Page 85 of Doctor’s Forbidden Match

“I wanted to,” I say, and it’s the truth. That’s the problem. I wanted to. “You earned it.”

She grins, pride clear on her face. I force myself to look away, because the way she’s smiling at me right now is affecting me in a way that has nothing to do with being her doctor and everything to do with what happened in that laundry room.

“I couldn’t have done it without you helping me. You’re a good doctor, Zac.”

Good doctor. Right. That’s what I am. That’s all I should be.

“Come on,” I say, gesturing toward where I’m parked. “Let’s get you home before it gets dark.”

We’re all the way down the block when someone steps directly into our path. I pull up short, shifting the bag to avoid collision, instinctively angling my body so she doesn’t get jostled off the crutches.

Yolanda.

My stomach drops. Of all the people, in all of Pulse Point.

“Oh, hello. You must be Hannah.” Yolanda’s voice drips with false sweetness. “Everyone’s talking about you.”

There’s a hidden note of sarcasm threading through her words, but from the look on Hannah’s face, she clearly doesn’t hear it. Her smile stays genuine.

“We were just leaving,” I say and step forward.

“But can I grab a photo first?” Yolanda asks, her eyes glittering with something mean.

“No,” I say at the same time Hannah says, “Sure.”

I don’t want to have an argument here on the street, with Hannah beside me on crutches and a gossip column that already has my name in it. Losing my temper with Yolanda is the worst thing I could do. Peltz would hear about it by morning, thanks to Dr. Whisperer. It would confirm every concern he has about me, and this time, there’d be no second chance to talk my way back from the edge.

Hannah doesn’t know any of that. She’s just being herself—accommodating, genuine, completely unaware that this woman isn’t. Her face is bright, already shifting toward Yolanda for the photo.

Fine. The quicker it’s done, the sooner we leave.

“Can you take it? Please?” Yolanda’s sickly-sweet act is pissing me off. I take the phone from her hand, my fingers closing around it harder than necessary.

Hannah cocks her head slightly, reading me, a small furrow appearing between her eyebrows. I’ll explain when we’re back home. Right now, I’m just grateful I’ll get to eat a piece of fucking pie and forget this encounter.

Yolanda stands close to Hannah’s crutches to pose, which I’m glad are stopping Yolanda from touching her. It’s hard enough seeing Yolanda this close to Hannah.

I take the photo and hand the phone back. “We really must get going.”

“It looks like you just went to The Pointed Kettle,” Yolanda says, eyeing our bags.

“Yes, it’s great,” Hannah says. “This whole town is honestly the best.”

Yolanda’s smile stretches wider, showing too many teeth. “It is, isn’t it? Everyone’s just so lovely here.”

Fucking hell, I’ve got to get out of here before I vomit. Hannah’s got no idea this woman is performing.

Whereas Hannah is just real, completely herself.

“Yes, well, we have to go,” I say, shifting the bags in my arms. “Hannah’s a bit tired, and she really wants to try this tea before she falls asleep.”

Hannah laughs. “That’s true.”

Yolanda giggles, but again, it’s just so fucking high-pitched and fake.

I turn and start moving. Hannah adjusts her crutches and walks beside me, and it isn’t until we’re a little ways down the block, out of earshot, that she asks, “What’s going on?”

I glance over my shoulder at Yolanda, who’s still standing there, watching us go, a smirk sitting on her face, knowing exactly what she’s doing.