Especially not when he stopped by our booth at the market dressed in a snug sweater, his collared shirt folded neatly over the top, looking like the successful and put-together man ofmy dreams. Smelling like cedar and something almost minty—eucalyptus?
Yesterday, while killing time waiting for a haircut, I’d wandered through the cologne section of Ulta, sniffing different bottles without acknowledging to myself that I was trying to find the one he used.
He’d smelled great, and looked great, and while Sienna was apathetic, Ettie was practically drooling over him when I told her about it later. Her first move was to find his photo on the hospital website and let out a low, long whistle.
“Shit, Jules, how did you pull a man like that?”
“I did notpullanything,” I’d said, rolling my eyes and trying not to look nonchalant, even though her confirmation of how hot he was only made my heart beat a little faster. “He’s just Gus’s doctor.”
“So, you wouldn’t mind if I hang around Sienna’s booth and ask Gus’s doctor on a date the next time he happens by?”
“No, of course not,” I lied, ignoring the stupid and unnecessary possessive feeling welling up in my chest. Not my place—not evenclose.
Dr. Burch is cocky and pushy, and just has the look of a man who’s used to getting everything he wants. As capable as he is, and as enticing of an idea it would be to be with someone so successful and driven in their professional life, it wouldnotbe a good idea to do anything with the flutter in my stomach.
Besides, it’s not like he would even want that, anyway. He’s probably married with two and a half kids of his own. And even if he wasn’t, it’s not like hot, eligible, salt-and-pepper men are interested in dating single mothers a decade younger than them.
“Earth to Jules.”
I look up to find Ettie waving a hand in front of me, her gaze flitting down to my phone, a knowing expression on her face.She’s wearing a Kiel James Patrick Christmas sweater with little red trucks, and a red pea coat thrown on over the top.
Ettie is more the type to play the lead in a Hallmark movie, not me. Her son, Dawson, shares her brown hair and hazel eyes, and is wearing a matching sweater and a little hat with reindeer antlers. Together they do a pretty good job of screamingtrust fund,and notsingle-parent household. “What’s got you smiling like that?”
Dawson sits between Ettie and Gus, also working on a letter to Santa. I got lucky that my down-the-hall neighbor had a kid just a year older than mine. It’s opening weekend at the market, free for kids, and has given us something to do.
Ettie is taking Gus home with her later, when I go to help Sienna at the booth.
“You watch too much TikTok,” I say to her, instead of admitting that I’m smiling about a text from Gus’s pediatrician.
“Answer the question, Jules.”
“It’s just?—”
My phone buzzes again, and I glance down at it.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:Insurance got back to me. Any chance you can meet me in my office to chat about Gus’s surgery?
UNKNOWN NUMBER:This is my office location. In the West Wing of the hospital. Can we meet in about thirty minutes?
Before I can even think about an answer, Ettie grabs my phone and angles it toward her just long enough to see the first message, then she lets out a little puff of laughter.
“Hey,” I say, clicking off the screen and scowling at her. “Ever heard of privacy?”
“So, are you going to go meet up with him?” she ignores my question and asks her own, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. Rather than actually writing a letter to Santa, she’s working on a drawing of a buff, younger, handsomer version of the man, scantred swim trunks his only clothing. “If it’s a doctor, is it called agluteus maximuscall?”
Ettie snorts at her own laugh, and I roll my eyes at her, though I can feel a flush climbing my cheeks.
“It’s not like that,” I insist, running my thumb over the ridge of my phone case. “He’s not interested in me. Even if he was, it’s not like I’m interested in him. He’s Gus’s doctor, like I told you before. And he’sarrogant. Like, the typical surgeon stereotype. Asked if I’d‘tried talking to the insurance company’like because I don’t have a medical degree, I don’t have a basic, functioning brain.”
“Ri-ight,” Ettie says, glancing up at me from under her eyelashes. Now, she’s shading Santa’s abs. The look she’s giving me now is the same one she gave me before, when Dr. Burch’s face was filling her phone screen. Disbelieving. “Youtotallyhate him. And you don’t want to bone him.”
I give her a look and glance at Gus and Dawson, who are both too enthralled in their letter-writing to pay attention to Ettie’s thinly-veiled euphemisms. The last thing I need is for Gus to loudly ask me whatboningis.
“He wants me to meet to talk about—” I jerk my head in the direction of Gus, my heart rate picking up. I’m going to have to eat my words if Burch actually got the insurance company to approve the surgery for real this time. And I was being something of a bitch about it, too.
“Go,” Ettie waves her hand at me, then glances at her watch. “Like, right now, if you want to have time to get back before Sienna opens up.”
I hesitate, “Are you sure?”
