Chapter 5

chapter

five

Daisy

Trisha is right.

I need to work less and make more time for myself.

This means it’s time to recruit more doctors to work at the practice beyond a nurse practitioner on Fridays.

It’s not easy to draw physicians to this town, but if they could see it and understand the growth happening here, I’m sure I could get more applicants.

I take the afternoon off to shoot some photos of the downtown area for the recruitment brochure. I’m trying to compose a photo of the street with all of the new shops, as well as fit in the charming courthouse plaza and the gazebo where the town has all of its festivals, but it’s too much to fit in one photo.

I back up and keep trying, again and again, until my leg hits something hot and metal, and I hear someone shout at me so harshly it makes my blood run cold.

I whirl around just as I trip.

Someone else shouts like it’s a matter of life and death. “Watch out!”

The warning is a deep, rumbling voice that I recognize. But it comes too late.

Several thoughts flash through my mind in the split second that I lose my footing. Those thoughts include: Oh shit, that jagged metal ramp is going to bust my face open. Secondly, why is there a jagged metal ramp covering up the sidewalk? Third, my scraped-up face will take time away from my patients. Fourth, is there even a plastic surgeon in this town?

I brace for impact.

But when the impact comes, it’s not the sidewalk.

Instead, a massive arm snatches me. I’m weightless for the briefest of moments before I notice that I’m pressed up against a burly chest.

A gigantic metal box slides toward the spot where I just was.

“Oh my gosh!”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

Who said that?

The scent of fresh laundry and earthiness tells me exactly who said that.

My heart hammers as the world is set right again and my brain pieces things together.

There’s a delivery truck, a ramp groaning under the weight of some huge commercial appliance, and four men are in front of it, straining to keep it from tumbling to the sidewalk. And over there, behind me, is a baby stroller. Lord have mercy, what almost happened?

My feet might be on the ground again, but that arm is a steel girder around my waist.

“I’m okay,” I say, inhaling Owen’s scent. When I look over, the knuckles of his other hand are bright white as they grip the bar of the baby stroller.

I shudder against Owen’s chest at the thought of how many things could have gone wrong with that almost runaway appliance.

“Is Graham okay?” I squeak, trying not to pee myself.

“He’s fine,” Owen says. His words rumble against my breasts. His entire frame is shaking like an earthquake. What did he just save me from? What did he just save Graham from, more importantly?

From the safety of Owen’s embrace, I peek over his arm to see the delivery men get a handle on the situation, gently lowering the freezer to the sidewalk on a dolly.

Owen’s voice trembles as his chest expands with rage. “Next time, use the back alley like the girls goddamn told you to.”

He doesn’t shout, but he’s utterly frightening nonetheless.

I don’t wait to see if the men acknowledge Owen’s words. I clumsily extract myself from his grip, embarrassed now that passers-by have stopped to watch this scene play out.

When I check on Graham, he is perfectly fine. He reaches for me, raising his chubby, dimpled hands. I unbuckle him from his stroller seat and pick him up. The soft, pale curls on his head smell so good I could cry.

“Hi, buddy,” I say, patting his back as he wriggles in my arms.

“No, sir. I’m not putting you down just yet,” I breathe, holding him tight and assuring myself he’s safe.

“He’s okay. You’re okay,” Owen says.

My entire body is aware of this man’s hand on my lower back, his fingers slowly moving up my spine.

“I know. I think I’m still a little spooked.”

“Understandable.”

Graham fusses, then gives up the struggle momentarily.

“I didn’t mean to upset you the other day.”

Owen’s stare captures me, almost daring me to look away.

“Upset me about what?”

“All the stuff I said about child care. How you want to handle caring for Graham is none of my business. If his grandmother wants to babysit, that’s not my business. It’s not my place to tell you how to live your life,” I say.

Owen’s smile is heart-stopping—brighter than what I deserve.

“Thanks for saying that. It matters to me that you think I’m handling everything well,” he says.

“Because I’m the doctor?”

“Because we’re friends,” he says.

That feels…good. Satisfying? Maybe. Maybe not. But good.

“Friends. Absolutely.”

The word stirs up a warm feeling in my gut, like sweet apple pie. But it feels like only one bite, and I want more. A lot more.

Still, my logical brain reminds me that this is the safer option. Friendship is good, safe, acceptable, and correct.

I just wish all of me believed that “safe and acceptable” is enough.

Owen’s other hand rests on mine as I hold Graham steady in my arms. We’re half a moment away from a group hug: boy, girl, and baby. This whole scene is a little too cozy.

“Let me buy you a burger,” he says.

I suppose there’s no harm in that. We’re just two people who live in the same town, eating a burger at the diner together. Ruby’s doesn’t count as a date. Does it?

No, that’s what friends do. Everybody knows that.

After all, Ursula said that mixing business with pleasure, friendship, and family in a small town is unavoidable. It all sort of blurs together.

Ruby whips out a high chair as soon as she sees Owen with Graham, and she shoots me a curious look.

I already know what she’s thinking. Ruby knows everything about everybody that comes into her restaurant, so if there’s a single dad and a single doctor at one of her tables, she’s making so many mental notes about it I can almost hear the scribbling.

We settle into a booth by a window, with Graham perched in a highchair at the end. Ruby brings him toast to gnaw on while Owen and I place our orders.

“I have to ask you something and you don’t have to answer it,” I say.

“Go ahead,” he says.

“Is Graham’s mom in the picture in any way?”

Owen shakes his head.

I wait for him to say more.

He reaches over and steals a piece of Graham’s toast, which prompts the kid to smile and hand the other half-slice to his father.

“I’d been casually dating Amber for about a year, on and off. I was the groomsman, and she was a bridesmaid at our friends’ wedding. We’d already decided to end things because we weren’t serious enough for me to move with her to New York to pursue Broadway. We were never that well suited for each other. But I guess we both felt lonely that night at the wedding. She dragged me into the back of the deejay’s truck and I went along with it. Sorry for the image.”

I sip my water. “I’m a doctor. Nothing shocks me anymore.”

He sighs. “We went our separate ways. She moved to New York, and we have never spoken with each other again. Until she showed up on my doorstep with Graham, about nine months and two weeks later.”

Wait, she never told him she was pregnant? From the sound of it, apparently not.

“What did she say? What was the reason she wanted you to take him?”

Owen lifts one shoulder. “Amber said she wasn’t ready to be a mom. She said she knew I came from a good family and had support. She didn’t. She knew I wanted kids one day. She didn’t. So, she relinquished parental rights, and I never heard from her again.”

I get the feeling he doesn’t want to say more. And that’s fine.

“That’s very honorable of you, Owen,” I say.

“Honorable? No. I mean, look at him. How could I say no?” Owen stares at the little guy, who’s now banging his sippy cup of milk on the table, thoroughly amused by the noise. I could be mistaken but it looks like Owen’s eyes are welling up.

“I didn’t get around to telling you this that night,” he starts. Oh god, he’s bringing up the blind date. Gulp. Here we go.

“…I never graduated high school. I was tired of school and went to work on my grandpa’s vegetable farm. When he passed, he left it all to me and my sisters. I bought out my sisters’ shares in the farm because they were not interested in working it, and they saw how much it meant to me. I enjoyed it, and I also enjoyed a steady paycheck from the feed store. So when you were rattling off all your degrees that night of our date, it intimidated me a little.”

It squeezes my heart, the way he looks at me sheepishly. As if having more degrees even matters to me in terms of friendship.

“I don’t understand why anyone would care about that, but that explains the awkwardness,” I say.

He grabs a napkin from the dispenser and wipes up an insignificant puddle of milk in front of Graham. “That was part of my awkwardness. The other part was that I’m a terrible dancer, and I proved it by leaving you down to one shoe by the end of the date.”

I laugh. “There were many things that went wrong that night. Afterward, I looked at myself in the mirror and was horrified. Did you not see my blood-red teeth?”

“I didn’t even notice that,” Owen says, chuckling.

“Liar!” I squawk.

All smiles, Ruby delivers our burgers and fries amid our laughter. “How are things, Dr. Allen?”

“Amazing,” I tell her.

Her eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yep. It’s a beautiful summer day and now I’ve got a fantastic burger in front of me,” I say.

“Nothing else making your life amazing these days?” Ruby asks, cutting her eyes in Owen’s direction.

“Nope. Not a thing,” I say with a smile, squirting a large pool of ketchup on my plate and then dipping a fry into it.

She rolls her eyes, defeated in her attempt to gain some gossip. “Well, when you think of anything else, you let me know.”

Owen and I chuckle over this as she walks away, and we turn our attention to our burgers and fries.

“How’d someone with all that fancy schooling end up in our tiny town anyway?” He then picks up two fries at a time with those big hands and dips them both into the puddle of ketchup on his plate.

“I’ve known Rebel for years,” I tell him. “We were online friends through gaming interactions, and then we started going to cons together.”

“Cons?” Owen asks, tearing off a piece of fry for Graham and letting him gnaw on it.

“Conventions.”

“What kind of conventions?”

I smile. “If I tell you, do you promise not to hold it against me?”

Owen squints, takes a long sip of his strawberry milkshake, and then says, “Daisy, I wake up every morning thinking about ways to win you over. I’m not judging a single thing about you.”

Well, when you put it that way.

“It’s super nerdy stuff. Love Games kind of stuff. We became really close friends. Her story is not mine to tell, but she met her now-husband Rhys at one of those conventions and moved to Fate to be with him.

“One day, she called me and said this town needs a real doctor because the old one was one degree away from prescribing his patients leeches to cure rheumatoid arthritis. I knew about the town, but I’d never been here before. I came for a visit, and fell in love. And that was that.”

It’s not until we’ve eaten our burgers and fries and moved on to our giant slices of cherry pie that I notice other townsfolk watching us.

I guess the conversation has been that engaging that I haven’t been worrying about anyone else paying attention.

Unfortunately, Graham has had enough of the high chair, so we take our cherry pies to go.

Despite my protests, Owen pays for us both.

Outside, I help him buckle the cranky Graham into his stroller.

“Thanks for going on a date with me,” he says.

“It’s not a date if you have your kid with you,” I say.

Owen laughs. “Fair.”

“Was that your plan all along? Saving me from being crushed and then easing me into a date with you and Graham?”

“Not exactly, but did it work?”

I consider this as we walk back to the square where our cars are parked.

“Maybe. But we’re still friends, right?”

“Right. But I’m still not your patient.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Unlock your phone and give it to me, Doc,” he says.

As a rule, I do not care for bossy men. But I do it anyway because it’s not just any man. It’s Owen, and he’s my friend. I watch as he adds his contact info to my virtual address book. When he hands my phone back to me, the brief touch of his index finger against the inside of my wrist is a zing I’m not ready for.

My eyes meet his, and we stare at each other for a few seconds longer than friends should stare.

When we arrive at my car, Owen leans in and presses a soft, quick kiss to my cheek, and it’s questionable if it was supposed to be on my cheek or on my lips.

One thing that is certain is I want another one.

But he has Graham asleep in the stroller, and judging by the chime on the courthouse clock tower, it’s time to put the baby to bed.

I adore Graham. I would happily spend all day with that kid. But the fact that a tiny speck of me feels the slightest whisper of selfishness, wishing Owen and I had some time alone, feels not at all how a friend should feel.