“It’s just a puff of air.” I set the position of the slit lamp and am about to push the button when Mr. Arnold closes his eyes. For the fourth time in a row.

“Did you do it?” he asks, pulling back and looking at me with hope in his eyes.

“Not yet,” I say gently. He knows how the puffer test works. He’s worn glasses since he was a teenager, and this technology hasn’t changed much since the dinosaurs. But we go through this every year. “But you need to keep your eyes open for me to get a reading.”

He gives me a sheepish grin and nods. “I’ll get it this time, Doc.”

As soon as his chin is resting comfortably on the strap, he opens his eyes wide as if stretching them out, and I hit the button, not giving him any warning at all. Thank fuck, I got the resistance measurements I need. “Now I’ve got it. It’s over.”

“Oh, that wasn’t so bad.” He says this every time too. Mr. Arnold has been coming to me for the past three years, but he’s been a patient at this store since it opened seventeen years ago. The man I took over the practice from retired a few years ago, and I took over the patients from him.

“Nope, it’s usually over before you have time to protest.” I quirk an eyebrow and smile. “Well, at least when your eyes are open.”

He gives me a sheepish grin. “Well, I’d like to see you just sit there with your eyes open while someone tries to blow them out.”

I shake my head at his comments as I make the necessary notations on his digital chart. Just as I’m finishing up, Amber pokes her head through the door. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Mrs. Moretti is back and she’d like to speak with you.”

Mr. Arnold chuckles. “You’re in trouble now, Doc.”

Wonderful.

Internally, I groan and swear up a storm in annoyance. Externally, I offer a soft smile to my patient and stand up. “Probably, but I’m done with my part, so Amber will get you finished up. I’ll have your prescription waiting up front so you can choose your frames.”

“Thanks, Doc. You’re leaving me in good hands.”

I waggle my eyebrows at Amber as I pass her by. Mr. Arnold is known as a bit of a flirt. He’s close to 80, but he likes to tell the female staff he’s got the gumption of a 60-year-old. No one knows exactly what he means by that, but he always seems pretty proud when he says it.

Mrs. Moretti has several tubes of lipstick and piles of crumpled tissues strewn across the front counter as she digs through her purse. “He did it again.”

“Is everything okay, Mrs. Moretti?” I use the naturally soft tone in my voice to speak to all my patients, but amusement colors my words with Mrs. Moretti. I adore the woman. She’s like that crazy aunt you love to be around but are grateful to not be responsible for.

“No.” She huffs and curls her frail hand into a fist on the counter. “That man took my keys.”

I glance around the office, not sure what she’s talking about. “I’m sorry, what man?”

“Carl.” She points in the direction of the exam room. “He’s had his eye on my Mustang for 25 years. I guess he thought this was his chance to finally get her.”

“Carl Arnold? You think he’s trying to steal your car?” This is a new one. “Why do you think that?”

“Because I don’t have my keys. He was in the waiting room when I walked out.” She shrugs and looks around the room. “He must’ve taken them when I was paying for my frames.”

I glance under the chairs in the waiting area then peek behind the counter to see if Amber found a set of keys. Nothing. “Are you sure they aren’t in your handbag?”

Her wrinkled lips purse together and her blue shadowed eyes squint in frustration. “I’m not going crazy, Dr. Cree. Everyone always assumes I’m losing my marbles. I’m not. Go ask him where my keys are. It’s not like I can leave without them anyway.”

More than anything, I’m worried about her actually finding her keys and getting behind the wheel of a car. She doesn’t seem to show very many signs of dementia, but this paranoia and combative nature has me concerned. Before I can suggest calling a car to pick her up, Mr. Arnold walks out of the exam room with a set of keys dangling from his finger. “Is this what all the ruckus is about?”

“See, I told you he took them. That tomcat has been chasing me for years.”

“Settle down, Margaret. You left him in the room. I saw them on the floor as I was getting up. They must’ve fallen from your bag.”

Her squinty glare is directed at him as she holds her palm out, waiting for him to return the keys she most likely dropped.

The doorbell to indicate someone has arrived dings, but I don’t even bother turning to check who’s here. I’ve got a geriatric ward brewing in my office, and the sexual tension between these two is almost embarrassing to witness. “Thank you, Mr. Arnold.” I gently take that key ring off his finger then place it in Mrs. Moretti’s palm. “We appreciate your help.”

The old woman scoffs. “You mean, we appreciate him not stealing my car and abandoning me here.”

“Come on, Margaret. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee. Will you forgive me then?”

She scoffs again, but this time with much less attitude behind it. “You’re not taking me to one of those senior citizen coffee places. I want a peppermint mocha what a scone.”

Carl chuckles and places his hand on her back, gently leading her toward the door. “Yes, I know. Extra whip cream.”

As soon as the door closes behind them, I remember the new patient who came into the office and turn to see who it is. I’m almost speechless when I come face-to-face with Johnny Miller from The Vault.

He seems just as surprised to see me as I am to see him. “You’re the optometrist?” He looks from me to the name on the door and shakes his head in confusion. “Last time I was here, there was an old guy.”

I clear my throat, a little self-conscious that he’s seeing this side of me. “He retired. I took over a few years ago,” I stay softly, keeping my distance.

“God, has it been that long?” Johnny slips his hands into his pockets. “I guess I’m a little overdue on and exam, huh?”

“Better late than never.” I shrug and walk behind the desk, grabbing the new patient paperwork. “Did you fill this out online or do you want to do it here?”

Johnny takes a look at the paperwork and reaches for the clipboard. “I guess I should do that now.”

“I just need your basic medical history. You don’t have to fill in every detail.” I slip my hands in my pant’s pocket and stand awkwardly for a minute before realizing how lame that is. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

I hate feeling so...out of sorts.

I’ve never had a person who knows my other side as a patient. Obviously, I need to remain professional and show him my best bedside manner, but what will he think? He only knows me as a dominant control freak who likes to whip his boys into submission once a month.

Inside my office, I take a few deep, cleansing breaths to clear my head before heading back out to check on Johnny.

He’s standing near the counter, and the clipboard is no longer in his hands. Amber is chatting him up, and an unfamiliar pang inside me makes me frown. Is he into women? Just because he works at The Vault doesn’t mean he uses the services there. And even if he does, that doesn’t mean he isn’t also attracted to women.

Suddenly, the flirty way she smiles and chats with all our customers is annoying in a way it never has been before. “Are you ready?” I ask in a cheerful tone as I approach the lobby.

Johnny’s eyes connect with mine for a moment then instantly drop to the floor, breaking eye contact. Is he uncomfortable with me being his doctor? He completed the paperwork and is still here, so that makes me think he’s fine, but there’s definitely some discomfort in his stature.

In the privacy of my office, we both sit down and I review his chart. It’s all pretty standard until I get to the reason for his visit today.

“A fight?” I look up and take a closer look at his face. Underneath his tan skin, there’s definitely a light purple mark from bruising. “When did this happen?” I hear the edge in my voice before I can stop it, so I clear my throat again and use a much softer tone. “What I mean is, how many days ago did the altercation occur?”

Johnny’s face reflects a mixture of confusion and interest as he leans back in the chair and folds his hands in his lap. “Monday night. I’ve taken the last couple days off, but the blurry vision has only gotten a little better. Tanner said I had to see a doctor before I can go back.”

I jot down a few more notes into his digital file then grab my light to get a closer look. As I do with all my patients, I stand over Johnny and ask him to tilt his head up toward me. Although it’s not one hundred percent necessary, I position my knees on the outside of his, straddling him to some degree…or caging him in. However, you wanna look at it, I’ve put myself in a physical position of dominance despite my mild temperament at work.

Johnny takes a deep breath through his nose, and his eyes are locked on mine as I place my thumb and forefinger under his chin, tilting it up so I can get a better look.

“Just look straight ahead,” I whisper as I shine my light across the surface of his eye. He has some blown blood vessels but nothing serious appears to be torn or damaged. “Do your eyes feel dry?”

Johnny swallows hard and nods. “I think I’m not getting enough sleep.”

Instead of merely looking at his eyes, I look into them. He does seem worn out. “Why is that?”

Johnny lifts his shoulder just a fraction of an inch before dropping it down. “My new job keeps me busy. I spent a lot of time there, and when I’m not there, I’m worrying about what’s happening there.” He chuckles lightly to himself. “I probably need a hobby, huh?”

Reluctantly, I release him and step back, making notations in his file. “A hobby or just some downtime. Do you ever just shut off your brain and do nothing?”

“God, no. That sounds miserable…and lonely. But I will try to get more sleep. I don’t need bags under my eyes.”

Shaking my head, I wonder if he’s joking or being serious right now. According to his chart, Johnny is almost thirty and a perfect specimen of health. “You don’t have to worry about your looks for a very long time, but it’s important to get a good night’s sleep.”

Johnny smiles. “Is that my official prescription, doc? Eight hours of sleep?”

My mouth opens slightly, and I look at Johnny with completely fresh eyes. Is that what he needs? I know I shouldn’t do it, but I can’t resist testing the waters a little bit. If he takes it the wrong way, I can play it off as a poorly timed joke. But if he doesn’t, this could be interesting.

“Yeah, it is. I want you to get at least eight hours of sleep for the next seven days and then call me to let me know how you’re feeling.” Instead of smirking like this is just a game, Johnny immediately nods, his whole body tight with awareness.

“I can do that.”

“Excellent, now let’s get on with the rest of the exam.”