“You’d do well to be around people who are not me,” he murmured, scratching his chin. “You’re starting to pick up my sorry attitude, and that can’t be healthy.”
“What now? The entire reason I moved in was to help after your surgery. Attitude or not, you’re stuck with me. And besides, one of Bev’s daughters-in-law invited me to karaoke, but I don’t know.” I wrinkled my nose at the thought. “It would take large amounts of alcohol and bribery for me to take part in that nonsense.”
“Yes. I vividly remember your sisters getting the musical talent in the family.”
“Thanks for the reminder. But seriously, I have no desire to find out if the doctor is single or not.”
I sat straighter in the uncomfortable chair and crossed my ankles, silently counting in Latin to avoid saying something snarky. Having the nurse imply that Dad wasn’t being properly cared for left me feeling raw and needing an outlet for my irritation. Maybe I should take up archery or ax throwing.
“Has someone else already caught your eye, then? Because I swear on George Washington’s sweaty underpants, if you mention Trey’s name, I’m going to set this building on fire.”
I huffed, chuckling at that mental image. Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I was thankful the mood had lightened considerably, and we wouldn’t be co-conspirators to a crime. Or searching for a new heart doctor before this appointment was over.
“Trust me, Dad. If you ever hear me say a flattering word about that man, you have my permission to shake me until I snap out of it. That, or have me committed to an asylum.”
“So, not the doctor or the ex. Good to know.” He winked, making me nervous that he’d suggest I spend time with anyone of the opposite sex.
“Besides, not that I’m looking, but I haven’t had time to meet anyone, and the only people I’m around are you and Maverick. Bev too, I guess. Perhaps the mailman and the guy who slices the deli meat at the grocery store. Oh, and the pharmacist.”
“Ha. Ha. Message received. At least you’re not hung up on Bev’s kid.”
I tilted my head and squinted, paranoid that he’d heard our interaction in the upstairs bathroom, and this was his way of saying he didn’t approve. Not that I’d let him dictate my love life, but he never got along with Trey, and I’d always hoped he would bond with anyone I dated in the future.
A vivid image of Maverick and him sitting on the couch, complaining that there was only light beer in the fridge while watching the Gamecocks slaughter Clemson, took front and center in my mind. My heart fluttered, and I pressed a hand to my chest, wondering why my traitorous brain came up with that nonsense.
Still, it made me smile remembering how Maverick’s presence took over the bathroom. How his scent invaded my senses and his touch sent sparks across my skin. How I’d already beenthinkingabout him with my hand between my thighs when the door burst open and his eyes widened, taking in my naked body.
What would have happened if he’d stalked toward me, pulling me out of the freezing shower and hauling me against his scorched body? Would I have run my hands down the hard plains of his chest before tugging his shirt off? Or would I have jumped into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist so our hips were aligned?
“That would be a nightmare, wouldn’t it? Bev would never leave me alone, and I’d develop a cinnamon allergy from all the rolls I’d have to eat. Plus, she grows way too many sweet potatoes in that garden. Nobody likes vegetables that much.”
“That is a weak argument,” I said, focusing on my breathing and not on how hot my cheeks felt. “He’s not that bad, and I doubt Bev would force you to consume sweet potatoes more than once or twice a week.”
“Brown sugar and marshmallows on a vegetable are unnatural,” he replied, taking his phone from his back pocket and opening a new solitaire game. “You should talk to this doctor, even if he is making us wait an obscenely long time.”
“It’s only been seven minutes. Plus—”
“Sorry about that wait, you two,” Dr. Lucas said, stepping into the room and running a large hand through his thick brownhair. He smiled, showing straight, white teeth, and I sat a little straighter in the chair. I’d never eventhoughtabout his looks or marital status, but now, I wondered.
As Dad discussed his recovery, I used the opportunity to glance at the doctor’s hand, noticing that there was not a wedding band, and he was young. Almost too young to be a leading heart specialist. He wore round, wire-framed glasses and his blue scrub top pulled tight across his chest, showcasing his sculpted muscles.
Dr. Lucas was hot—damn near smoking. From his black sneakers to his tapered waist and up toward his strong jaw and casually tossed hair that looked to have subtle blond highlights from the sun. He probably had all kinds of outdoorsy hobbies, like surfing or rock climbing. I was sure my idea of downtime and relaxation drastically differed from his. Regardless, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers.
“I want to see you back in two weeks. And try not to stress about your diet. It’s a lifestyle change, not something that can be corrected in a month. I could never give up the raspberry lemon croissants from Sweeter Things, and I don’t expect my patients to, either.”
My ears perked up hearing the name of the bakery, and then I shook my head and tugged my blouse down, realizing that desserts had me more excited than noticing that the doctor was not married.
“I prefer the lavender lemon scones with a double espresso,” I said, taking in the full force of his smile. Having dimples that deep should be illegal. Seriously, was there some sort of secret doctor code that said if you were under forty, you had to have a built body and charming personality?
“Hmm. With sugar?” he asked, tilting his head and moving a step closer to me.
“Only if I’m in the mood to ruin the coffee, doctor.”
He smirked, one side of his mouth tilting higher than the other as his eyes moved from my face and slid down my body, obviously checking me out. My stomach swooped, being the focal point of his attention, and my dad chuckled, shaking his head as I side-eyed him.
“Please, call me Tom. You’re Mrs. Winston, right?”
“Ms.,” I corrected, not bothering to tell him the paperwork to change my last name wasn’t finalized yet. “But call me Summer.”
