Lucie Miller didn’t bother looking up when she heard the knock on her office door. Her next physical therapy patient was early, which irked her since she hadn’t even completed the paperwork from the previous appointment. She pushed her glasses back in the proper place. He could just cool his heels in the hallway for the next ten minutes while she fini—

The knock came again, a little more insistently this time, and her resolve to not cater to someone else’s wishes crumbled, as usual. Dropping her pen to the sheaf of papers in front of her, she called out, “Come in.”

A head of perfectly styled dark hair popped around the edge of the door. “Hope I’m not disturbing you.”

Before she could order her heart to behave, it skipped a beat at the mellowy-smooth voice of Dr. Stephen Mann, Director of Sports Medicine and major hottie at Northern Nevada Medical Center. At warp speed, her brain performed an unsolicited catalogue of her appearance, spitting out the usual diagnosis of “plain and dishevelled.” Holding back a disappointing sigh and the urge to smooth a hand over the strands of hair that escaped her ponytail, she gave him her best smile. “Not at all. I didn’t forget another meeting, did I?”

Twin dimples winked at her. “No, not today.”

He turned to close the door, and her pulse raced. As an orthopedic surgeon, he’d visited her less-than-impressive office in the Rehab and Sports Med Center plenty of times to discuss mutual patients. But not once had he ever closed the door.

Trying hard not to jump to conclusions, she gestured in front of her. “Please, have a seat.”

“Uh…”

Lucie glanced to the single visitor chair piled high with file folders, old newspapers, and research articles. She swore she felt her cheeks actually change color as she bolted around her desk. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. Here, let me just—”

“That’s all right, you don’t have to—”

“No, I insist.” She gathered the haphazard paper mountain in her arms. Not for the first time, or even the hundredth time, she wished she weren’t so disorganized. Spinning in a quick circle, she searched for a place to stash the mess. Stacks just like the one she held lined the walls of her office on the floor and over every square inch of desk and file-cabinet space. Finally she gave up and just plopped the pile into her chair before turning her attention to her guest. God, why couldn’t she be smooth and put-together like other women? Like the kind Stephen dated. “So, what brings you down into the bowels of the hospital this afternoon?”

He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. Normally, the gorgeous doctor was the picture of confidence. It was the reason women literally sighed in his wake. Well, that and his easy charm and Ken-doll good looks, complete with killer smile.

“The hospital’s annual charity dinner and dance is only two months away, and whereas a guy only has to rent a tux and show up, I’m aware that a woman needs ample time to shop for a dress and schedule all sorts of hair and nail appointments and whatever else it is that you women do to make yourselves beautiful.”

Lucie’s throat closed, and her fingers flew to fidget with her necklace. This was it. They’d worked together for years, sometimes even staying hours past their shifts to work on mutual cases, ordering bad Chinese when their brains refused to quit but their stomachs could no longer be ignored. They’d always been intellectually compatible, and their mutual obsession to help patients recover quicker and better bonded them as nothing else could. She’d loved him for years, but he’d never asked her out. Never made a move, instead preferring to date classy businesswomen he met during happy hour at the posh Club Caliente down the street.

But now he was here. In her office. Talking about the hospital ball. Dear God, please don’t let her faint. Taking a slow, deep breath, Lucie tried for casual. “Are you trying to ask me something, Stephen?” And failed miserably. Damn.

A strong hand rubbed at the back of his neck, and he gave her the cutest look of embarrassment. “Ah, yeah. I’m not doing a very good job of it, am I?”

“No, you’re doing fine!” Too much enthusiasm. Double damn!

“I know I should’ve brought this up before. And I really did want to ask that night I saw you at Club Caliente last month, but I hesitated and then you left. I was hoping I’d see you there again because it doesn’t quite seem appropriate to inquire about a date here at the office, you know?”

Her mind flashed back to the one night she’d ever stepped foot in the overcrowded, overpriced club. Her best friend, Vanessa MacGregor, had just won a really difficult case and wanted to celebrate with a few drinks and some dancing. Instead of going to their usual hangout, Fritz’s, Vanessa convinced Lucie to meet her at the much closer meat market of a club. They’d only been there for an hour tops before leaving. The club was like a frat house on steroids with a country-club clientele. The rest of their night had been spent downing tap beer and hustling guys at darts in a proper celebration.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she assured him. “I mean, not down here. The only person that could possibly hear us right now is Mr. Kramer on the treadmill out there, but the door is shut, and even if it wasn’t, I don’t think he remembers to turn his hearing aid up very often, so the chances of him hearing us over the noise of the mach—”

“Lucie.”

“Sorry.” Oh my God, would you shut up already? You’re babbling like an idiot! “You were saying?”

He took a deep breath and exhaled like he was preparing to BASE jump from the roof of the hospital instead of asking her on a date. “I was trying to get your friend’s number.”

“My…what?”

“The girl you were with that night. Is she seeing anyone?”

“Vanessa?” Lucie’s mind scrambled as it tried to follow the sharp turn off the path the conversation had previously been headed. Or where she’d thought it had been headed. She was such an idiot. “Um, no, she’s not seeing anyone…”

Every muscle in his body visibly relaxed as he stood, his easy smile returning to hit her with both dimples right between the eyes. “That’s great! Can I get her number? I don’t want to take the chance of waiting till the last minute to ask her. I’d like to take her on a few dates before the big event, too. You know, get to know each other better. Lord knows you can never have a decent conversation at that charity dinner without someone interrupting with shoptalk. Lucie? Are you listening?”

“What? No. I mean, yes, I’m listening. Yes, you’re right. It’s definitely not conducive to first-date discussions.” Lucie dropped her gaze to the organized disaster on her desk. Vanessa would have a panic attack if she saw it. Her friend was hyper-organized, always put together on the inside and out, never a hair out of place or an emotion uncalled for. Add in the perfect Barbie-doll looks and you had the kind of woman Stephen Mann was drawn to. The kind of woman she was most definitely not.

“Soooo… Can I have her number? Or maybe you’re playing the role of protective friend and would prefer to grill me about my intentions first,” he teased. “Maybe ask me why I think I’m good enough for her, something like that?”

She couldn’t help the small lift at the corner of her mouth. “As if you couldn’t be good enough for someone. You’re charming, smart, handsome, and successful. How could that amount to ‘not good enough’ by anyone’s standards?”

He winked. “I am quite the catch, aren’t I? Be sure to tell Vanessa that when she tells you I called her. That is, if you ever give me her number.”

“Oh! Right, sorry. Uh…” She looked around for a Post-it note or scratch piece of paper. She knew she had some, and if she could stop and think for a minute, she’d know right where they were, but somewhere in the last five minutes she’d been given a full frontal lobotomy, and now she couldn’t function.

Giving up, she grabbed her pen and his hand and scribbled Vanessa’s cell number onto his palm. She had to force herself to release him before she did something stupid like add an exclamation mark and “accidentally” use too much force for the dot, puncturing his smooth skin with the tip of her ballpoint. “There you go. All set. Now you’ll have to excuse me. I, um, have a new patient who should be here any minute.”

“I won’t take up any more of your time then. Thanks, Lucie.” Using his ink-free hand, he grabbed the knob and opened the door before looking back and adding, “I owe you one.”

She pasted what she hoped was at least a facsimile of a smile on her face as best she could. “I’ll keep that in mind, doctor.”

As soon as he was gone, she sank into her chair, not even bothering to move the stack of papers before she did so. This wasn’t anything new. In fact, being overlooked for someone else was typical. By now, she should be immune to the hurt that came with it. What was that phrase? Old hat. Yes, that was it. By now, this should be old hat, and it wasn’t even the first time a guy she liked was interested in her friend. But it still hurt. A lot.

There was no fooling herself any longer. She would never be the object of the doctor’s desire. And though the realist in her said it didn’t matter—that all she needed was compatibility and companionship with someone else—as her future came into sharp focus, the dreamer in her allowed herself to shed the tears that blurred the world in front of her.