“Who the hell are you?” a deep voice barks with a twinge of annoyance to it.
My shoulders stiffen at the sound, and I look down to the end of the table where Harper was sitting to find a younger man scowling at me. Tattoos cover both of his arms, and his crystal-blue eyes are glaring in my direction as Harper wraps a comforting arm around my back. “Hey, Lukas. Could you be less of a dick to our guest?” She doesn’t wait for a confirmation from him before adding a muttered, “Thanks.”
The room falls eerily silent and I force myself to look around at the crowd. An adorable elderly couple sit at thehead of the table; their faces are worn and wrinkled, but soft, kind smiles sit on their lips. The elderly man has his hand around the back of the woman’s chair. She’s leaning into him affectionately and it looks as if they were having their own private conversation amongst the rest of the family chatter.
At the other end of the table, I spot a man who looks like an older version of Grayson. He has the same strong build, one that easily catches attention. His hair looks like it was once the same shade of brown, but now sports flecks of gray. To his side, there is an empty chair, but next to that, with his fork paused in the air, as if he was frozen in time while cutting into his peach cobbler, is Grayson.
Grayson sits in the middle of the table with his back pressed against a wooden hutch. His large frame is almost comical for the standard dining chair he sits on.
He’s even more handsome than I remember, and my heart skips a beat as our eyes lock. He looks … confused. A little disoriented as to why the woman he’s now met twice in his life is standing in his family’s dining room with his younger sister asking for everyone's attention.
“This is Dr. Holly Carrington,” Harper says, emphasizing my name as if that means anything to anyone in this room. “The one Gray met a few weeks ago when he cut his arm.”
A few soft “ooos and ums” fill the awkward silence, but Grayson doesn’t blink.
His fork eventually starts to lower, and I look around, hearing a snicker from Lukas as he covers his mouth. An older woman, who might be his mom or possibly an aunt, stands in the entryway that leads to a kitchen with a stack of dirty dishes in her hand, sending a knowing smile in my direction.
It’s then that Theo comes around the corner, sliding past me and Harper to move into the empty seat at our sides. “So, is it just me,” he begins, reaching for a dinner roll and eating half of it in one large oversized bite. “Or did we have no idea that Grayson’s hot doctor makes house calls?”
Lukas barks out a laugh, and Harper hisses at the both of them. I turn to face her as the entire awkwardness of the evening is finally spelled out for me. “He didn’t know I was coming, did he?”
Chapter Four
Grayson
Is she actually here, standing in my parents’ dining room, or did I just spend so much time dreaming of her that I’ve somehow made a vision of her come to life?
Her tall frame towers over Harper’s petite one, and the pretty flush on her cheeks has me wanting to run over to her and pull her into my arms.
I should have known my meddling family would find a way to get involved.
Yeah, maybe I mentioned a time or two how pretty Holly is. How her smile can be both teasing and shy at the same time. I came home from the clinic that night and burst into the house, ranting to everyone and anyone who would listen, venting to them that I finally tracked down my dream girl. The one I ran into last winter. I had finally found her again, and she’s fucking engaged.
I beat myself up for the last few weeks, reminding myself of the giant rock on her hand that likely cost more money than I could ever imagine having in my savingsaccount. My gaze instinctively flicks to that hand, which I notice now is bare.
But then again, it’s a Sunday evening. She might have been getting ready to go to bed, withhim, and set her ring delicately in a little dish on her night stand.
That flush on her cheeks burns brighter, and she turns to whisper something to Harper. Harper’s face falls, and I can see the moment Holly pulls away from her. She takes a small stumbling step back, and then another, and I’ve seen enough skittish calves in my day to know she’s about to book it.
I’m shoving my chair back from the table, discarding my fork on top of my peach cobbler and squeezing past my dad the second I see Holly turn to leave.
I move around the table as quickly as I can and curse under my breath when I hear her steps race down the hall. The second the screen door slams against the old wood, I up my pace, getting from the dining room to the front door in a few long strides. I whip open the door and take the front steps two at a time so I can catch up to her.
Holly reaches for the handle on her car door, jerking it forcefully before a muffled, frustrated scream leaves her throat. She digs into her pocket for her keys, trembling hands trying to press the buttons, before the fob falls to the dirt.
She swipes it from the ground the same time I reach for her hand, and she stills.
We’re momentarily frozen in time. My feet are glued to the ground next to hers as our heavy breaths mix in the calm evening air. Her breaths pick up another notch, and she puts her free hand to her chest, rubbing against the bone, trying to soothe herself. I release my hand that had a death grip on hers and bring both palms up to gently rest on her shoulders. “It’s all right,” I whisper, trying to keep my voice low and calm. With a gentle twist, I urge her to face me, but her eyes are fixated at our feet. Holly leans over a bit, still rubbing firmly at the center of her chest. I test the boundaries, moving one hand to her upper back, and I start to rub slow but firm circles. “It’s all right,” I say again, slowing the circles but keeping the pressure firm. “I’m right here.”
She chokes out a watery laugh at that. “Yeah, that’s half the problem.”
I smile, even though she can’t see it, and adjust my stance to have a better grip on her in case she falls. “Come on now, I’m not that bad to be around.”
Holly chuckles again, and I hear her let out a shuddering breath. With her head still tilted down, she subtly wipes underneath her eyes, sniffling once before her head tilts up to face mine.
My God. If I thought she was pretty in the fluorescent lights of the doctor’s office, then there isn’t a word to describe how good she looks out here. She’s a sight to be seen with her hair slicked back away from her face, and dressed all fancy in another silk blouse with puffy sleeves.
The dusk to dawn light hanging above the machine shed catches the whites of her eyes as her gaze darts around, and I stare at her for an ungodly amount of time before she speaks.
