by Emily Childs
She laughs. “Doctor Dumb?”
“If you dumped him, I figured it’s okay to give him a nickname.”
“Maybe he dumped me.”
“Did he?” My voice is all wrong. Like a growl. Hopefully she doesn’t notice.
“No,” she admits. “You don’t want to hear all this.” She rummages through my cupboards, and I like the look of it. She finds a plastic bag to store some of the leftovers. It’s strange how we’ve slipped into a comfortable dance in my kitchen like we do this all the time.
“Maybe I do,” I say and flip around, so my back is against the counter.
She sighs and rolls her eyes again. “You’re a stubborn man. Fine, if you must butt your nose into my business, Dot officially offered me a night position at the clinic. I told Emmitt about it and he . . . was less than enthusiastic.”
“Why would he care? Seems like he’d be thrilled to have you back at medical care since he’s a doctor.”
Jo’s lips tighten until they’re a thin, pale line. “Not if it’s family practice.”
“I’m not following.”
“Emmitt thinks family practice is simple, brainless medical care. Specializing—you know, the brain, lungs, the heart, that’s where real prestige comes from,” she says. “He thinks it’s going to distract me from my pediatric cardiac certification exam I’ve been working toward.”
“Do you think clinics like Dot’s are simple, or whatever?”
Jo shakes her head. “Not at all.” She leans against the other counter, mimicking my stance. “Family practice is where I always thought I’d work, actually.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Emmitt and I have goals together. Had goals together. Cardiac care was important to reach them. He’s so close to a cardiology fellowship. To him it was important to be unified.”
I bark a laugh, unintentionally, but I can’t help it. “That’s stupid.” She gives me an incredulous look. “Sorry, but come on Jo, are you admitting that you’re specializing in something you don’t want to do all because this guy wants to be some hot-shot cardiologist?”
“Specializing is difficult and together we could’ve helped each other.”
“But you don’t like it. The more you talk about it, the more I can see that.”
“Look, family practice is great, but my options open up with specialized endorsements, so do his.”
“Then why did you break up with him?”
She opens her mouth to speak but pauses. “I guess it felt like the right thing to do. He said some things that were hurtful about the decision, and I don’t know, I guess it broke the camel’s back. I think we’ve been drifting for a while now.”
I fight to keep my tone even. It’d be a jerk move if I sound too happy over her heartache. “Well, now you can really decide what you want to do, right? No one in your ear telling you what career suits you best. We work too long in life, so it makes it easier if we’re doing something we love.”
“Good philosophy, where’d you hear that? Oh my gosh, Zachariah, are you a podcaster? Admit it, you do the self-help podcasts.”
“I like podcasts,” I say and take a step closer. “But no. That little tidbit is from my dad. He always told me that.”
“Oh,” she mutters. “Sorry.”
“For what? It’s true. Do what you love to do, or the days will be long and dull, in my opinion.”
She smiles, a little sadder than before. “I wish it could be so simple.”
“I don’t see why not.”
“You always wanted to be a mechanic?”
I shake my head. “No, I always wanted the shop. I like the business side of things and getting dirty. I get the full package. I took business classes so my uncle would feel confident leaving it to me. But that place is in my earliest memories. My dad was a co-owner before he died. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”
We stare at each other, the air thickens, and there is a new want to hold her hand. Jo wraps the end of her braid around her fingers. “I like that answer, Zachariah. I’m glad for you, really.”
“Well, Miss Josephine,” I say. “You can have the same, you know. I saw the way your face lit up stitching up August—as odd as that sounds saying it out loud since it makes you sound a little crazy. Do what you love, that’s what I think anyway.”
“I guess, for a few weeks I’ll do that. It will be our little secret that I’m excited to work at the clinic.”
I shake my head. “It shouldn’t need to be a secret. And Doctor Dumb sucks if he couldn’t get that.”
“Are you a relationship guru?”
“I might be single, but it’s not like I’ve always been single. I’m no angel, but I wouldn’t discourage anyone from doing what they want to do because I thought I knew better.”
Jo studies me, then takes a step closer to me, so we’re only a foot apart. She seems like she wants to say a thousand things. I’m practically screaming inside my head to hear them.
She blinks and takes a step back. “I’d better get going. Thanks for letting me use your laundry room.”
“Anytime, Jo,” I say. I want to press her to stay, but it’s probably a bad idea.
Something is changing with me. The way I want her around, want her to stay, want her to talk. I can’t cross this line. I mean, I had this woman arrested. In my experience starting with distrust, and on such a rocky foundation usually ends in disaster.
Still, after I help her out to Olive’s car, wave goodbye, and watch her drive away, I can’t help thinking how bad I’d like to smooth that foundation out. How much I’d like to get to know that woman a whole lot more.
13
Jo
The back of my throat had dried like the surface of the sun. I take a long gulp of water that had a subtle metallic taste, to no avail. I plop back on the springy bed in the motel and cover my face with a lumpy pillow and take a few deep breaths. The motel isn’t anything to brag about, but Maggie used a delicious fragrance in her laundered bedding. The longer I breathe in the vanilla, the more my heart slows.
I’d had dinner with Zac Dawson. At his house. I touched his bare skin. Unintentional of course, but now I can’t stop thinking about the entire ordeal. I’m not exactly complaining. When I see him, usually he’s wearing a greasy jumpsuit, and well, it wasn’t the worst thing that could’ve happened taking a peek beneath the sweat and grime. And I’d been close enough to realize for the first time that Zac has dimples! How’d I miss those?
My phone had two missed calls from Emmitt. I don’t want to talk to him, though. It’ll go two ways: he’ll be apologetic, or he’ll tell me how foolish I’m being. I laughed tonight, with my chosen nemesis, more than I’d laughed with Emmitt in a long time. If that isn’t a hint that we’d do well to take a break, then I don’t know what is.
My insides are in knots, but the longer I stew on all of it, the more I think these knots are the good kind.
The kind that flutter like excited wings. I’m not sure when I lost my empowerment, but after my conversation with Zac, I realized I did. Somewhere along the line, I’d given up my voice to please others.
Do what you love. If Zac’s dad were still alive, I’d hug the man. How long had I wanted Emmitt to say something like that to me? But he’d told me what I wanted.
I can’t blame Emmitt, really. Why did I need his approval in the first place? When did my personal approval stop mattering?
I sit up with a grin and hurry take a bold move to go and face Ms. Maggie. We don’t chat, me and this woman, but I feel like it’s long overdue to do something on the nice side for my captor. I like the word captor instead of nemesis now. I think Zac’ll appreciate it too.
“Maggie,” I call out in the lobby. I ding the bell. Nothing. “Hello?”
The shuffle of feet scraping over the hardwood floor breaks the quiet. “What do you want?”
The old woman narrows her eyes and pouts her lip. I smile. “Hi. I heard a rumor from my friend, Olive Cutler”–Name dropping
seems appropriate now— “that you make homemade beignets.”
Maggie’s face brightened, but only a little. “So what if I do?”
“Well, I was hoping I could buy some from you.”
“Why?”
Goodness, this woman is suspicious. “I wanted to bring some to the shop tomorrow. They’ve treated me well, and I think it’s the least I could do since I made such a disaster of the place.” The blame must be on my shoulders with Maggie. I mean, most of it is, but still, I need to make it clear to this woman.
“That you did,” she grumbles, but sighs and her eyes soften. “Well, how many are you thinking? Them boys like to eat.”
I grin, a little impishly. “I’ll leave that up to you, Mags.”
She nods and doesn’t even correct me with her name.
* * *
I have an added layer of gloss on my lips and a bounce to my step. More evidence that a break was the right course of action. I should be upset over a breakup, right?
At the shop I hang my purse on the back hook, holding my plate of beignets, freshly powdered and hot. Maggie delivered the plate early this morning with explicit instructions to take them straight to the guys or she’d box my ears, or something hilariously weird. Zac’s office is closed, so I set the plate at the desk to get settled before I interrupt.
“Hey there.”
I whip around and nearly smash into the chest of a lanky man. His toothy grin hints at extra teeth in his mouth, but his eyes are shining like pale stars. I lift a brow because he just licked his lips and his eyes devour my figure like a hunter to prey. Who is this guy?
He takes a step closer. “Who sent an angel to take me to heaven?”
“Are you serious?”
“Dead serious. I must be dead to see someone as beautiful as you.”
Who is this guy? He sneaks around the desk and reaches for a jumpsuit. Now I get it. “Ah, you must be Andy.”
“You’ve been thinking about me too, I see.”
I roll my eyes. Rafe and August weren’t lying, the man isn’t intimidating, but incredibly awkward. Poor idiot. “That obvious, huh?”
“You can’t ignore a connection when it comes.”
I hold out my hand. “I’m Jo.”
“Oh, I know who you are,” Andy purrs, and he actually kisses the top of my hand. What a weirdo. “How would I not know your name?”
“Well, we’ve never met, so there’s always that.”
Andy smiles wide. “I don’t have to meet you to know you’re perfect, like you were hand designed for me.”
“Oh, shut it, Andy.” Zac rounds the corner, his brow pinched. “You’re getting worse son, and if you keep it up, I’m going to have a lawsuit on my hands. Leave the ladies alone. That includes customers, man. Mr. Hendricks won’t even send his girl to get her oil changed anymore.”
“I didn’t know she was seventeen!” Andy insists.
“That’s the problem, you never use the brain God gave you. Now, get to work.”
Andy huffs, but waves over his shoulder with a wink at me.
I cover my mouth to hide my laugh and open the planner on the desk.
“Sorry about him,” Zac grumbles. He isn’t dressed for work yet, and after yesterday I take a little extra time admiring the stretch of his T-shirt because I remember what happened to be underneath. Oh, stop it! I’m losing my mind.
“It’s okay, he didn’t touch me until he randomly kissed my hand. It’s not like you didn’t warn me either.”
“He kissed your hand?” Zac groans. “I told him to stop doing that.”
I laugh and hold up the plate of beignets. “Uh, here. These are for you. All of you.”
Zac’s eyes smile as he takes the plate. “Josephine, did you talk to Maggie? The woman is famous for these things.”
“I did, and she didn’t shoot me.”
“You must be on her good side. What’s the occasion?”
I shuffle my feet and hope he doesn’t notice. “No occasion, I just haven’t been the best company and . . . well, I appreciated last night.” There I said it. “I appreciate that you’ve tried to make this bearable for me even when I caused the trouble.”
Zac isn’t smiling, he’s sort of staring at me like I might explode. Maybe I came on too strong. Maybe he didn’t notice that I basically bite and snarl everything I say. No, he definitely noticed, he’s just stunned. Like I’ve sent him into shock.
Finally, he clears his throat and studies the plate of sweets. “Well, that speech makes this a little awkward.”
My stomach sinks. “What?”
He sighs. “This isn’t working out, Jo.”
“What isn’t?”
“Sorry, I don’t think this is the best place for you.”
“Zac, I . . . why? What am I supposed to do? I’m court ordered to be here!”
He nods, and my blood boils. What is he doing? The other option is what? Picking trash off the road? Jail? Why is he doing this?
“I know you are,” he says. “I just, well, I hate the way you make phone calls.”
“You’re kidding me. That’s why you’re going to—”
“It takes a certain finesse, Jo,” Zac interrupts. He’s smiling and I want to snatch those beignets out of his hands. All my thoughts about his dimples and our conversation last night fester in a new fury. Zac rests a hand on my shoulder. “I think you’d be better suited somewhere else full-time.”
“I can’t believe you. You’re actually firing me because of phone calls?”
Zac shrugs and I might slap him. “Well, and because there’s a need elsewhere, I’m not that big of a jerk, Jo.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about Zachariah, but I would argue the jerk part.”
He laughs—like a bully enjoying his torment too much. “I’m not going to leave you hanging, Jo. I found you another job to do for the remaining two-and-a-half weeks.”
“Oh, really? Where? The dump?”
He shakes his head and takes a beignet. He flicks his eyes to the parking lot as a black corvette pulls up. “No, I think a woman like you would be better suited at something like . . . a clinic maybe. You know, cleaning up cuts, taking care of infections, all the gross stuff out there.”
I forget to breathe. My heart thumps in my chest like it might snap a rib. The door dings as Dot strolls inside. “Ready to go?”
“Go?” I free a long breath, then turn my smile on Zac.
He behaves as if nothing has changed and offers Dot a beignet. “Like I said, Jo. Not everyone can handle the office of the shop. It takes a special person. Seems you’d be better suited for a simpler job in the medical field. No hard feelings.”
I beam at Dot. And behind her August enters with a yawn. “Hey, what is she doing here?” he asks. “Get out, girl. You’re in my seat. Are those Maggie’s beignets? Gah, I miss Louisiana sometimes.”
I hurry out from behind the desk. I peek at Zac. “You’re really firing me so I can . . . work at the clinic? What about—”
“Oh, the judge agreed not everyone was cut out for this job,” Zac says. “Said it would be cruel and unusual to keep you here. So go on. Dot’s waiting. Thanks for these.” He holds up a second beignet.
I hold my bag against my chest, hardly able to catch a deep breath. Zac is trying to tease about all of this, but out of anyone in the room he knows what this means to me. I know what hoops he must’ve jumped through to pull this off. And when all that smacks me in the face, I lose my mind and fling my arms around his neck. Chest to chest, little sparks of heat tingle along my arms. It takes a minute, but soon Zac’s strong arms wrap around my waist, holding me close.
“Thank you, Zac,” I whisper.
He clears his throat, those dark eyes find me when we break apart. The way he studies me for half a breath sends my brain into overdrive.
“Yeah, well, if I get maimed like August, I expect I won’t get a bill.”
I laugh and finally take a step away. “It’s a deal.”
I grin. My skin smells like I’ve been doused in disinfectant, but I’m fulfilled. I’m ready for more.
Although, it’s strange to go the full day without seeing Zac. I’d grown accustomed to the guys at the shop without even realizing. I smile at the thought of Mr. Dawson. Without him, I wouldn’t have this buzzing euphoria. This is what I’m meant to do and he helped remind me of it all.
The room drips in mugginess from the lingering heat of the day. I step out of the shower, get dressed, and scrunch my natural curls as a knock raps at my door.
I peek through the peephole and grin. I came to Honeyville with the plans to hate everyone here, but I’ve discovered it’s quite the opposite. I wholly like everyone.
“Hi,” Olive chirps after I open the door. “We’ve come to get you.”
“Get me for what? I’m all soggy still.”
“You look great,” Dot insists and shoves her way inside the room. Lily waves at the back and even Jace is there.
Jace taps my shoulder. “Throw some shoes on, we’re going out.”
“Out where?”
“To dinner,” Olive says. “We have a standing monthly night out at The Battery, but it ends up being more like once a week.”
Jo laughs. “You use any excuse to get down to the shore, don’t you?” Olive and Jace nod in unison. “If you don’t care that I look like I’ve drowned, then sure, I’d love to come.”
“We don’t care, but in transparency the guys are coming too,” Dot says with a knowing grin.
My throat tightens. “Guys?”
“Yeah, husbands, brothers,” Olive says. Her mouth twists in a smile. “Zac.”
I clear my throat, my face hot. “Oh, okay. Uh, I’ll just tie my hair up.” And maybe do something with my face. Maybe even dry my hair.
