Maybe not never, but it’s been a long time. Wally made promises. But they were always conditional. Always dependent on me being perfect, being small to his big, being what he needed me to be.
And my parents, they expected nothing less than perfection, and I always delivered. I could see how my brother’s behavior and decisions created tension and I just wanted them to stop yelling, stop hurting him and in some ways hurting themselves. I think in some ways, that’s what attracted me to Wally. He was so much like my father and had that same presence of authority and like he was going to take care of me. But I was always on my own.
And maybe I like it that way.
“So, you’re a pediatrician,” Henry says, clearly trying to distract me from whatever anxiety is making me shake. “What made you choose taking care of the under eighteen crowd?”
I take a breath, forcing myself to focus on his question instead of the panic trying to claw its way up my throat. “I like that kids are honest. They tell you exactly what hurts and where. No games. No hidden agendas. Relatively little drama.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and I wonder if I said too much. If he can read between the lines and see that I’m damaged, broken, not worth?—
“That’s really beautiful. Just like the woman who said it,” he says softly. “Ben would love you.”
My head snaps toward him. “What?” I adjust my body closer to the door.
He sees my unease. “Ben. My son.” He gestures to the photos. “He’s been asking me about you for weeks. ‘Who’s the pretty lady who gets the blueberry muffin? Does she like kids? Can she come over for dinner?’” Henry’s ears turn slightly pink. “I told him you were just a customer. But he’s perceptive. He knows when I’m telling a fib.”
“I can’t imagine you lying.” Heat floods my face. “But… you’ve been talking about me?”
“I’m a single dad who runs a bakery at five in the morning and does bedtime stories at eight at night. My conversation topics are pretty limited to baking tips and techniques and dinosaurs and Legos. Pretty much opposites. So yeah, when a beautiful woman shows up every morning and makes my day better just by existing, I might have mentioned it. Once or twice.” He shoots me a sideways grin that makes my stomach flip. “To my seven-year-old.”
Beautiful. He called me and what I said beautiful. And even more he made me feel beautiful.
Wally used to tell me I’d be pretty if I lost ten pounds. If I styled my hair differently. If I dressed less like a frumpy doctor and more like the women in his favorite shows.
Henry says I’m beautiful in a ridiculously puffy coat even with my hair thrown up in a messy ponytail and dark circles under my eyes.
“I really like kids,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, I wouldn’t be a pediatrician if I didn’t.”
“Ben’s going to hold me to having you over, you know. When I tell him you like kids, he’s going to want to meet you and when he sets his mind to something… there’s no stopping him.”
Something warm unfurls in my chest. Something that feels dangerously close to hope.
I clear my throat. “I’d… I’d like that, Henry. To meet Ben, I mean.”
Henry’s smile could light up the entire town. “Yeah?”
“Definitely.”
The tendrils of hope that tickle at my heart aren’t something I’ve felt in a long time. And I can’t say if I like them or want them to go away, just yet.
We pull into the clinic parking lot too soon, and I’m surprised to find I don’t want the ride to end. I want to stay in this warm truck with this kind man and pretend that maybe, just maybe, I could have this. Connection. Conversation. Someone who looks at me like I matter.
But the clinic looms ahead, and reality crashes back in.
“Thank you,” I say, unbuckling my seatbelt. “Really. For everything, Henry.”
“I’ll call Jake about your car. And I’ll pick you up after work to take you back to get it?” It’s phrased as a question, but his eyes are so hopeful.
“You really don’t have to?—”
“Willa.” He waits until I look at him. “I want to. Is that okay?”
I should say no. I should protect myself, keep some distance, not let this gorgeous man with his kind eyes and his sweet son get too close.
But instead, I hear myself say, “That would be nice.”
His smile is worth every risk.
