Chapter 3

chapter

three

Daisy

“Owen?”

Ursula was the first new friend I made when I moved to Fate. As the pharmacist, she and I always have much to discuss.

We always meet for coffee on Fridays, when the visiting nurse practitioner covers my shift at the practice. The first time I decided to treat myself to a three-day weekend, I never returned to a five-day work week.

“Yep,” I reply, sipping my coffee at Love Games, my favorite store in town. Technically it’s a tabletop gaming store, but they’ve recently expanded to include a separate room for live game play on weekends. During weekdays, the play space doubles as a popular coffee spot. I love sitting here with my friend, gossiping about the town while surrounded by nerd paraphernalia. On top of that, Rhys and Rebel have the entire coffee area decked out with cozy chairs luxurious lighting, and cool music. They’ve also added a shady back patio so coffee customers are encouraged to walk straight in through the alleyway instead of tromping through the game shop.

Ursula is still processing the fact that Owen asked me out.

“The single dad? The one you went on a blind date with on New Year’s?”

“That’s the one,” I say, bracing for the onslaught of questions.

Her face is a mixture of shock, glee, and disbelief. “The one who showed up without a ticket, and also with five thousand questions for you about raising babies? Then broke your high heel when he stepped on your foot on the dance floor? Then proceeded to fall asleep before the midnight countdown? That Owen asked you out?”

Oh god. The memories.

“That took some balls!”

I set down my coffee, letting it cool some more. “Gee, I wonder why I keep reliving that night. Could it be that no one has stopped talking about it?”

“I can’t believe he still wants to go out with you!”

I snort-laugh, “Thanks!”

Ursula shrieks and covers her face. “Sorry! That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Sure you didn’t,” I tease.

“It’s just that every time I see him at the pharmacy, he looks so tired and stressed; I don’t know if he’s going to black out or have a heart attack. And Graham will only keep growing and becoming more of a handful. I can’t imagine him having time for a relationship.”

I shrug. “He had time to sit in the waiting room for three hours to ask me. With the kid.”

“You’re kidding,” Ursula says, her eyes wide.

“I wish I were kidding. Cute toddler. Not impressed that he used the kid to get to me.”

Ursula squints. “Are you sure that’s what he was doing? Maybe he doesn’t have a sitter at his beck and call.”

“I can’t believe you’re defending him,” I say.

Then she says the most unexpected words I’ve heard all morning. “You did say yes, though, didn’t you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh come on. He’s so cute! And he clearly likes you!”

“It would be a conflict of interest,” I say. “A couple of weeks after the blind date, Graham officially became a patient at my practice. I can’t date Graham’s dad.”

Ursula shoots me a sarcastic look. “Babe. Look around you. There are 1,502 people in this town. You can’t not mix business with pleasure because every family member, neighbor, and friend with benefits is also a client. Our entire lives are a conflict of interest.”

I look her over and begin to wonder what’s up with Ursula. She used to have way more scruples. Is it pregnancy brain?

“I think you want me to settle down so we can be moms together.”

Ursula nods. “Yes! And then we can go on double dates!”

I have to shake my head. I pick up my coffee and take a longer sip, enjoying the velvety brew.

Just then, Ursula’s gaze shifts from me to something over my shoulder.

Her eyes widen and she mutters, “Speak of the devil.”

“What?” I ask.

Behind me, a doorbell jingles as a customer walks in.

Ursula doesn’t answer me. Instead, she waves down the new customer from across the room.

“Over here!”

“Ursula, what are you doing?”

“Don’t turn around. Just be cool,” she hisses as heavy footsteps approach our table.

The large presence to the right of me has me looking up.

And there he is. Owen Mosley is standing there, sans-toddler, hands on his hips, and smelling like clean laundry and the outdoors. I don’t hate it.

“Well, I’ll be going. Have fun, you two!” Ursula pushes her chair back and gathers her bag and decaf coffee.

I can’t believe she just did that. I communicate that exact thought with my bulging eyes. Ursula blows me a kiss and scampers away like the guilty little raccoon she is.

The chair she just vacated scrapes against the glossy concrete floor. My eyes shift to the imposing, handsome man pulling that chair out.

“Mind if I join you?”

I’m not an ogre, I remind myself. I can still have coffee with a man I recently rejected for a date.

“I don’t mind.”

Owen sits across from me, and I find myself rubbing the meat of my palm down the top of my thigh. My muscles are inexplicably tight right now.

“So,” he starts. “Enjoying your day off?”

I nod and smile. “I am. I usually meet Ursula for a gab session every Friday morning, but she seems to have disappeared.”

He winces. “I didn’t mean to chase her off.”

He looks genuinely sorry about that.

“It’s not you. It’s Ursula. She chastised me for saying no to a date with you so now she’s playing Cupid by making a quick exit.”

“I see,” he says. “About that…”

Rebel stops by the table and sets a large iced coffee in front of Owen. “I saw your order come through on the app. Iced Orc Fuel with extra foam.”

I try not to smirk at his fancy drink with the silly name. If he wants to enjoy some time away from Graham and have a complicated coffee drink, good for him.

He takes a sip, and some foam sticks to the scruff above his top lip. This should not make me feel tingly. It’s wrong, wrong, wrong that I’m picturing myself licking it off.

“As I was saying,” he starts again. My eyes fall to the movement of his thumb through the condensation on the outside of the cup. I never noticed how good-looking his hands were. “I should not have approached you to ask for a date the way I did.”

Is he apologizing? Mercifully, he isn’t bringing up anything that he or I did on the blind date months ago, and I’m relieved about that. We both acted like weirdos that night. I’m also impressed. Maybe I’ve been on way too many bad Hinge dates, but it’s been a long time since a man took immediate responsibility for messing things up.

A slight dip of my chin begs him to continue. I like this feeling of being apologized to.

He goes on to say, “It was not a good idea to use the pretense of an appointment with Graham to get your attention. And you were right when you said it wasn’t healthy to keep him cooped up in a waiting room with a bunch of sick people. I just want you to know I’m a good dad, and I wouldn’t normally put my child in danger.”

Now, I need him to stop talking.

Waving my hand, I signal him to give himself a time-out.

Bless his heart.

“I didn’t say no because of Graham. He’s obviously healthy and happy. I don’t think you’re a neglectful dad or even all that underhanded in the way you asked me.”

Owen’s shoulders seem to relax a bit.

“It’s good to hear you say that. I was worried,” he says.

“You have nothing to worry about. But let’s be clear. I said no to a date because you’re a patient.”

Owen squints at me, not understanding.

“My son is the patient. I’m not.”

I nod. “But it’s a family practice. We treat more than just babies and children.”

“Yeah, but I’m not one of them.”

And that’s where he’s wrong.

I set down my coffee and lean across the table, weaving my fingers together.

“After you left, I looked through the files we have on record. It looks as though you are indeed a patient of this practice. You saw Dr. Smyth about seven years ago for a torn ligament?”

“You looked me up,” is his only response.

“Yes. And?”

Just then, Rebel saunters up to the table again.

“Can I get you anything else?”

“Red velvet cake pop for my friend,” Owen says.

The way he says “friend,” combined with the glint in his eye, is fraught with meaning, and all kinds of wrong. He remembered my choice of dessert at the New Year’s Eve dance—the cake with so much red dye in it that my teeth turned red, and nobody told me.

“You want one for you?” The way my friend is tilting her head, I know she’s catching on to the flirtation between Owen and me. Well, Owen’s flirtation. I am not reciprocating. I wouldn’t even know how to flirt—even if I were attracted to him for anything other than his big shoulders. And rough hands. And gorgeous cobalt eyes.

Owen pivots that broad torso, aiming a blank stare at Rebel.

“No. Just for her,” he rumbles. It’s a sound that churns up a feeling in me that it has no business churning up.

Under the table, I cross my legs.

Rebel lightly taps her notebook against his broad shoulder. “’ Kay. Be right back.”

“So, we were talking about how you looked up my file,” he says, his eyes dark. His whole demeanor has changed from sheepish to…something else.

Of course I looked up his file. For professional reasons. What does he expect?

“When was the last time you had that ligament examined?”

He shrugs. “I’ve been on dad mode 24-7 for the last eighteen months. I barely remember my date of birth. If I catch a cold, I just power through.”

“But you need to take care of yourself as well,” I say.

“I need to take care of Graham and set him up for the future,” Owen says. “Luckily I can still work full-time at the feed store and care for the farm without missing too much time with Graham.”

“That’s great,” I say. “But it sounds like you’re burning the candle at both ends.”

“I have a good system now,” he says. “He hangs out with me at the feed store twice a week. The rest of the week, my mom watches him for me. I carry him on my back when I’m home tending the farm. Pretty soon he’ll be big enough to be my little helper.”

I don’t think a two-year-old will be as much help in the garden as he thinks, but I’m not here to predict the future. He’ll figure it out.

“May I introduce you to the concept of daycare?” I say instead.

Owen smiles, but there’s some tension there. “I don’t want someone who’s not family to raise my kid.”

Here we go.

This, I know a lot about. “You may not be aware of this, but studies have shown that quality child care has long-term benefits for children. They learn independence, how to advocate for themselves, and how to make friends and work as a team.”

He stares at me for a beat, leaning back, clasping his hands behind his head. “Doc, are you prescribing child care for my son?”

I should tread carefully here. I know this body language. I’ve seen it dozens of times.

“I’m not prescribing anything,” I say gently. “I’m just saying, there’s no reason to be scared of hiring full-time child care. Just do your research.”

I sense a shift in his demeanor, and I know I’m the cause of it.

Owen leans back in his chair and crosses his burly forearms across his chest. His work shirt sleeves are rolled up, making him look all the more imposing.

“I have done my research. I research everything. The second that Amber dropped Graham at my front door, I’ve been doing nothing but learning how to take care of him.”

Shit.

“I didn’t mean to…” I start.

A text notification comes through, distracting Owen from our argument.

I should say, the argument he seems to be picking with me. I have no skin in this game. I don’t actually care if I piss him off, because I’m not crushing on him. It’s one hundred percent the other way around. One hundred percent.

Reading the text that just came through, Owen quietly curses and stands up.

“I gotta go. It was nice talking with you, Daisy.”

I watch him walk away for the second time in two days, but I feel something else this time.

The opposite of satisfaction. Which makes no sense because I clearly won that argument. Didn’t I?

So why does his use of my first name make me ache? And why, as he walks away, do I feel as if I’ve been oblivious to something that should be so obvious?