2. Taylor

"All mammals get goosebumps, not just people." ~ Tim Rhodes

Cold water.That's what I needed. Cold water.

I waved my hand beneath the spout. When the water began to pour out, I placed my palms beneath the stream, bent over, splashed the water on my face, and cupped the back of my neck. My goal was twofold: one, my face felt greasy after my flight, and two, I needed to snap myself out of this insta-crush I'd developed on a stranger with huge, brown puppy dog eyes, thick brown hair, and a strong jaw covered in stubble.

My body's response to him was insane. Before I'd looked up and seen him, the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and goosebumps covered my arms. Then, the moment my gaze lifted to his, a spark of recognition lit inside of me. I stared into his eyes and tried to reconcile the fact that I knew I'd never seen him before but somehow recognized him.

As a physician who had spent the last twelve years of her life studying medicine, I was aware of the physiological response to attraction. I knew I was experiencing a series of neurochemical reactions in my brain's reward center because of the flood of dopamine.

But it felt like more than that, which I couldn't explain. When I saw him, it was as if my soul had déjà vu. I wasn't looking into the eyes of a stranger, even though I was sure it was the first time I'd ever seen him. My reaction when our hands touched added further credence to this theory.

For most of my life, I'd suffered from haphephobia, which meant I had an aversion, fear, and anxiety about strangers touching me, especially men. That condition was magnified by my hypersensitivity to being touched by strangers, especially men, which caused me to feel actual physical discomfort.

People always assumed that I was a germaphobe because of my aversion to contact; at least, they did until they found out my occupation. That sort of phobia would make my career as a physician, specializing in trauma, impossible. Thankfully, when I was in work mode, my brain chemistry rewired itself, and I didn't suffer either affliction.

For thirty years, I'd battled with my invisible conditions, which all stemmed from a trauma I experienced at five years old. I don't remember very many details about the event that changed my life forever, just flashes of images. Scents, sounds or tastes would sometimes trigger my sensory memories. Burning rubber, sirens, metal crunching, squealing tires, anything with a metallic flavor, and even coffee on someone's breath would transport me back in time, almost like a dream.

It was a sunny day, music was playing through the speakers, and I was riding shotgun in my father's pickup truck when another driver fell asleep at the wheel and crashed into us. It was a head-on collision that proved fatal for my dad. I remember music playing and him laughing and looking at me, then everything sort of goes in slow motion in still shots.

My dad's head and body fling forward like a ragdoll. The next slides are of hands reaching into the truck and prying me out. I'm crying, desperately holding onto my dad's arm, and my mouth tastes like I've been sucking on pennies. I don't want to let him go, but the hands are stronger than me. I reach out for my dad, but his body is slumped over the wheel, his face covered in blood, and his soulless, blank eyes staring directly at me. That is the last memory I have of my father.

The rest of the next twenty-four hours are a blur. According to the police reports I've read since becoming an adult, the people who pulled me out were Good Samaritan drivers who stopped to help. They handed me off to firefighters, then to EMTs, and when I reached the hospital, nurses and doctors took over. At five years old, I didn't know why all these strangers were lifting me up, holding me, and carrying me. All I knew was that they took me away from my dad.

It took my mom a full day to come and visit me in the hospital. For years, I didn't know why she left me there alone. It wasn't until she passed away ten years ago that I read her journals and learned that the day of the accident, my father was leaving her and taking me with him.

That was the last piece of the puzzle I needed to fill in the blanks of my childhood. Growing up, my mother was an undiagnosed bipolar alcoholic. She didn't seek medical attention for her mental illness and alcoholism until I enlisted in the Navy at age eighteen and moved away from home. It was then, when she was totally alone, with no one to clean up her mess or absorb her manic and erratic behavior, that she decided to get help.

Over the years, I've gone to a handful of therapists and psychologists who all agree that both my haphephobia and hypersensitivity were initially triggered by the trauma of the crash and then exacerbated by a tumultuous and volatile childhood.

At thirty-five years of age, I'd learned to live with my aversions. I had coping mechanisms that helped, including always flying first class for more room and, when in crowded spaces, only sitting down if there was an end seat available and I could put a bag on the chair next to me so there were no accidental touches.

But the man I'd just met caused me to break my rule. One look into his eyes, and I moved my purse. I didn't even think about doing it. It wasn't a logical, deliberate response. It was involuntary, automatic, Pavlovian even.

That was unnerving enough in and of itself, but that was nothing compared to what I felt when our hands touched. No discomfort, mentally or physically. It was quite the opposite. I'd felt tingles of pleasure, not only at the point of contact but all through my body. The sensations had completely taken me by surprise. I'd been attracted to men plenty of times, but that attraction never overpowered my aversion. Until I knew someone, I could touch or be touched by them. I wasn't sure what power this man had, but he'd somehow broken through my mental health barriers like the Kool-Aid man.

The entire encounter made zero sense. The only possible explanation was that he looked exactly like an actor I'd had a crush on for pretty much my entire life. Kyle Chandler. He got on most people's sexy radars when he rose to fame for his portrayal of Coach Taylor in Friday Night Lights, but I'd had a massive crush on him since a show he did fifteen years before that, when he'd played Jeff Metcalf on Homefront.

Maybe that explained my body and mind's response to him.

Or maybe it was lack of sleep. Over the past three days, I'd gotten maybe two hours of sleep. I'd just returned to the States from my final deployment and was trying to get back home, which was proving to be difficult due to the weather. I was doing everything I could to get back to my daughter, Harper, who I hadn't seen in nearly nine months. There had been multiple canceled flights, delays, and even emergency landings. Maybe I was just delirious.

After rinsing off my face and neck, I waved my hand beneath the automatic paper towel dispenser, steeling myself to go back out to the bar, if only to collect my luggage, when my phone vibrated in my back pocket. I quickly dried myself and pulled it out. On the screen was a message from my little cousin, Kenna.

Kenna: Do you have your dress for the wedding yet?

In one week, I was going to be the Best Woman in the father of my daughter's wedding. That might sound strange to some people, but Kane and I had been best friends for over a decade before we spent one drunken night together. In the morning, we put ourselves firmly back in the friend zone, the best friend zone, where we'd stayed even after I peed on a stick eight weeks later and found out I was expecting.

Me: No, Ruby picked it out. I'm going to a fitting next week.

Ruby Rhodes was the lucky lady who was marrying my BFF/baby daddy, and I couldn't be happier. Even though we'd never met face-to-face, we'd gotten to know each other through texts and phone calls over the past few months. She was sunshine in human form. I was so happy that Harper would have her as a bonus mom.

Kenna: When are you getting home?

Even though I hated surprises for myself, I'd tried to get home a day early and surprise Harper, but thanks to the storm, it looked like my efforts were futile and I would be arriving at my previously scheduled time.

Me: I was trying to get home tonight, but it's not looking good.

Kenna: I can't wait to see you! Fair warning: I'm going to hug you and NOT let go.

I smiled as I sent my reply.

Me: Thanks for the warning.

I'd never been overly affectionate. Even with people I was close to. When I knew someone, contact didn't cause me discomfort or anxiety, but I didn't love being touched. My daughter was the only exception to this rule. I'd always been very affectionate with Harper.

My heart ached in my chest. I missed my peanut so much. I planned on hugging her so tight that they were going to have to surgically remove her from me. She was turning five in two weeks, and for her entire life, I'd been on active duty. I'd had three deployments that totaled up to me being overseas for sixteen months of her short life. But that was behind me. I was officially a civilian for the first time since my eighteenth birthday, when I enlisted.

I'd sacrificed so much for so long, and I couldn't wait to step into the future I'd worked so hard for. As an E.R. attending physician, I knew my career would take up a lot of my time. Doctors typically work long hours. But at least my life would be mine again. I wouldn't have to endure months of separation from my baby girl.

I didn't regret my decision to apply for and earn my degree from the Navy after serving my first four years. The path had not been easy, but I am a doctor and have no debt. I didn't know many physicians who could claim that.

Perhaps the reaction I'd had to the sexy stranger had to do with the sense of freedom I felt for the first time. I couldn't be happier about it, but it was a big life change. Maybe that had caused my brain to rewire.

Taking a deep breath, I decided it was time to stop hiding in the bathroom. I needed to go out and face whatever was happening, and stop trying to analyze why it was happening. If I let myself, my overthinking would spiral uncontrollably. I had a hard time shutting my brain off. Ever.

When returned to the bar, I saw that my sexy stranger was nowhere to be seen. On the stool he'd occupied, there was now an elderly woman with gorgeous silvery-white hair wearing a baby blue cardigan. The seat next to her, which I'd been sitting on, was empty. And thankfully, the mermaid suitcase my daughter had picked out for me was still on the floor beside it.

As I crossed the room, two thoughts battled for the top spot. One, the closer I got, the more the woman looked like Betty White, which was impossible considering that the film and TV legend passed away in 2021, but if this woman hadn't worked as a Betty White impersonator, she'd seriously missed her calling. First Kyle Chandler and then Betty White—was there a look-a-like convention in town?

And two, I wondered where in the world my sexy stranger had gone. His duffle bag was still resting next to my suitcase, so I doubted he was far.

When I approached the empty stool, Betty smiled sweetly at me as her palm landed on the seat. "Oh, sorry, dear. This seat is taken."

"Oh, um, yeah. I was sitting here, and I asked…um…" Crap. I didn't know his name.

"Tall, dark, and dreamy?" Betty, er, whatever the woman's name was offered.

I pointed at her. "Yep, that's him, to watch my bag."

She nodded and removed her hand from the seat. I lowered down beside her and stared at the glass of water that had facilitated our hand touch, which had sent me into a mental spiral.

"He's not only a looker; he's a gentleman, too. He insisted on giving me his seat."

"Oh, that's sweet."

"Don't worry." She winked at me. "His bag's still here. He just went out to take a phone call."

Yeah, I'd already made note of that.

"Oh, I wasn't…" I shook my head as I protested, but I couldn't get over this woman's similarities to the former Golden Girl. Not only was she the spitting image, she sounded like her too. It was uncanny. I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone. "I'm sorry, but do people tell you how much you look like?—"

"Sophia Loren," she cut me off, then nodded earnestly. "Yes, they do."

"Oh, um, I was going to say?—"

Her hand reached out and covered mine as she chuckled. I flinched slightly. "I'm teasing you. Yes, Betty White; I've heard that since her days on The Mary Tyler Moore Show. I've just always wanted to look like Sophia Loren, she was so stunning."

"Isn't it funny that we all want what we don't have?"

I'd always wished I was a blonde with brown eyes, and my cousin Kenna, who had beautiful red hair and blue eyes, always wanted to have brown hair and brown eyes.

"People are funny that way." She smiled and began digging in her purse.

When she pulled out her phone, I realized it had been ringing.

"Hello," she answered. "Oh, no, don't do that. I'll come find you. No, no, no. You wait there. I'll come to you. Okay, love you. Bye."

"Well," she sighed as she hung up. "It looks like I'm off. My granddaughter doesn't want me waiting at the airport all night, so she's come back to pick me up."

"Oh, that's nice."

"I came out to visit because she just had a baby, but now I just want to get home to my Chester."

"Is that your husband?"

"No, cat," she replied.

"Oh, okay."

"Just kidding, yes, husband of sixty-eight years."

"Wow, that's quite an accomplishment."

Her wrinkled hand reached up and touched a charm she wore on her gold necklace as a wistful smile curled on her lips. "It's been a wonderful ride."

I grinned.

"Well, it was nice to meet you…" The woman held out her hand, and I took a deep breath as I shook it.

"Taylor."

"Taylor, I'm Ruth, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Ruth."

Ruth stood from the chair and turned to leave just as Sexy Stranger walked up behind her, and the goosebumps returned in full force.

"You don't have to get up on my account."

His deep voice vibrated through my entire body.

"I'm not." She waved her hand dismissively. "My granddaughter is here to pick me up."

"Oh, okay."

Sexy Stranger stepped to the side to let Ruth pass. She took one step and wobbled a little. He reached out to steady her.

"Are you okay?" he asked as he held her elbow.

"I'm fine, just have a case of noodle legs from all the sittin' down and waitin' trying to get a flight."

"I'll walk you out to meet your granddaughter."

"Don't be silly." Ruth huffed a little, clearly not wanting to be a burden. "You don't have to do that."

Sexy Stranger just grinned and offered her his arm. "No, ma'am. I don't have to, but I'd sure like to."

Ruth took his arm, and he glanced over at me. "Can you watch my?—"

"Bag, yep." I sure would.

I also caught myself watching his retreating back as he escorted Ruth from the bar, and I had to say, he looked just as good going as he did coming.

On the way out, Ruth turned to me, winked, and gave me a head nod and a thumbs up. As much as I appreciated her encouragement, I didn't need it. For some inexplicable reason, my heart, head, and hormones had taken a vote and decided they were all on board with getting to know him better.

And I still wasn't sure how I felt about that.