“You got it.” Lois hollered for Alice, and he went in to see his next patient, an impatient man who just needed a medication refill and resented having to be seen every three months to get it.
It was days like this that made George dream of a tropical vacation somewhere, hiking through the jungle down a path to a private beach while a light rain mist fell on them. Them. Dang it. He’d placed Emma there with him. In his fantasy, she was ahead of him on the trail, glancing back with a mischievous smile. In vain, he tried to erase her from the scene.
George kneaded his forehead and forced his mind to other things. He got the man his refill, discovered Alice had shingles, got the poor woman a prescription, and disinfected the office, though there was little chance of anyone contracting chicken pox unless an infant happened to crawl in.
He was about to leave for his lunch break when Lois called him up front. “There’s some girl and an old man here to see you. They brought you lunch.”
Emma?
He walked out, only to see Harriet Smith and Mr. Woodhouse. Harriet held a deli meal in a plastic dome tray out toward him like a gift. “They just put in that specialty market across the street. Mr. Woodhouse mentioned your office was over here, and you usually had your lunch break at noon, so we thought we’d run by and bring you something.”
Mr. Woodhouse glanced around and scratched his ear. “Don’t put this on me. It was all her idea. But we ought to get the milk home, don’t you think?”
Harriet patted Mr. Woodhouse’s arm. Her face was serene, if a little pink with embarrassment. “The milk will hold for a few minutes.”
George smiled. “Thank you. That’s so nice of you to think of me.” And a little suspect. Harriet’s expectant face stayed on him, as if she were reading his every reaction and analyzing it. That was not something a woman did for an impulsive gesture. Not to mention that Mr. Woodhouse had already outed himself as the most unwilling accomplice of all time. George highly doubted Mr. Woodhouse actually mentioned the location of George’s office or his lunch hour. No, this had to be Emma’s encouragement.
It was like a kick to the gut. She’d taken his advice about Elton not being a solid prospect for Harriet and decided maybe George was. Emma must have really talked him up to get Harriet this excited. The thought turned his stomach.
But, regardless of motives, it was nice of them to bring him lunch, and he made a few more minutes of small talk, noting the way Harriet’s eyes lit up anytime he revealed anything about himself, even as inconsequential as his preference for rainy weather.
He hated eating in the office, so once they were gone, he headed to his own car and drove to a nearby park. Inside the plastic lid was a roasted chicken meal with a side of mashed potatoes and corn—comfort food at its best.
Unfortunately, every bite was a reminder of Emma’s stubborn insistence on matchmaking. If ever there were a signal Emma only wanted to be friends, trying to set him up had to be it. How did everything go so wrong?
Chapter 16♥A Crash-Course in Parenting
When George squinted at his ringing phone, registering a call from John, and the time, three-thirty in the morning, he knew what it meant.
“John, is Isabella okay?”
“The baby’s coming for real this time.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“No need. We took the kids to Emma’s on our way to the hospital. Just pray for us.”
“I will.”
John hung up, and George rolled out of bed before he could change his mind. He needed to make sure Emma and the kids were okay. If she wasn’t getting any sleep, neither would he.
Besides, it was Saturday. His only set plan had been to sort through the resumes Dr. Perry had emailed him. They would be much more careful this time around with hiring Jane’s replacement.
George still didn’t fully understand why she’d left, and she didn’t explain other than to say she was returning to Sacramento for good. Betty confirmed that she’d moved back for Finn. That seemed like the worst decision ever, but he truly hoped she’d be happy.
He drove over to the Woodhouse’s and used his key to get in, hoping he wouldn’t scare Emma by not alerting her. She and Mr. Woodhouse had one spare bedroom, and he tiptoed in there, where Emma, Johnny, and Emmy, her little namesake, were curled up together on the queen bed. The image sunk deep into his heart, awakening things he’d promised himself he’d let go of.
He retreated to the den and stopped short. Emma had rearranged the furniture, and it took him a second to locate the blanket basket tucked behind the couch. Pulling the longest blanket over him, he made a makeshift bed.
John had not texted with any updates. Maybe he was afraid of waking him again. George would just have to text him.
I’m at Emma’s. Send an update when you can.
He put his phone away and had almost drifted to unconsciousness when there was a long wail from down the hall.
George threw the blanket off himself and bolted to the guest bedroom, only to collide with Emma in the doorway. Their legs tangled, and he wrapped his arms around her as they hit the floor, and some sharp part of her hit him squarely in the chest, probably her chin.
She screamed and pushed off of him, not knowing who he was.
