I shouldn’t care. He said everything was fine. That it was just work. Doctors have emergencies that don’t involvethem. But I haven’t slept well since he no-showed. Seeing him will settle me, though I can’t figure out why.
Because he didn’t text you back.
The truth slams into me so fast, my travel mug slips from my hand. It bounces down the boathouse steps, iced coffee painting the wood all the way to the gravel path. Where the insulated mug stops against a dark brown boot.
Oh, God. My cheeks catch fire. I should move, but I’m stuck to the seat like someone painted it with superglue.
“Now that’s a shame.” Doc slides his rucksack from his shoulder, leans down, and rescues the mug. “Did you at least get to enjoysomeof it?”
I can’t tear my gaze from the man. A white t-shirt stretches across his barrel chest. He wears a light flannel, the sleeves rolled up to expose his corded forearms. I’m a sucker for forearms.
The memory of his hands on me is still so fresh, even though it’s been more than a year since we touched—since we kissed. Since we almost did so much more…
“Nat?” Concern pinches his brows as he climbs the steps and stops in front of me. “Everything okay?”
“F-fine,” I stammer and manage to unglue my ass from the seat so we’re on the same level. “That was my third cup today. I guess I’m a little jittery.”
Doc presses the mug against my palm. He doesn’t let go for several seconds, his deep blue eyes searching mine. For what? The truth? Something more?
“It’s good to see you.” His voice sends a burst of warmth straight to my core. “I’m sorry about last week.”
I retreat a step, needing to put some distance between us before I say—or do—something I can’t take back. Like tell him how good it is to see him too. Or how sorry I am that I stayed away for so long.
“You should be. You missed out on some damn fine chocolate chip cookies. I had to take them off Gladys’s hands for you. It was a major hardship to eat them all.”
His smile highlights the tiny lines around his eyes, but it makes him look ten years younger. “I’ll have to make it up to you somehow. Any ideas?”
Well, you could take off your shirt and kiss me again.
But I stop myself from saying the words aloud. Instead, I shrug. “I’ll give it some thought.”
“So where is our girl?” he asks.
“Don’t let Gladys hear you call her that. You’ll end up with a batch of sauerkraut next time. Or worse. Lutefisk. She’s got some Norwegian in her somewhere.” It feels good to joke around with him. Even if Iamout of practice. “She’s in Seattle. Bella’s boyfriend proposed, and she asked Gladys to go dress shopping with her.”
“Gladys? In a dress?” Doc’s laugh is like a warm hug, and I almost step closer.
“You’d be surprised,” I say and shove my hands into the pockets of my shorts so I’m not tempted to reach out and touch him. “I’ve seen pictures. Did you know she used to work in the governor’s office? She likes to say she was ‘downright respectable’ when she was young.”
“She mentioned that. But I thought she was pulling my leg.”
I drop my gaze. What I wouldn’t give to see the man in a pair of shorts. Or…out of them. I bet his thighs are impressive.
Say something! Anything!
Except, I’m still stuck in my fantasy world where we’re not strangers but something…more. In that world, I can let myself want all those things I’ll never have again. A home. Friends. Someone who knows all my secrets—and loves me anyway.
One beat. Two. Three. Silence can kill—or at least maim—and I have to fill it before I start to bleed emotions all over the place.
If I were braver, I’d tell him about the first time I took Gladys to Anacortes. She’d booked a tattoo appointment and wanted company. Then made me sit with her while the artist spent two hours inking a hydrangea floweron her ass.
Instead, I take the coward’s way out. “Well, you know where you’re going. And you have my number. If you need anything.”
The shock on his face as I brush past him cuts deep, and all those emotions I was afraid of come pouring out of me the second I start the ATV. Dammit.
Seeing him—being close enough to touch him—and walking away was too much. I can’t do this anymore. Living in a place that makes me wantmoreis harder than being alone. Harder than constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for one of Bastian’s cronies to find me. Harder than watching my brother bleed out in front of me. Because here, I die a little more every single day.
At the end of the season, I’ll move on. When I took this job, I thought this tiny island was so far north, maybe I could find some semblance of a home. But I should have known better.
