And completely beside the point.
Because looking at Nash like that? Right now? In these circumstances? Massively dumb.
I’m supposed to be figuring out how to fix my life, get back to LA, and keep my job, not daydreaming about the doctor who patched me up.
“You’re doing it again,” Stella says.
I blink and glance over. She’s not even pretending to hide her smug expression.
“What?”
“Zoned out. Entire conversation. Missed a great pun about table runners.”
“Sorry.” I straighten in my seat. “I was listening, I just—my mind wandered.”
“Right to Dr. Nash Kincaid.” Stella grins like a cat with a secret and points at my cheeks. “I can tell by the blush.”
CHAPTER TEN
Lucy
Three days later, Nash opens his front door and steps aside, gesturing for me to enter. “Welcome to Bootleg Rehab, à la Nash. The gym’s this way.”
I hobble past him, thethunkof my crutches echoing like a warning shot. All it took was one pointed conversation with Stella and Gabby to make me see how ridiculous it’d be not to take him up on his offer.
Okay. Two conversations.
Fine.
It was three.
Three conversations.
But they finally helped me see that letting my pride make the decision might cost me a chance at keeping my spot on the Sandro René tour. And if they were willing to give a Kincaid the benefit of the doubt, thatspeaks loads.
Still, being here feels… weird.
Today, I noticehimmore than his house. A black T-shirt stretches across broad shoulders, sleeves hugging arms that definitely know their way around a weight rack. Exercise shorts sit low on his hips, and that dark, tousled hair? Completely unfair. He runs a hand through it as I glance his way, almost like he knows.
“Nice place,” I say, because complimenting the decor gets my focus off the man. “I don’t think I said that the last time I was here. I really like the way you’ve decorated the place.”
It’s masculine, but not in that fake, bachelor-magazine kind of way. Clean lines. Warm wood tones. Earthy colors that feel calm without being boring. A mix of leather and linen, metal and reclaimed wood, like he wanted it to feel like home, but didn’t overthink it.
I shift the bag on my shoulder, feigning casual. “Plus, you know, a gym. And a pool…”
“I’m an ER doc in Florida. The pool is practically required.” His voice is warm, easy, like we do this every day.
I glance out the window and nearly melt. Sunlight glinting off still water, palm trees rustling like they have nothing better to do. “If I lived here, I don’t think I’d ever leave.”
Nash shrugs and his shoulder muscles beg to be admired. “I only do under duress. Or to save lives. Sometimes both.”
There it is. That dry edge. A flicker of something wry beneathall that calm.
Of course he’s funny too. Great.
“Oh yeah.” I shift my bag and peel back the zipper to retrieve a small paper bag inside. “I made Stella stop at Holiday Coffee & Cakes to get a thank-you croissant. Violet makes them herself and they’re so good I haven’t found anything better in Los Angeles… and I’ve tried. Believe me.”
I hand the bag over, and Nash lifts it to his nose. When he inhales, something unguarded flickers across his face—soft, warm, a smile so real it makes me smile in return.
