Page 50
She walked through it. Because she was starting to understand that some questions he answered and some questions he just... opened doors through.
The waiting room smelled like antiseptic, crayons, and faint baby powder. Mismatched chairs lined the walls. In the far corner, a kids’ area held a bin of toys and a small bookshelf. Two little ones were deep in negotiations over a stuffed elephant that wasn’t going well for either side.
The young receptionist looked up—and her whole face did a spectacular flush the second her eyes landed on Cal.
“Mr. Meridian!” She was already half-standing, voice pitching up. “Hi—hi, wow, I didn’t know you had an appointment today, let me just—”
“No appointment, Farrah,” Cal said, pleasantly calm. “Is Dr. Hale available? I’d appreciate it if you’d let her know I’m here.”
“Of course—yes, absolutely—” The poor girl was already disappearing through the back door, still pink. Sage distinctly heard her whisper to herself, “He knows my name!” before the door swung shut.
Sage watched her go, looked up at Cal, then at the waiting room full of mothers who were all suddenly finding reasons to glance in their direction. She reached up, grabbed the sleeve of his coat, and tugged gently.
He looked down at her hand with that quiet, careful attention—like whatever she was about to do mattered, and he didn’t want to startle it.
She motioned for him to lean down.
He did. Slowly. Bringing all that enormous frame down to her level with the same deliberate patience she was starting to think he’d invented.
She cupped her hand to his ear.
“Hey,” she whispered, smug as hell. “If I join the Bear fan club… do I get any bonus perks?”
He straightened up. Looked at her for one long, measured second, considering the question like it was serious.
“Naaa,” he drawled. “You’re not old enough to join.”
Her jaw dropped. Her hands flew to her full, curvy hips on pure instinct.
“I am an adult, you fu—” She caught herself. A little boy of about four was watching her with huge, fascinated eyes from two seats away. She exhaled through her teeth. “—fuuun guy.”
Cal smiled.
An actual, real smile—brief, warm, and entirely for her. It transformed his whole face, crinkling the corners of those steel-gray eyes, softening the hard lines of his jaw, and hitting her somewhere dangerously low in her belly.
Oh no. Nope. Absolutely not.
“Mr. Meridian?” The receptionist had reappeared, still faintly pink. “Dr. Hale will see you now.”
Cal thanked her and looked at Sage. Extended one big hand toward the inner door—after you—with the patience of a man who had all the time in the world.
She stared at the hand. At the door. At him.
“I’m filing another complaint,” she muttered, and walked through anyway.
12
ROWAN
Dr. Rowan Elizabeth Hale was finishing up with the Harris boy when the knock came.
Tommy Harris, age seven, had a double ear infection and the bottled up excitement of a boy desperately counting down the days to Christmas break. He sat on the exam table swinging his boots — actual miniature cowboy boots, because this was Blackthorn Ridge and even children dressed like they had cattle to move — while Rowan wrote the prescription in her compact, precise handwriting.
"You're going to take this twice a day," she said, not looking up. "With food. Not Lucky Charms."
"Lucky Charms is food," Tommy said, with the conviction of someone who had considered this deeply.
"Lucky Charms is a sugar delivery system shaped like a breakfast. Real food. Toast. Eggs. Your mom's oatmeal."
