“Maybe you do.”
It was my turn to beam. “I want to take you to a fall festival this weekend. It’s low-key. Interested?”
“Yes,” he said and organized a bin of bagged croutons.
“Good. And… Maybe…” I scratched my chin and tried to organize my thoughts better.
“What?”
“It’s optional but maybe we could have a sleepover. Totally benign, of course.”
“I don’t think anything for you is benign. It’s not in your DNA.”
I chuckled. “You’re probably right. But I mean it. I’ll be good. I was last time, wasn’t I?”
He rolled his shoulders as if remembering the massage I’d given him. “Yes, you were.”
“Speaking of which, how are you feeling?”
He sighed one of those stress-relieving breaths. “Good. A little sore, but loose.”
“Drinking plenty of water?”
“Yes, doctor.” When he was done with the container of croutons, he moved over to a bin of wrapped utensils. “You’re not going to waste your lunch chatting with me, are you?”
“I can’t think of a better way to spend it,” I countered.
His attention dropped to my lips as if he were thinking about kissing me. “I’m going to see if I can get my lunch breaks moved up so we can eat together. I might have to trade something for it though, like offering to clean the fish bins, which are on no one's top of the list.”
“I’d like that,” I said. “Gives me an opportunity to spend more time with you.”
“Stop saying things like that. My cheeks hurt.”
“I’ve done my job then.”
He shook his head. “You should eat. We will talk later?”
“Of course.” I looked around, surveying the people around the market. What were the chances of anyone noticing if I pecked him on the cheek? I decided to rein myself in and settled for a onceover which made him smile wider. “Thank you again, sir. You have been remarkably helpful.”
“Of course. Thank you for shopping at Marco’s Fresh Market.”
I chuckled as I set about piling my container with salad. This little game we played was stupidly entertaining, but I decided to actually put in a review card with his name on it. I doubt the managers cared about customer feedback, but it didn’t hurt.
When I got back to the clinic, my father was chatting with a client, a semi-famous ballet dancer if I remembered correctly. My appointment hadn’t arrived yet, so I settled in my office and proceeded to day-dream about Jake.
My phone chimed and I rushed to retrieve it from my bag. I was both happy and annoyed to see that it was my sister. The message was brief and to the point and was addressed to the family as a group text, to let us know she was coming over to see Amelia tonight. Frowning at my phone, I figured it was a good thing she was making an effort to spend time with her daughter, but I didn’t want her sudden presence messing with my niece’s head.
“Hey,” Dad said, rapping on the door. “Did you talk to your sister?”
“I just got her message. Did you know she is coming over tonight?”
“Yeah, I talked to her this morning.”
I leaned against my chair with a sigh. “Do you think it’s a good idea? I mean, it's only a matter of time before she takes off again.”
He clearly didn’t like that. “Amelia is her daughter, and the girl needs her mother. You need to have more faith in your sister.”
I don’t know, she’s gotten pretty well along without her so far.I kept the thought to myself and shrugged. “I know, it’s just… I don’t want Amelia getting disappointed.”
