by Brill Harper
He’s staring at me but still managing to answer Leann. What had she just said? “Taking longer than we thought.” I pay closer attention, pulling my gaze away from Christopher with the strength required to walk Mrs. Standish’s poorly trained St. Bernard when he boards at the clinic.
“Would you be able to stay longer, Christopher?”
That I hear.
How am I going to do this?
“Of course,” he answers. Is he pushing into me on purpose? “However long you need. We’ll make it work.”
I look back into his face and find him staring at my cleavage this time. Huh.
We hang up the phone and he ...is he blushing?
“Well,” he says and clears his throat. “Looks like I can make it to your brother’s wedding after all.”
Chapter Six
Christopher
“Ma’am. There is nothing wrong with Fred.”
“I’m so relieved,” Mrs. Abbott says. Mrs. Abbott, whose Pekingese, Fred, has no symptoms of any kind, though she insisted he wasn’t feeling well, is watching me very carefully.
“You seem like quite a catch. How is it that you’re single, dearie?”
If I didn’t know any better, and I don’t, I’d swear Mrs. Abbott, who is Stella’s great-aunt, is only here to try and get gossip from the newest bachelor in town. “I probably work too much, ma’am.”
“That’s not good for a man. You know what they say about all work and no play. I hope you like the cookies I made.” We both glance at the platter of heart-shaped cookies on the counter.
“That was very thoughtful of you. I better not eat them all myself though.”
Like several of the townspeople this week, Mrs. Abbott is trying to make me feel welcome, and I appreciate it, though I’m not sure how a single man could be expected to eat this entire platter of cookies by himself.
She winks at me. “There’s plenty there to share. You’re such a handsome young man. I’m sure you’ll find just the right person to share the cookies with. My special recipe you know. These cookies helped me lure the love of my life to me. Maybe they’ll do the same for you. Very romantic. There is a lovely spot in the park under the trellis...perfect to share cookies with someone special. Maybe the love of your life? You never know.” She winks at me. “Or maybe we do know, yes?”
The love of my life?
I’d known, on some level, that practicing in a small town would be different. I’d expected some concern and some curiosity and some welcome. But I hadn’t expected it on the level to which I’ve been subjected. Everyone is very concerned with my bachelor status. And they all seem convinced I’m dating someone they know.
Fishbowl.
Mrs. Abbott, though, stands out. Not only because of the cookies, but because she’s also dressed in head-to-toe leopard print. Her jaunty little hat is pinned in place to a helmet of shellacked red hair that matches perfectly to the shade of red on her lips. I can’t help but wonder if Stella spends a lot of time with her because their sensibilities are very well synced.
“You seem like a very nice boy, Dr. Lockwood.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Abbott. I’ll pass that on to my parents.”
She squints at me. “A little cheeky, though.”
I hold my arms up in mock surrender.
“We could use more nice boys in this town. You should move here permanently. You’d fit in nicely.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. For now, I’m just here temporarily. My life is in the city.”
“You young people always think life is better in the city.” She shakes her head. She’s packing Fred back into his leopard print carrier. “I expect I’ll see you at my nephew’s wedding. The whole town is coming. Toodles!”
I scoot my rolling stool over to the little writing desk to finish my notes on Fred and think about what she said. I love to kayak the bay in the mornings, just as dawn is breaking and painting the horizon pink. I wouldn’t make as much money here, but I’m practicing real medicine as opposed to some of the more cosmetic things I’m expected to do to pets in the city.
Maybe it’s a good time to put down roots. I’m past thirty now. Maybe when I get back to the city, I’ll start the search a little more seriously. I could offer my wife and children a very stable life—something I never had growing up, despite the neighborhood and money I grew up with. Because my parents are unsuited to each other in every way. They love each other, yes. But they fight constantly.
I open a file for my cancer patient coming in next. Shadow, a yellow lab. The last entry is written in pink glittery ink. I try to tamp down my reaction, but I feel my heartbeat in my temples. Pink, glittery ink is bordering on ludicrous and no way to run a medical office. I slam the jacket closed and stride out the door with it in my hand.
“Stella, we need to have a talk.”
The guileless expression on her face makes me inexplicably more upset. She is pink today. Her lips, her hair scarf, her dress. Well, pink with white polka dots. The dress is tight in the bodice, but how could it not be? Her breasts challenge every bodice they meet. Despite the dots, which seem a bit juvenile to me, but she apparently adores as fifty percent of her wardrobe is spotted similarly, the color isn’t as bold as usual. It’s almost neutral. Calming.
Beguiling.
Like she wore it to put me off balance.
I notice the folder in my hand and remember why I marched out. I shake it in her direction, and she gifts me with raised eyebrows. Which makes me notice her eyes again. How impossibly blue they are. I bet she uses one of her glitter pens on them every morning.
“We need to talk,” I repeat.
“That’s the rumor. What’s up, doc?”
“No more rainbow pens. And stop calling me doc.”
She tilts her head to her shoulder and studies me. “Are you all right? There’s a tic in your jaw.”
“I’m fine. Blue or black ink only. No more colors.”
“Excuse me?”
I open the file and point to the offending ink. “This is an important medical file, not a smash book or seventh grade love note. Pink glitter is not professional. Blue or black ink only.”
I pause and wait for her rebuttal. She blinks at me like maybe I’m speaking another language. And I am. It is called Grown Up and she’s not fluent.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your paper clips also.”
She stands and I get the full view of all those damned curves. “Do you need some water or something? You look kind of sweaty. What’s wrong with my paper clips?”
“They are cute.”
She picks one up and pretends it’s walking across the desk like a toy figure. “I know. I love these, with the puppy ears.”
“Stella...”
“Christopher...” she mimics and rounds the counter. “You are not my boss. I’ll use whatever paper clips or pens I want. I run the office; you fix the critters. I am not your employee; I am your colleague with my own department to run. And it runs very, very well.”
“I am the veterinary doctor here.”
“Yep. And do I tell you how to do that? No. That’s your department.”
“The way of the world is that the doctor is in charge and the receptionist...”
She covers my mouth. “Please don’t finish that statement. You’ll regret it later.”
I remove her hand, but don’t let go. I’m about to tell her more, but I inhale that damned cherry scent.
My gaze travels to where I’m holding her hand in mine. I turn it over, examining the way it fits so well in my own and that’s when I see it. “What’s that?” I ask about a small red mark.
“It’s just a little burn. No big deal. I should stick to salads, huh?”
I don’t like the way it marked her flesh. “You should be careful.” I want to say more, the words are balled up in my throat, but I know they’ll sound stupid and won’t make any sense at all. I can’t tell her I wish she had a life of no pain or small scars. I can’t tell her that I wish
I had been there to make sure she had a proper oven mitt or that I would have jumped in front of her to save her from errant grease splatters.
But I would have. At this moment, this moment that stretches until it feels like the rest of the world blurs around me, I would do any ridiculous thing life requires of me to protect her. I don’t know why. I don’t want to know why. She exacerbates me. I don’t think I even like her. Why is it that I want to wrap her in bubble wrap and slay her dragons?
I’m standing in my place of business, holding my receptionist’s hand and fighting the urge to kiss a burn to make it better. The front door chimes, and she pulls away from me when I don’t want to let go.
Come back.
This is ridiculous. I don’t know what Mrs. Abbott put in those cookies, but I won’t be eating any more of them.
I shake hands with the woman who entered and say hello to Shadow. Shadow’s collar is pink with gold, glittering thread. When she sees Stella, she gets animated, showing me promise of a hopeful prognosis. It becomes obvious the way the dog and my receptionist roll around the carpet together that the two are old friends and that Stella most likely picked out the collar as a gift for the dog and wore her dress today to match our patient.
I’m equally confounded and in awe.
Chapter Seven
Stella
“That was the worst bachelorette party ever,” Perry says as she slides into the vinyl corner booth.
Our friend Miranda slides in after her, echoing the sentiments. “You guys, I don't get out much anymore since Emma was born. I was really looking forward to seeing something naked.”
“Whatever. You get to see a naked man whenever you want to, we don’t feel sorry for you.” Miranda is married to Jim Jenkins, a hottie firefighter, and she is Dixie’s cousin. “How’s the goat?” I ask.
She sends me a bland look. “That goat is the last stray we ever take in from you. I hope you know that. He’s a menace.”
I smile. Not because the goat I foster-placed with them eats their house down, but because I know that she will take any stray I give her. Because she can’t say no to animals any more than I can. It’s a curse. Unfortunately, I can’t have any in my apartment or I’d probably be a hoarder. Instead, I play matchmaker and home as many as I can with my sometimes-unwilling townspeople.
I take a long drink from my beer and set it down. “Unfortunately, that ‘party’ is my sister's idea of a perfect bridal shower. Poor Dixie. I think she might have napped at one point.” Had I been in charge, there would have been a lot more penises.
The stuffy shower finished up early, so we’d headed here to Ironwing, the only bar in Brazen Bay. It’s no dance club, but there is music from a jukebox, and booze, and my apartment is upstairs, so I never have to worry about getting a cab home.
Plus, my dad, my boss, and Nash’s dad were in Ironwing, the band, in the ‘80s, so I get a sweet deal on rent because we were raised like family. Nash named his pub for the band, so it feels like a home away from home. Nash’s girlfriend has been scouting some amazing band memorabilia, sprucing the joint up.
Though it’s the only hot spot in town, Nash runs a pretty tight ship. Last call is usually around 11:45 on weekends and even earlier on weeknights. He wants people to have fun, but he isn’t interested in babysitting a bunch of drunks. Which keeps the place cleaner and safer than some of the dives I’ve been to in the city. Plus, my walls are soundproof, so even late nights below never keep me awake.
The crowd tonight is pretty regular. Luckily Devon isn’t here. The last time I ran into him in the bar, he tried to make a case for ex-sex. No, thank you. I miss sex, but not enough to go down that road again. He spends most of his nights at the bars in Hamilton trolling college girls.
“Your sister is the most boring woman on the planet.” Perry reaches for her wine, the bangles on her wrist tinkling. “If I ever get married, promise me strippers.”
“More than one?” Miranda asks. “Like...a team?”
“God, yes. A team of hot, naked men gyrating all for my pleasure.” Perry sits back. “Damn it, now I’m horny.”
“Do we have to wait until Perry gets married? Can we hire dancers for something else in the meantime?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never actually seen them come to Brazen Bay before.”
“That would make Paint and Sip nights more interesting.”
Miranda sighs and takes a swig of her beer. “Well, there is always stripper porn. Or so I’ve heard.”
I laugh. “Nice try, Mrs. Jenkins. Tell that to someone who didn’t just clean off all the porn cookies from your browser last week because you couldn’t get rid of that virus by yourself.”
She blushes. “My computer runs so much better. Thank you again.”
“Honey, your Tumblr page alone was worth the time spent. Also, you are a dirty, dirty girl.”
“My husband sometimes has twenty-four-hour shifts. A woman has needs.”
We all clink our drinks together and Perry switches her laser gaze to me. “So, tell me again why you didn’t break up with Dr. Doolittle? You know the wedding is next week, right?”
I almost choke on my beer. “I know, I know. It’s getting ridiculous. I don’t know what Megan told everyone, but the day after she “figured” out Christopher was my Christopher, she hinted enough to the right people that now everyone in town suspects.” I have no idea how I haven’t been caught in the lie yet. “My dad came into the office this week and invited him to play golf. I don’t know how I’m going to keep this from imploding. But every time I get ready to tell my sister it’s over, I chicken out.”
Truth is, I sort of like having a boyfriend again, even if he doesn’t know we are dating.
And I am also enjoying the way nobody is treating me like a flake the last few weeks. Because apparently, Christopher lends me a modicum of respectability by virtue of being “his girl.”
Blech.
Christopher is the kind of guy my family always wanted me to date. Serious, stable, boring. I want...I want the kind of love my parents have. They are still so in love. And kind of boring these days, but in the beginning, my dad was a freaking rock star and my mom was the girl-next-door. Story goes, my mom broke up with him when he moved to LA, but he stayed true. When he heard she was getting married to someone else, he basically kidnapped her from the church on his motorcycle. I just want something that wild. That reckless.
But somewhere along the line, they decided that wild and reckless worked for them, but not their youngest daughter. And they have latched on to Dr. Boring, even though they haven’t insinuated to him directly that they know. Megan must have been careful enough in her explanation that he is a very private person, so nobody has outright blown my cover. Yet. But really, how much longer can this last? Someone is going to say the wrong thing at some point, and Christopher will quickly correct them, and then I’ll be the most humiliated person ever.
Because who makes up a pretend boyfriend? And continues the charade in front of family and friends. This town is too small. I’m fortunate that he keeps to himself and doesn’t socialize or the ruse would have been over weeks ago. The guy didn’t even have a Facebook page to trip me up.
“How do I publicly break things off without him knowing things were ever on?” I wonder aloud.
Miranda is silent, but as always, Perry has an answer. “The obvious choice is to actually date him.”
Right. “He has zero interest in me that way. I mean zero. I am like, the bottom of the barrel. And I’m not interested in him that way, either.”
“I think he’s kind of cute,” Miranda says.
Perry agrees, “He appears a little...uptight on the outside...but I was watching him at the grocery store the other day. Honey, the man is built under that button-down shirt. I may have asked him to put a fifty-pound bag of dog food in my cart for me.”
“Perry, baby girl, you don’t have a dog.”
“I know. I just wanted to watch his shirt strain at the seams
.”
Miranda laughs. “I hope the bag was on the bottom shelf. That ass, though. Right?”
They are not wrong. He is cute. And built. They haven’t even seen him in scrubs. He fills out the chest very, very nicely. And his sculpted arms...not that I purposely watch when he picks up the big dogs...but he can totally pick up the big dogs by himself. Now would not be the time to bring up the sex dream I had about him last night. Because, like Miranda, I can be a dirty, dirty girl.
But the fact of the matter is, when he’s not in scrubs, he’s in his button-down shirts with the boring ties and the disdainful attitude toward my clothes, my make-up, and my office supplies. His eyes glaze over when I try to tell him what house the moon is passing through, and he recoils in horror if I bring out my pendulum. Even if I was totally hot for him, which I’m not, he has no use for me.
Perry leans over and whispers in my ear, “Don’t look now, but your boyfriend just walked in.”
Shit. Unexpected plot twist.
“Oh, Goddess, what do I do?”
“It will be weird if you don’t talk to him,” Miranda says. “You know, since you’re dating.”
Perry is less than chill as she’s jockeying around in her seat for a better look at him. “Miranda’s right. You should go to the bar and flirt with him.”
I feel the color leaching from my face. “I can’t. He doesn’t like me. He’ll reject me in front of everyone.” That would be the opposite of what I want. My secret life would be revealed most horribly.
Miranda watches the bar for me. “He’s wearing jeans.”
What? I have to look up because I don’t believe Christopher owns jeans. And...he looks up at the same time. Okay, Stella. Smile and wave. He lifts his beer to me in greeting and smiles back.
Be cool.
Perry laughs. “Just go over there and say something and rub on him a little.” She catches my horrified expression. “I’m not saying to lick him in public. Just lean in.”
