“I will.” She rubbed a hand over her face and pushed her hair back behind her ears. “Mercy, I’m exhausted. I’m so jacked up on caffeine, though, I don’t think I could sleep even if I wanted to.” She pushed to her feet and stretched, arching her back and groaning. Her shirt crawled a few inches up, showing off toned thighs—something he couldn’t possibly ignore now, thanks to his newly arrived-at decision of the evening. She was compact and rounded in all the right places, something even the baggy layers of T-shirt and hoodie couldn’t disguise.
Molly looked at the clock and shook her head. “I guess it doesn’t matter anyway. My alarm’s going to go off in forty-five minutes. I feel like I should offer to make you breakfast or something,” she said with a laugh.
At least she hadn’t noticed his stare. “Thanks, but no. If I go home now, I’ll have time for a nap.”
Her eyebrows went up. “Even after all that coffee? I feel like I’ve failed at my one job.”
“I’ll manage. Provided I can drag myself up off this floor.”
Surprisingly, Molly extended a hand to him to help him up. Considering he topped her by a good six inches and probably at least thirty pounds, he found the offer a little amusing, but he took the proffered hand anyway.
Molly had a nice firm grip and soft, warm hands. When her first halfhearted tug accomplished exactly nothing, she used her other hand to grasp his wrist and planted her feet wider apart. “On three,” she said. “One . . . two . . . thr—”
Nigel chose that moment to streak back through the room, right between Molly’s legs, startling her and throwing her off balance.
In one slow-motion second, he realized that if she fell, Molly would hit the edge of the coffee table, probably with her head, and he gave her arm a sharp tug instead, pulling her forward and into his lap. Molly’s knee landed painfully on his thigh, and her head bounced off his collarbone with a sharp crack. Still, it was better than the alternative, even as it knocked the breath out of him.
Molly sat up on her knees, hands pressed against her nose. “Ow! What did you do that for?”
“It was either that or stitch your head up after you cracked it open on the coffee table. I made a judgment call.”
“I think my nose is broken.”
Well, that was one way to make an impression on a lady. “Let me see.”
Even through watery eyes, Molly managed to give him a “get real” look.
“Come on, I’m a doctor, remember.”
“I’m not a poodle.” The words were muffled behind her hands.
“I don’t know,” he teased. “With all that curly hair . . .”
Her eyes narrowed dangerously.
“MD, DVM . . . Beggars with possible broken noses can’t be choosers.”
With a sigh, Molly let her hands drop. As she was still kneeling between his thighs, her face was almost level with his.
Her nose was a little red, but there was no blood, no swelling. He gave the bridge a gentle squeeze, but it felt solid, and she didn’t even wince when he did it. He wasn’t an expert on human anatomy, but he couldn’t see any obvious signs of a fracture. “I think you’re fine. Maybe put some ice on it.”
Molly froze then, her eyes widening. It took him a second to figure out why. Without even meaning to, he’d moved from examining her nose to pushing the hair back out of her face and tucking it behind her ears. His hand was still resting on the side of her head, his thumb gently stroking her hair.
Ah, hell.
Jerking away would make him look guilty or ashamed, but continuing on could make him look like a jerk. Or clueless. It was a bit of a catch-22. But Molly had the softest hair; all the curls rioting around his fingers tickled his skin, and he didn’t want to let go. Those coffee-colored eyes were huge in her face—not in a bad way, just in a startled, “well, this is new” way. She was close enough that he could smell the peppermint of her lip balm and feel her breath as she exhaled.
He wasn’t quite sure what he should do. He wasn’t even one hundred percent sure what he wanted to do. This wasn’t exactly how he’d pictured his move, but the deed was done and he didn’t want to screw it up now. The longer Molly stayed there, not objecting to his touch but not moving otherwise, the more unsure he got.
Then Molly closed her eyes and her head moved ever so slightly against his hand. If he hadn’t been so keenly focused on the feel of her, he’d have missed it entirely. Desire slammed into him, making his skin feel tight and hot, his brain taking that movement as permission.
But a second later, it was over, and he was left grasping the air where Molly used to be.
Molly was blinking and clearing her throat, feeling the bridge of her nose and clamoring gracelessly to her feet, muttering the whole time. A flush climbed up her neck to her cheeks, clashing with the purple shadows under her eyes.
He could almost convince himself that it hadn’t happened.
But it had happened.
And it changed everything.
• • •
Molly decided she was way too old to be pulling all-nighters. She felt like death on toast, and while her body craved sleep, she could not shut her brain down long enough to actually fall asleep for longer than a few minutes, even though the lack of sleep and the vivid, jarring dreams made her thoughts foggy and disjointed at best.
She was simply no good for anything today. She’d made it through the morning at Latte Dah, leaving Sam in charge once things had slowed down, and had come home with every intention of a long, hard nap, but that just wasn’t happening.
Lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling was starting to annoy her. She’d splurged on the duvet and linens, making her bed into the perfect nest, but she couldn’t seem to get comfortable.
She was worried about Nigel, of course, but it wasn’t a panic. By the time she’d dropped him off at the clinic this morning, he was so fully recovered, even she began to wonder whether she’d imagined the night before. If there had been some terrible underlying cause for last night’s crash, she’d know soon enough, and she knew better than to borrow trouble by running worst-case scenarios through her head.
But that didn’t keep her from trying to tell herself that she was totally and completely worried about Nigel, and that was the only thing keeping her awake and edgy.
Unfortunately, she was a terrible liar.
No, the thing that had thrown the monkey wrench into her mental gears was that moment last night when Tate had stroked her hair and looked at her as if . . . well, as if he’d wanted her. It was one thing for her to play with the idea from her side—there was no real harm in it, other than the mild strain of frustration.
It was a whole different thing to think that Tate might be also playing with the same idea.
Men had flirted with her ever since she moved here. Mostly it was light and harmless and fun, just enough to buoy her ego when she felt unattractive and unlovable. But she kept everyone kindly and safely in the Friend Zone, and it hadn’t been a problem.
But now Tate, who’d never given her so much as a flirty glance before, was shaking her equilibrium like an earthquake. Because what happened last night hadn’t been flirty and it certainly hadn’t been light. There’d been that moment of . . . damn. A shiver went through her again, same as it did every time she thought of it.
This was a whole new kind of frustration. Earthquake Tate had shaken something loose inside her, and the frustration had a new, sharp, and scary edge.
She was imagining things she had no business imagining. Her mind had taken that moment and run wild with it, giving Tate a starring role in some pretty graphic fantasies every time she closed her eyes. Every nerve she had was on edge, yet she was unable to make a move either way.
It wasn’t just frustrating. It was infuriating. And it was hell.
Plus, there was the complication of Helena. Even if she could act on any of these ideas, disaster lurked. Helena and Tate had a bond Molly had to respect even if she didn’t fully understand it. And
while Helena might have played with the idea of matchmaking between her friends, Molly doubted Helena had thought the possibilities all the way through—especially what would happen if it went bad. Even if Molly had been free to act, Tate would still be a hazard area for that very reason. She and Helena were close, but probably not close enough for Molly to hurt Tate without repercussions.
But if Tate did make a move, how would Helena react if Molly rejected him?
She flopped over onto her belly and pulled a pillow over her head.
Of course the most hair-pulling part of it all was that even if she could decide what she wanted to do, there was only one option actually available to her.
Nothing.
And she hated doing nothing. Hated the feeling that there was nothing she could do.
Since she couldn’t sleep and it was too early to drink, Molly went and took a long, hot shower. She felt better, awake if not rested, and a careful application of concealer over the bags under her eyes made her look awake and somewhat human—at least from a distance.
At least banging her nose last night hadn’t blacked her eyes. That would have just been too much.
She called Sam as she tied her shoes. “I’m about to head that way. Do you need anything? Do I need to go by the bank for change?”
“I was hoping you’d call before you came, because I didn’t want to call and wake you up. First, no, I don’t need anything, and everything is under control. Second, Jane is on her way in. She says you should take the rest of the day off, and she’ll help me close.”
“That’s sweet, but—”
“And Tate called. I told him that you’d gone home, but he didn’t want to call and wake you. He said if you called to tell you that Nigel’s fine, and all the tests came back normal. You can call him for the details, but he didn’t want you to worry.”
“That is a relief.” It meant that giving Nigel that new food had been the catalyst, and though it was her fault, at least he didn’t have some horrible disease. “But Jane doesn’t need to—”
“It’s fine,” Sam insisted. “We’ve got it worked out. Take the rest of the day off and relax.”
She hesitated. It wasn’t that she was a workaholic who couldn’t leave her business alone—she had a great, trustworthy staff completely capable of running Latte Dah in her absence. But taking the rest of the day off didn’t sound that appealing. She’d already discovered that she couldn’t be left alone with her thoughts today. Relaxing didn’t seem likely.
But she could go get Nigel and spend the rest of the evening working at home with him on her lap. Maybe bring home some barbeque for dinner and just wait until she was exhausted enough to fall asleep regardless of how much her brain wanted to spin. “That actually sounds like a good idea. Tell Jane I said thanks, and y’all call me if you need anything.”
“Will do. Enjoy your evening. I’m glad Nigel’s okay.”
“You and me both. See you tomorrow.”
Her next call was to the clinic. “Hi, Jenny. It’s Molly Richards. I hear I can come get Nigel?”
“You can. He aced all of his tests. He wasn’t happy about taking them . . .”
“He’s a grumpy one, I know. I hope no one got shredded in the process.”
“Don’t worry. We know how to handle a grumpy kitty.” She laughed. “He’s ready to go whenever you get here.”
“I’m on my way now.” She went to the bedroom and got the hoodie Tate had loaned her weeks ago. She’d had ample opportunity to return it before now, but it had simply slipped her mind. But considering her current state of confusion regarding Tate, she was going to need to keep a distance from him in the near future—at least until she got her head sorted out—and returning that hoodie now seemed to be a step toward creating that distance.
Limiting contact was the wisest choice. At least for now.
She probably wouldn’t even have to see him today since she was just picking Nigel up, and she could leave the hoodie with Jenny at the desk, drawing a line in the sand—at least maybe for her subconscious.
While the nights might still feel springish, the days were warming up nicely, inching into the mid-eighties with bright blue skies and lots of sunshine. Just being in that sunshine helped improve Molly’s mind and attitude, even making her feel a bit more energetic.
Tate’s clinic was on the far north side of Magnolia Beach—which in reality wasn’t all that far—but it wasn’t a walk Molly wanted to make while carrying Nigel in his carrier, either. So while it was exactly the kind of beautiful day that begged for a walk, she drove. Maybe later she could go down to the Shore for a little while. Or she could go for a long, exhausting run to burn off some frustration and maybe tire her enough to actually sleep.
The waiting room was emptier than usual, with only one sweet-looking mutt panting happily at the end of its leash. The lady at the other end of that leash smiled at Molly.
Half-caf soy vanilla latte, extra sweet. She couldn’t remember the woman’s name, though, so she just smiled in return and went straight to the counter.
Jenny already had Nigel’s paperwork ready to go, and she called someone in the back to get Nigel ready. “Since he doesn’t like his carrier, I didn’t want to get him loaded until you got here.”
“That’s sweet, but Nigel can deal.” She handed over a credit card for Jenny to run and glanced over the bill. Not as bad as she’d braced herself for, but maybe it was a good thing Nigel liked the cheap cat food better. But the fact it wasn’t as bad as she’d feared had her examining the charges carefully.
Nothing was listed for Tate’s house call.
“Are you sure this is correct?” she asked.
Jenny came over to check the bill. “I entered it all myself, straight off Nigel’s chart.” She dropped her voice. “If it’s a problem, you know we can set you up a payment plan.”
“No, that’s not it. I was actually expecting to pay more.”
“Well, it’s a happy surprise, then.” Jenny handed her the receipt to sign. “Tate wants to talk to you for a second before you leave. We’ll bring Nigel back to you in his office.”
Molly nodded. She needed to talk to Tate now, that was for sure. Jenny pointed her down the hall, where Molly could see Tate sitting behind a desk.
“You look exhausted,” Tate said in way of greeting. “Have you not slept?”
“A catnap or two. I’ve been worried about Nigel.”
“All of his tests came back negative. Liver, pancreas—I tested for all the usual causes of hypoglycemia and found nothing. So that’s good.”
“So it was the food.”
“Since it’s never happened before, yes, it’s probably the food. And while I could attempt to isolate exactly what caused the reaction, why don’t you just stick with the food you know he likes and don’t give him that new brand again. And if you do decide to try new foods in the future, watch for vomiting and bring him in immediately if he starts, so we can monitor him.” He smirked. “I suggest you only introduce new foods in the mornings if you want a good night’s sleep.”
She nodded. “Now, speaking of a good night’s sleep . . .” She paused as a tech came in carrying Nigel’s carrier. She could hear Nigel growling in displeasure, so she stuck her fingers through the gate and stroked him.
Once the tech left, Tate prompted her. “What about sleep?”
“I didn’t see a charge for your house call.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“But I do. You gave up your night to come take care of my cat.”
He shrugged as his ears turned slightly pink. “That’s what friends do.”
“I would never take advantage of my friends like that.”
“I don’t want to charge you for it.” When she started to protest, he held up a hand. “I don’t even know how to charge you for it.”
“Huh?”
“I don’t normally do house calls, and when I have to, it’s through the emergency vet service, and they do that billing.”
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br /> Somehow she didn’t quite believe that was the truth, but it was rude to call someone a liar to his face. “Well, you have to let me pay you something.”
Tate thought it over. “Fine.”
Molly reached into her purse, but Tate stopped her by lifting a hand. “You can buy me a late lunch.” Looking at the clock, he corrected himself. “Or an early dinner.”
“What?”
“I’m starving. I took a nap today instead of eating lunch when I normally would. Jenny managed to reschedule the rest of my afternoon appointments, so I’m free once I finish with Peaches and Julia.”
Julia—that’s her name. That tidbit processed faster than Tate’s request for lunch—probably because Tate’s request was so completely unexpected that her brain wasn’t fully recognizing it.
“So,” he continued, “all I want to do now is take a shower and get something to eat. And yes, I could just grab something on the way home, but I eat alone more often than not and would appreciate the company—if for no other reason than it will keep me from falling asleep in my dinner.”
He had that sweet, self-deprecating smile on his face again. Molly was charmed, even if she really didn’t want to be, and it made the request impossible to ignore because it was so simple. After all, she ate alone a lot, too, and she hated it.
“It’s the curse of being single, isn’t it? Eating alone, I mean.”
Tate nodded.
She was responsible for the fact Tate had been up half the night and had to skip lunch so he could sleep. She owed him a lot more than a meal.
And since she’d just insisted that he charge her for the house call, she couldn’t refuse to pay what he asked—especially since it was so reasonable, both in monetary cost and human courtesy.
Good Lord, she’d just talked herself into it, all common sense be damned.
“I’ve got to take Nigel home and get him settled, and you said you wanted a shower. Do you want to go somewhere or should I bring something to your place?” He raised an eyebrow in question. “Kind of like a food house call.”
He nodded. “That actually sounds great.”
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