Tom glanced behind me, and I did the same, seeing that Dad had gotten up and was eyeballing us from the living room.
“Fine.” He grabbed the door handle, but I yanked it closed, barely missing his foot.
Unwilling to give him the last word, I jerked the door open, huffing and almost vibrating with anger.
“Real mature, Doctor Idiot,” I called, stopping the screened door from slamming against the frame again.
I scowled, watching as he stormed down the front steps and almost tripped over Malibu, who was standing next to a very grumpy-looking Maverick with his hackles up and his fists clenched by his side. His eyes darted between us, and I shrugged, crossing my arms. I wasn’t expecting him this morning either. But unlike my anger at seeing Tom, Maverick had me giddy, wondering why he was here, and looking so handsome I could scream.
“I wouldn’t waste my time on that one,” Doctor Idiot said, aggressively unlocking his car and sliding into the front seat.The engine started with a growl that made me think he was overcompensating for something as he rolled down his front window and pointed at Maverick. “She’s nothing but a tease.”
He sped away, and I would have laughed if I weren’t still vibrating with rage, regardless of Maverick’s impromptu visit. How dare Doctor Dingus show up, assume my initial rejection was a mistake, and then storm away because he didn’t get his way? Seriously, how much of a man-child could you be?
Malibu, sensing the threat was gone—speeding away in a car that gave away his dick size—trotted up the front steps and yipped for attention.
“Well, come on in,” I said, opening the door and shaking my head as she padded inside like she owned the place. I heard Dad talking to her and smiled, motioning for Maverick to come inside as well.
“What was that about?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and holding my forgotten sneakers from the other night in the other.
I took the shoes and smiled, understanding the reason for his visit, before setting them down in the front hall and letting my hand linger for an extra moment beside his. Our fingers barely brushed against each other, but it still sent sparks through my system and made my brain feel like static.
His features stayed tense, so I leaned closer and kissed his cheek. That made his eyes widen, and I did a happy little internal shimmy, hoping to help with the lingering doubt I saw in his gaze.
“Just some cocky jackass who got the wrong idea in their head,” I said, shrugging before threading my fingers with his and tugging him further inside.
“What kind of someone?”
“Dad’s doctor,” I scoffed, surprised I hadn’t lost my voice with the harsh way I exhaled.
I squeezed his hand, and he grimaced, shaking his head but then lightly swatting my butt as he stepped into the living room. “This wouldn’t be the same doctor your father was trying to set you up with, was it?”
“Same one, alright,” Dad called, turning in his recliner to salute Maverick. “And I stand by my assessment that a doctor would be good for you.”
“Yeah, yeah, old man. Didn’t we just talk about this? And you still don’t want to admit that you were wrong? Drink your decaf, would you. I need to finish lunch.”
“Damned decaf,” he answered in what would be the only apology I’d get for our unannounced visitor.
Chapter 31
Maverick walked tothe living room, saying hi to Dad while I went to the kitchen to get Malibu a bowl of water. I took her ceramic dish from the cabinet and was halfway finishedfilling it up when I turned off the faucet and froze.
When had I gotten a bowl for her? Days ago? Weeks? I couldn’t remember exactly, but it had become a natural part of my routine when Maverick came over. I glanced into the cabinet, seeing the matching bowls for Tito and Port—their names written in bright, bold script—and shook my head.
I liked it. Liked that we’d become accustomed to each other, sliding into different facets of our lives like we had always been there. The bubbling anger from Doctor Douche was still there, simmering under the surface, but hearing Maverick and Dad laugh about some college football mishap from the other night had me pushing it down, determined to focus on the budding happiness I’d found.
“Got any more of that coffee left?” he asked, stepping into the kitchen and bending down to scratch Malibu before tossing a stack of those travel brochures Mina had given me onto the table. They scattered, sliding every which way because of how hard he threw them. The temperature in the kitchen dropped ten degrees as I nervously rubbed my finger on my bottom lip.
“I have a question about these, but I really hope I’m wrong.” His knuckle cracked on the table next to the brochure, and I eyed the glossy paper, focusing in on the one about Barcelona that was circled in black marker, before frowning as a sick feeling bubbled in my stomach.
I’d played around with the idea of traveling after talking with Mina, but my life was too chaotic to linger on it. Perhaps one day after I’d retired, but not now—not when the possibility ofusdangled in the air like an invisible tether bringing us closer.
The cogs in Maverick’s head were turning, and I closed my eyes, hoping I was overreacting, and he simply wanted to know if I preferred Italian or Chinese food. But, somehow, I knew that wasn’t what was on his mind, and something was about toimplode like a sweet potato casserole forgotten about in a five-hundred-degree oven.
“Sure thing,” I said, my voice clipped and tight as I grabbed the sugar from the counter, fully aware that I knew how he took his coffee.
I shook my head, setting the jar on the kitchen table before turning to grab a mug. “But first, there’s something I wanted to ask you about, too. Us. Together. You and me. Er—” I stuttered, clasping my hands together and chuckling nervously while still facing away from him.
Maybe I could head off this awful feeling by steering the conversation another direction—or maybe I was completely off base, and he actually wanted to know what my favorite takeout food was.
