Ten months later
“YOU DON’T HAVE to stay here, you know? It’s your day off. The weather is beautiful. Go do something for you.” Mom was flipping through a Good Housekeeping magazine with one hand, the other secured to the arm of her chair, needles and tubes probing her skin, doing their magic.
“Nonsense. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I reached over to grab her leg and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Come hell or high water, we would get through this. That’s how the Monroe women rolled. We didn’t have any choice.
I tried my best to block out what was going on. Each week I did the same thing. Truth was, I hated it here. The sterility, the colorless walls, the myriad of sickness surrounding me. It was depressing and I already felt enough of that without adding this to the mix.
But the dialysis was working—the best way dialysis can work. It wasn’t a cure, we both knew that, but Mom was on a transplant list and that optimism she held so dear was keeping both of us afloat. Luckily, she had enough for me too, because my hope-o-meter was on the fritz.
“London.”
“Yeah?” I looked up from playing a crossword puzzle on my phone. Mom’s eyes were already closed, resting her head against the back of the hard vinyl chair. She looked peaceful enough but we’d only been here for one hour of the four required to complete today’s treatment. She was usually chatty and playful through at least half of the session.
Vaulting out of my chair, I rushed to her, to the machines, not that I’d know how to help her if something was wrong. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. Tired.”
“Want me to get the doctor?”
“No.” She shook her head with her eyes still closed, a smile turning up her beautiful lips at both corners. “I was up late watching TV, could use a nap. Go get some fresh air.”
If I knew better, she was trying to get rid of me, but maybe she just wanted some alone time. I couldn’t deny her that. The last year had been an adjustment for both of us. There was nothing wrong with healthy distance every now and then. “Fine.” I huffed, rolling my eyes even though she couldn’t see my face. “I’ll go grab a coffee downstairs. Want one?”
“No, but I’d love a blueberry muffin from Hickory’s.”
“Hickory’s? That’s five blocks a . . .” So, she was trying to get rid of me. “Slick, Ma, real slick. Enjoy your nap.”
Her melodious chuckle echoed behind me as I grabbed my purse and escaped the stench of antiseptic and gloom. It was a beautiful day. A little sunshine on my too-pale skin wouldn’t hurt. I’d show her by coming back with a glow and taking my sweet-ass time.
I set out for a nice walk to Hickory’s, tucking my phone into my bag as I walked down the corridor. My stride came to an abrupt halt when I collided into a man wearing a white coat. A doctor, obviously. A very handsome one, too.
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” Heat instantly rose to my cheeks. I had to do everything in my power to keep my jaw from dropping to my chest at the sight of him.
Whiskey-colored eyes penetrated mine. He had a face so flawless, so striking, the embroidered monogram on his coat should have read Warning. “No, please excuse me. I didn’t see you coming.”
That was an understatement if I’d ever heard one. Or maybe it was an omen. I didn’t see you coming, either. “It’s okay,” I managed.
“No, it’s not.” He smiled. My knees weakened. And then his hands were on me. Holy hell. “You’re not hurt, are you?”
Define hurt? Because my insides were on fire and my stomach was roiling with unexpected anxiety. Had it been that long? Was my body so accustomed to being off the market that it reacted like a virgin on prom night?
Quickly coming to and doing my best to ignore the maelstrom of teenage-like responses to this man, I shook my head profusely. “I’m fine. Really. It’s my fault for not paying closer attention. I’m sure you have more pressing matters—patients—to tend to.”
He brought his wrist up into view, squinting as he took in the time. “I am actually running behind.” He hissed through gritted teeth and an exaggerated smile. “I’m afraid I’m not making the best first impression, for my patient or for you.”
My hand flew to my chest, my eyes widening. “Me? Don’t be silly. I’m . . . I’m the one who bumped into you.”
He blinked slowly before peering at the ground. With a slight rumble in his chest, he glanced back up at me, his eyes sparkling with a hint of something I couldn’t quite identify. Or maybe I could. He was flirting. I just didn’t know what to do with it. It was positively unnerving. It seemed a lifetime ago since someone other than Hunter had looked at me this way. Since I wanted someone other than Hunter to look at me this way.
“Please don’t take this the wrong way but . . .” Whispering, he leaned in closer. His words smelled of spearmint and coffee, his skin a musk of spice and masculinity. My heart thrummed in my ears at his closeness and I tightened my fists to steel myself. I was almost salivating at the thought of how he’d complete his statement when he tilted his head and said, “I’m actually quite happy I bumped into you. I can’t think of a better reason to be late. And I’ll tell you what. It’s only right you make it up to me by letting me take you out for a drink.”
Seriously? Did he just ask me out? What did I say to that? Words, London, use your words. “Um . . . that won’t be necessary.” Not the best choice of vernacular, considering my head was warring with my mouth. I wanted nothing more than to accept his invitation, but—it was complicated.
“Maybe not, but based on my medical expertise, I’d say seeing you again is crucial. Vital even.” He brought both hands to his chest, right over his heart, and those eyes of his pierced through me as if they were pleading spears.
Loosening up, I couldn’t help but laugh. Everything about him, about this encounter, was charming even if unexpected in the best way possible. “Well, when you put it that way.”
“Great,” he said, pulling out his phone from his coat pocket. “Can I get your number?”
“Don’t you want my name first?” I smarted.
Laughter reverberated in his chest again and he raked his free hand through dark, neatly-styled waves. “I bump into a pretty girl and lose all my manners. Please forgive me?”
“You’re forgiven.” I smiled. “And I’m London.” I placed my hand in his and he squeezed with warm invitation.
“Doctor Owen.” He shook his head remorsefully. “I mean, Bryce Owen. Oh, God, just Bryce. Sorry. I’m so used to the formalities around here.”
“That’s okay.” I giggled, taking note of how adorably flustered he’d become—and the clock on the wall. “Hey, doctor, I bet timeliness is one of those formalities?”
He dragged his gaze from me to the clock. “Shit! I mean, yeah, I really do have to get going.” He fumbled with his phone and pockets, pulling out a business card. “Here,” he said, handing it to me and then straightening his tie. “Please text me your number, London. Vital, remember.”
And then he was gone as quickly as he arrived.
Fingering the business card, I stood there in a daze, my mind racing.
My mother had sent me out for fresh air and yet, after that meeting with Doctor Bryce Owen, I found it hard to catch my breath.