Joe (Joanna)

I’m sure it’s my dad or one of his crew coming to ask me a question, so I sweep across the living room in my bare feet, flinging the door open with a smile. And I’m frozen on the spot, not sure what to say.

“I got your prescription,” Dr. Warner explains with a tense smile, holding up a small pharmacy bag. His broad, muscular frame shadows the door, showing off its angular shape.

“Oh, of course,” I mutter, holding open the screen door with my palm. “And you brought it here?”

He squints, his eyes darting to my bare toes and then back up again.

“You probably forgot that we do house calls,” he explains, his voice friendly enough. “I know that’s probably not a thing anymore in the big city.”

“Um… would you like to come in?” I offer, trying to remember my regular manners.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, walking past me. As his body moves past mine, I get a whiff of his office: antiseptic, wood-scented, deeply masculine. My hand reaches out to steady myself as I go woozy again.

“Hey, are you all right?” he asks, steadying me under my elbows. His gaze sweeps over me from top to bottom, inspecting me. Examining me.

“I’m not used to this heat anymore,” I explain. “But thank you for bringing the prescription. I have so much to do… I’m sure I would have forgotten.”

He guides me to the sofa and pushes me gently, indicating that I should sit down. He disappears into the kitchen and I hear the refrigerator door open. In moments he reappears with two glasses of sweet tea. I didn’t even make that, so I have to assume my mother was here stocking the fridge at some point.

“Drink this slowly,” he directs me, his features concerned but analytical.

I do as he says, because I can’t think of a reason not to. The tea coats my tongue in sweetness, cooling my core immediately.

“I’m fine, really,” I insist. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“The gallery,” he nods.

I notice he’s not drinking his tea. He’s watching everything I do, probably taking my pulse with his mind or something. Somehow, just having a professional in the room makes me feel a little less anxious.

“It’s just a lot of work. More work than I was expecting,” I explain. “I mean, it’s all under control now. There’s a whole crew getting it done. But I just need to stay on top of it and make sure everything goes all right.”

“That’s a lot of responsibility,” he remarks.

“It’s my job,” I snap defensively. “It’s what I do every day.”

He raises his eyebrows and leans back. A smirk twists the corners of his mouth.

“You really are very tense,” he repeats. “I can help you with that.”

Silence douses the room like a light going out. I force myself to breathe.

I am only here for nine more days, I remind myself. Nine days, and then I am gone.

“It’s never worked before,” I venture, clearing my throat. “Are you sure you can actually do it?”

He smiles, his cheeks crinkling confidently.

“I am 100 percent certain,” he nods. “Are you telling me there is some kind of problem?”

“I don’t want to come back to your office,” I say in a rush, ignoring his question. “I don’t want to create… gossip. I don’t want the whole town talking about how I started coming to your office over and over again, okay?”

His eyebrows go up. “Over and over again? Is that what you think we’re talking about here?”

I’m not sure if he’s teasing me, so I decide to just plow on and say what I want to say. Why did I say over and over again? I am not really sure.

“The point is I don’t want people to gossip about me. People in this town gossip. You know that.”

“I do,” he nods.

“And I’m only here for a little while. Nine days.”

“Understood,” he confirms.

“I mean, I’ve never done anything like this before,” I say quickly, aware that I am beginning to babble. “I don’t know what to say. I mean, I don’t want this on my insurance or anything. But I understand you have a valuable… treatment. Something that could help me relax or whatever. And since I’m leaving soon, I just thought—”

“Joanna,” he interrupts me.

“Joe!” I correct him immediately, incensed.

He shakes his head. “I’m not going to call you Joe,” he announces. “That’s not your name around these parts, all right? Jen says you’re called JoJo. I can call you that, or Joanna. Your choice.”

My breath catches in my throat. The audacity of this man! Absolute chauvinism. Florida-brand chauvinism, pure and simple.

And yet, what of it? Of all the things that have gone sideways in the last couple days, is being called by my name some big tragedy? There are bigger hills to die on.

“Joanna will be fine,” I growl.

“Perfect,” he smiles. “So it sounds like we have a treatment plan outlined?”

“An absolutely no-strings treatment plan?” I add, narrowing my eyes at him.

“Completely,” he affirms.

Despite my irritation, I appreciate the attention and the affirmation. That’s more of that doctor-patient training, I suppose. Whenever he praises me, no matter how small, I respond like a puppy.

“Okay, well, I guess I was a little tense in your office this afternoon,” I admit.

He crosses his arms over his chest, raising his eyebrows. His hair sweeps over his face lightly, a bit of a country boy look. I’ve gotten used to staring into the faces of men whose hair has been glued into complete submission. This looks more like something I might like to touch. Eventually. I mean I don’t see us holding hands or mussing each other’s hair.

“A little tense?” he jokes. “You ran out of my office like your ass was on fire.”

“Oh? Is that your clinical diagnosis? Ass on fire?”

He shrugs. Every time he moves, I can see the width of his shoulders. He really doesn’t look like a doctor. He looks like an actor playing a doctor.

“I’ll bet you I am not like any doctor you ever met.”

I nod, curious if he’s reading my mind or what. Is that another doctor trick?

“So… I thought maybe you could—”

He holds up his hand, cutting me off in midsentence. My lips snap back together as though I am a puppet and he just pulled my strings taut.

“I know exactly what you need,” he tells me in a firm voice that leaves no room for negotiation. “Just lie down on the couch, please.”

Trembling, I do as he says.