an unreadable look. “I don’t believe that’s their main mission in life. They’ve also the major chain of pharmacies along with their popular clinics which provide loads of patients with easy and affordable access to healthcare.”

  “If someone was going to a free clinic and DBCare took over, how is ‘not free’ affordable?” I started to demand. But then I cut myself off.

  “See,” I say. “It would be a huge argument between you and my dad. Which would make it even more uncomfortable when he tried to convince you to take over his practice—Rachel’s been on him to retire so that they can travel more. Like she doesn’t have two kids still in school. But anyway, trust me when I say you do not want any of this hometown business. It’s so not worth the aggravation.”

  He opened his mouth to answer, but I kissed it closed before he could. And as I did, both my phone and watch vibrated at the same time.

  “Sorry.” I gave him an apologetic smile after glancing at my Apple Watch. “I’ve got to go. Let me know if you find my shoe, okay?”

  “Will you come back for it if I do?” he asked as I zipped up my bag and rushed toward the door.

  “Bye Rhys!” I answered with a light laugh as I opened the door.

  “Cynda.”

  My name stopped me, just as I was about to head out.

  “The Uber’s here,” I reminded him, turning back around.

  But he continued to sit there, so upright and regal, that he put me in mind of a king on his throne, even though he was naked and in bed.


  And it felt like a decree when he said, “You may go home this weekend, but when you return, come straight back to me.”

  Fear banded around my heart. And for some reason, a picture of my mom dying in her hospital bed flashed across my mind.

  Which is why it felt like one of the bravest things I’d ever done when I agreed, “Okay. See you Monday.”

  “See you Monday,” he answered, his gaze steady on me.

  But as it turned out, that was a promise I didn’t keep.

  Chapter Ten

  You’d think having on masks would make things less awkward. No reason to talk if your mouth is covered.

  But somehow we manage a silence so rife and tense, it feels like we’re driving inside a powder keg about to explode.

  About an hour in, I decide to just go’on ahead and light a match. “So you’re here with no wedding ring on. Guess you decided not to get back with Ingrid.”

  “I didn’t decide anything,” he answers, his voice clipped and tight. “Calling off our engagement so that I could be with you razed that bridge.”

  Solid burn. But I feel obligated to point out, “We were only together for a few months. She probably would have taken you back. Did you even try?”

  A sour beat. Then: “No.”

  I can’t see his mouth, but I’d bet money he’s grinding his teeth beneath that mask.

  “You should,” I tell him. “Just say ‘Ingrid, baby, I messed up. I never should have left you for that Cynda. She turned out to be a real bitch.”

  Rhys doesn’t answer, but I sense him trying not to smile.

  “Do you have a girlfriend at least?” I ask. “Somebody who will be joining you for your Guadalajara house hunt?”

  “No,” he answers, his voice tight. “I travel a lot for my job. I didn’t have time for a relationship. I like it by the way…”

  “You like traveling so much you don’t have time for relationships?” I ask. “Then why did you settle down here.”

  “No, I like your hair. It looks good short like that. It really frames your face.”

  Memories of how he used to complain about my long ponytail extension float into my mind. And my body burns, remembering how he used to hold it in a vice grip sometimes. Supposedly so that it wouldn’t whip in his face. But the way he held on to me as he took me had made the sex that much hotter.

  I clear my throat and somehow manage a weak, “Thank you.”

  I’m going to have to have a little talk with my heart after we get back home. With just a few months until I’ll be moving to the East Coast, there’s no reason at all it should be beating faster. Especially considering that this guy fired me. From my own father’s practice!

  But something inside won’t let me not ask, “So you used to travel a lot for your job and now you’ve settled down in boring Guadalajara, Missouri. Why though?”

  “You made it sound rather bucolic, didn’t you? Friendly neighbors. Little crime. Perfect place to raise a family. Isn’t that what you said your father would have told me?”

  That is what I said. Exactly what I said.

  “Is that what you want now? To settle down and raise a family?” My heart tightens at the thought of him doing just that. But with somebody else.

  “I…” he glances at me. But then his eyes swing away like he’s been stung. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  Fair enough. But all joking aside, I feel honor bound to tell him, “I am sorry about leaving the way I did. I didn’t know how to explain things to you…”

  “I get it,” he says quietly. “A has told me a bit about his mother. It sounded like the twins needed you.”

  “Yes, they did. If not for them, I would have come back to St. Louis and our relationship maybe would have come to a less abrupt conclusion.”

  He’s quiet for a long time. So long, I’m thinking the conversation part of the ride is over. But then he says, “It was only six months. We weren’t there yet.”

  “No,” I agree, shaking my head relieved. “I’m glad you understand.”

  “I do. I do understand,” he answers.

  “That’s great.” I glance over at him with a hopeful smile. “So…can I have my job back?”

  His expression becomes harder over his mask. “Understanding doesn’t mean forgiveness."

  Whoa. Nice callback. I’d be impressed if we were talking about anything other than my livelihood.

  Needless to say, there isn’t any more conversation for the rest of the ride.

  I had a plan in mind to stop at a few of the other farmers on the Saturday rounds list after we checked in on Mavis. Basically hold the English doctor hostage while we visited each farm.

  But by the time we get out of the car at Mavis’s little farm, I’ve revised that plan to only go see Harold about his toe thing. An hour and a half in the car with Rhys is already more time alone with him than I want to spend.

  Yet, I can’t help but side-eye him as he gets out of the car. And not in a bad way either.

  Seriously, why does he have to still be so fine?

  I quickly gained fifteen pounds without a breakneck speed job to keep me on my feet all day. But it looks like he’s been spending even more time at the gym. His t-shirt clings to his lean muscles, and somehow he manages to look official doctor in workout clothes.

  If anything Rhys has glowed up. He’s The Even Finer Prince now. And sure, he’s dressed completely inappropriate for a home visit, but I can already tell Mavis won’t mind.

  But, ugh. Not the right thoughts to be having about the bitter ex-lover who clearly still hates me.

  I speed my steps to go up the porch ahead of him. That’s better. I appreciate no longer having to look upon his Fine Prince radiance as I knock on the door.

  I frown when no one answers my knock.

  “Perhaps she isn’t home.”

  Logical guess, but no. Her truck is sitting in front of the farm. There’s also an RV, and other than a light film of dust, it looks brand new.

  “She might be around back, working.” I jog down the steps, trusting him to follow me.

  “Mavis! Mavis, you out here?” I call as I come around the edge of the farm….

  Only to stop cold at the sight of Mavis’s body, collapsed by a double set of storm cellar doors on the ground.

  I’m three years removed from Raines-Jewish, but I guess there’s still an ER Nurse embedded inside of me. I rush over and I have the vinyl gloves pulled on by the time I drop down beside her.

  “Mavis! It’s Cynda,” I say, pressing my fingers into her neck.

  Her pulse is weaker than I’d want it to be, but it’s there.

  Her eyes come open. Also good. But she’s disoriented and audibly wheezing. Not good. I do and old-fashioned hand test on her forehead and inwardly curse. She’s burning up.

  Still, she looks over my shoulder and manages to ask, “Is that the handsome doctor everybody’s talking about? I don’t want him to see me like this. I don’t have on my wig.”

  I’d laugh if her voice didn’t sound so wheezy and frail. “It’s okay, Mavis, we just want to get you taken care of. Lie still.”

  “Can you at least go inside and fetch my wig?” Mavis asks, pitifully trying and failing to rise up.

  “There’s no need for a wig, Mavis.” Rhys drops to his knees on the other side with a pair of vinyl gloves also on his hands. He must have gotten them out of dad’s bag. “I much prefer women without them. And you’re beautiful either way. Now can you tell me what happened?”

  He holds a hand out and I pass him Dad’s stethoscope, then wipe down the infrared thermometer to do a real temperature check.

  104. Dammit!

  “Oh, I got this fever real bad and it just wouldn’t shake. But I didn’t have a cough so it ain’t that Rona!” Mavis is telling Rhys. She’s gasping between every other word. “Last thing I remember is deciding to come down to the storm cellar. That’s what my ma used to do for us when we got sick as children to cool us off.”


  I quickly relay Mavis’s temperature to Rhys, along with her history of COPD.

  Rhys nods toward the car, and I nod back in full agreement. “Okay, Mavis,” I say, helping her to her feet. “We’re going to drive you to the hospital now.”

  “No, just get me a glass of cold water—,” Mavis cut off when she gets a good look at Rhys as he takes a hold of her on her other side. “Lord, he fine. Cynda, girl, get my wig! I don’t want him…”

  She’s so breathless, she can’t even finish that sentence.

  “How long have you had this fever, Mavis?” Rhys asks.

  “Don’t know…day or two, maybe. Felt off during the Sunday sermon… but it’s not the Rona, I’m tellin’ ya.”

  Rhys and I exchange a look. Sunday was seven days ago.

  She’d had the fever for nearly a week straight.

  It was almost most definitely the Rona.

  “All right, then, Mavis, we’re going to drive you to the hospital now,” Rhys tells the little old lady.

  So no other Saturday rounds like I’d imagined.

  Instead, I end up driving as fast as I can back to the hospital in Guadalajara while Rhys monitored Mavis in the back seat.

  “So handsome,” Mavis says. She’s now wheezing between every word. “I…kissed…a…White…boy…once. He…wasn’t…as…good-locking…as…you.”

  She sounds so bad and we still have over half an hour until we get there.

  “Mavis stop talking,” I call over my shoulder. “You need to conserve your energy.”

  I press down even further on the gas, hating that I can’t get it to go any faster.

  “What a coincidence,” Rhys answers. “I kissed a Black girl once and she wasn’t nearly as good-looking as you.”

  Mavis’s laugh is a weak bird that can’t quite fly. But she manages to say, “You…funny…and…fine.”

  “Mavis!” I yell, my voice shrill. “I know he’s stupid hot. But we’re still thirty minutes out and you’re not going to make it if you keep wasting your breath on Dr. Prince. Please, please. Just be quiet…”

  I don’t realize I’m crying until I fail to finish that sentence and the road blurs.