Kerry nodded. “I’m fine.”
“Do you want to talk about our cases?”
Once a week, they caught each other up on their patient files. It helped for when they covered each other off, for appointments. “Yes, absolutely.” She stood up and shook off her thoughts of babies and the future. Right now, in the present, they had work to do. “Who do you want to start with?”
“Dina Suarez is fully discharged now, we had our last appointment yesterday.” Jenna pulled out her phone, where she kept a running summary of her case notes. “I have two intakes this week. One is second trimester already, a transfer in from Dr. Malcolm because we have space on our calendar.”
“Excellent.”
“And the other is a nineteen-year-old from Tobermory. She doesn’t have a car, so I was thinking of offering more home appointments. I know that’s not standard care, but…”
Kerry nodded. “Yeah, no, I get it. If we can do that now, while we aren’t swamped, I don’t see why not.” She chewed on her lower lip. “That’s two teen pregnancies in our care at once. See if she might be interested in a peer session with Becca Kincaid.”
Jenna made a note of that, then moved down the list.
Kerry’s thoughts drifted again as they finished up their meeting. Teen pregnancy was a statistical reality. How many other young moms were there on the peninsula that they didn’t see in their care? She should touch base with public health. “What do you think about offering our space for a teen mom peer group? Not just for our clients, but a drop in for anyone?”
As soon as she said it, she knew what Jenna would say. The only space big enough was the kitchenette break room they were in, and it had a max capacity of ten people.
But her colleague surprised her. “If we can’t host it here, we can find the space. That’s a great idea.”
* * *
As the weatherstarted to warm up, and soccer season loomed in her near future, Kerry made a resolution to make dinner for herself a bit more often and rely less on the easy and delicious takeout menu from Mac’s.
One night she drove over to Lion's Head to get groceries in order to stick with that personal pledge, and standing in front of the celery she wanted for her tuna salad was Mr. Broody himself, his back to her. She didn't care for the way she knew instantly who those broad shoulders belonged to. The unseasonably warm early March weather meant she had left her coat at home and only wore a sweater, but Owen had taken the wardrobe shift to another level. Instead of the long-sleeve layers she’d seen him in before, today he was wearing a black t-shirt that stretched snug across his back and rode high on his biceps. She was surprised to see he had a delicate tattoo that curved almost all the way around his upper arm. A filagree moon, jewels hanging from it. Since he was standing where she needed to be, and wasn't moving, she couldn't help but look at it. It was right in front of her.
It wasn't the kind of tattoo she'd have guessed he'd have. Or any tattoo, for that matter. The uptight paramedic was a grouch who she’d have pegged for a rule-follower. And if told that the man had a tattoo, she’d have guessed something simple, maybe a mistake from his youth.
The pretty moon with even prettier droplets hanging off it didn’t match her idea of him at all.
Those droplets shifted in front of her, Owen's arm flexing, the muscles rolling beneath the tattoo as he reached out and grabbed two bunches of celery at once. Kerry stood her ground as he pivoted towards her.
It wasn't really fair, the way she had advance warning that their gazes would collide and he didn't. She didn't care, of course. He'd proven to be completely unfriendly at every turn, so if her presence unsettled him, that was his problem, not hers. "Hi," she said brightly.
Storm clouds gathered fast and swift beneath his dark eyebrows. "Kerry."
"I need celery, too." She pointed past him.
He followed the line from her finger to the vegetables, then back again. With a grunt, he nodded, then turned on his heel and headed to the bakery at the back of the store.
"Nice to see you, too," she muttered.
It was exactly how every single passing encounter had gone. Eye contact, grunts, maybe a word or two, and then a quick retreat.
She didn’t like it.
And more to the point, she didn’t like that she didn’t like it. What did it matter if he didn’t have much to say to her? But it did matter, and that bothered her, too.
Owen Kincaid bothered her greatly.
The interaction lingered in her thoughts as she went home and made herself dinner.
Celery and shallots chopped.Owen's thick arm,decorated with a pretty tattoo.
Tuna and mayo added.The way he said her name, like the barest of acknowledgements. Kerry, the person in front of him.
Some dill, too, snipped up with kitchen shears.The tall stretch of him as he stalked away.
