Chapter 10

CHAPTER

TEN

Oliver

I’ve been antsy all day. If I’ve looked at the clock once, I’ve looked at it a thousand times. I even told Kathy to block my last appointment spot of the day when the patient who was originally scheduled canceled. I hate being behind, and I’m leaving as soon as I get the text from Blakely.

Last night, having her at my place was surreal. I don’t invite women to my home. Unless we’re related, they’ve never been there. This, though, having Blakely in my space, I didn’t hate it. And when we shared our dessert, fuck me… I wanted to kiss her. It took more strength than even I knew I had to hold back.

She’s all I’ve been able to think about these last couple of weeks. One minute I’m living my life, and the next, I’m told I have to work with someone new and that someone is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I thought I was strong enough to resist her, but last night shows I’m not. It’s not just me wanting to be inside her, because I do. I really, really do. I also feel protective of her.

She’s consuming me.

Hell, today, I made up an excuse to go to the administration office during my lunch under the guise of checking on my credentialing. I really just wanted to get a glimpse of her, but sadly, she wasn’t in her office.

Now, here I sit in my office, watching the numbers slowly tick by on the computer screen. It’s finally a few minutes before five. All my charting is done for the day, and I’ve signed off on all messages and prescription refills. There is nothing else to do but watch that clock on the corner of my computer screen. At least the staff will assume I’m working when I’m anything but.

I can’t stare at this screen a minute longer. With a few clicks, I have my laptop shutdown and close the lid. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I scroll though pictures. I delete screenshots that are no longer needed, and when my phone vibrates in my hand, I just about drop it. I fumble with the device and glance at the door to my office to make sure no one was walking by to bear witness to my nerves.

Blakely: I’m headed out.

Me: I’ll meet you at my car.

Blakely: I can just follow you wherever we’re going.

Me: I’ll drive us both.

Blakely: Bossy.

Me: Thank you.

I’m grinning down at the phone at our exchange. In a matter of weeks, she’s broken down walls that I never thought would fall. Standing, I shove my phone into my pocket, grab my keys, slip into my coat, and, with a wave over my shoulder to the staff and my peers, I make my way outside to her.

I’m leaning against my car, arms crossed over my chest and legs crossed at my ankles, when she approaches. Damn, she’s beautiful.

“Hey.” She smiles sweetly. “How was your day?”

“Good,” I answer gruffly. “Yours?” I pull open the door for her.

“Good.” She grins as she climbs into the passenger seat of my SUV. I close the door to block out the cold and rush around to the driver’s side.

“Buckle up.”

“Bossy, bossy,” she says, shaking her head. However, she reaches for her seat belt and buckles up just as I asked.

“You know, precious cargo and all that.”

“Did you just refer to me as precious?” Her cheeks turn a light shade of pink, which has nothing to do with the weather.

I point to my chest. “I do save lives, after all.”

“You’re an orthopedic doctor, not a heart surgeon,” she goads.

“Still a physician.” I wink, and she laughs. The sound fills the car, and damn, if I could bottle that sound, I would.

“Fine,” she concedes.

“What sounds good for dinner?” I already have something in the Crock-Pot at home, but if she wants something specific I can make that happen.

“Honestly, anything. I’m pretty easy.”

“We have to be back at the hospital at seven to meet with Jerry, right? We’ve got a couple of hours?”

“Around seven. He’s working until midnight, so if we run a little late, I can just text him.”

“Do you and Jerry text often?” I ask.

“Just when necessary.”

I bet Jerry looks for reasons to speak to and meet with her. If I were him, I would. Fucking Jerry. I have to push those jealous thoughts out of my mind. I don’t even have a right to feel this way, but those feelings are right there sitting on the surface all the same.

“What do you do for fun?” she asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“I don’t have much of a life outside of the office,” I admit. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her that I used to, but I stop myself from speaking the words.

“Come on. There has to be something?”

“My best friend, Brad, comes over and we watch the games. Sometimes I go to his place.”

“Hobbies?”

“I golf some, go to the gym, and work.”

“Ollie, Ollie, Ollie, what am I going to do with you? No wonder you’re grumpy all the time.”

“I’m not grumpy,” I grump, making her laugh.

“See!” She turns in her seat as much as her seat belt will allow and points her manicured nail at me. “You’re Mr. Grump. In fact, I should get you a stocking that says that.”

“I don’t hang stockings.”

“What do you mean? It’s a holiday tradition.”

“I live alone, Blake,” I remind her. “Brad, his wife and kids, and my parents don’t care if I have a stocking hanging over the mantel.”

“Fine,” she concedes. “When are you going to put your tree up? I noticed last night it wasn’t up yet. I know some wait until after Thanksgiving, but that’s just next week,” she says, with so much damn excitement in her voice. I hate that my answer is going to dim her enthusiasm.

“I don’t actually have a tree.”

“What?” she gasps. “You don’t have a tree? As in, you get a real one and have not bought one yet, or you don’t own a tree at all?”

“The second one.”

“You don’t put up a Christmas tree?” she asks, appalled.

“I don’t.”

“Why?”

I can feel her stare, but I keep my eyes on the road. “It’s just me. My parents go over the top every year, but I can’t see the point of all the decorating when it’s just me. Besides, as you know, I’m not a fan of the holiday.”

“What did Christmas do to you?” I can hear the disbelief in her tone. She’s having a hard time with this, just as I knew she would.

“It wasn’t exactly the holiday itself, but this time of year,” I confess. I don’t know why I admitted that to her. I don’t talk about my past. I left it there, buried deep. I expect more questions. What I don’t expect is her hand to land on my arm in silent support. “It’s in the past,” I tell her. Unable to help myself, I take one hand off the wheel and place it over hers. Her hands are chilled, so I change hands on the wheel and turn the heat up, pointing it toward her.

“I’m not cold.”

“Your hands are icicles.”

“My hands are always cold this time of year.”

I don’t reply, and out of the corner of my eye, I see her sit back in her seat. Her head is turned toward the passenger side window.

“I’m sorry, Oliver. I don’t know what happened to make you hate Christmas, but I’m sorry. It’s a magical time of year, and my heart hurts for you that you don’t experience the magic.”

I slide my hand to her thigh and squeeze gently. “Long time ago,” I repeat.

“What about before?”

“Before what?”

“Before whatever happened in the past? Did you love Christmas then?”

“Yeah.” My lips twitch with a grin. “My mom goes all out, and my parents have held an annual holiday party every year since they’ve been married. This year will be thirty-five years.”

“Wow. That’s awesome. I bet your mom and I would be the best of friends,” she says with a chuckle.

My hand is still on her thigh, over the dress pants she wore today, and I have no plans to move it. Instead, my thumb traces small patterns. “Yeah,” I agree. She’s right, my mother would love her. Both my parents would love her. In the short amount of time I’ve been around her, I can’t find a single thing about Blakely Kincaid that I don’t like.

Even her love for Christmas.

“Hey, are we going to your place?” she asks.

“We are. I put dinner in the Crock-Pot before I left for work this morning.”

“Oh, yeah, and what are we having?”

“Roast, potatoes, and carrots. I just need fifteen minutes to bake us some biscuits.” I watch as her eyes widen in surprise.

“You cooked for me two nights in a row. I feel spoiled. Be careful, Ollie, I might end up making your place my new hangout,” she jokes.

I’m okay with that.

The thought surprises me, but I know it’s true. This woman and her bubbly personality are infectious, even to a grumpy, jaded man like myself.

When I pull into the driveway, I hit the button to raise the garage door. After pulling inside, I quickly close the door to ward off the cold weather. She’s cold, whether she wants to admit it or not, and I won’t be a contributor. “Stay put,” I tell her before reaching for my door handle.

“What?”

I turn back to her. “I’ll get your door.”

“I can get my own door.”

“I’m sure you can, but I want to do it.”

“Ollie, are you a closet romantic?”

“Just stay put,” I grumble and climb out of the SUV. I race around the front of the car and pull open her door, offering her my hand. “I hope you’re hungry.” I lead her to the house with her fingers entwined with mine. As soon as I push open the door that leads to the mudroom, which leads to the kitchen, the smell of dinner wafts through the air.

“If I wasn’t, I would be now. That smells amazing. What can I do to help?” she asks.

“Grab yourself a drink from the fridge and keep me company.”

“You want something?”

“Sure, a glass of tea. The glasses are to the left of the fridge.” I sneak around her, pull out a can of biscuits, and use it as an excuse to slide my hand along the small of her back. At this point, I’m like a man in the desert, desperate for a drink of water. Only my desperation is for the woman standing in my kitchen.

“Why marketing?” I ask once she’s seated and I have the biscuits in the oven. I stand on the opposite side of the island, trying to keep a little distance between us. I’m not sure I can be trusted. Last night proved that.

“I enjoy the field, and I’m a people person. It makes the interactions with other departments and outside resources easier for me. When I was in high school, I did some social media for my dad’s shop, as well as my uncle Orrin’s and my aunts Palmer and Scarlett’s photography studio. It was actually my aunt Palmer who suggested it. After I researched it a little, I knew it was the career for me.”

“You’re good at it.”

She smiles. “How do you know? We’ve been working together for a couple of weeks, and at the beginning of that, you scowled at everything I said.”

I scowl at her now, and she laughs, pointing her finger at me.

“It wasn’t you,” I say. “I didn’t want to plan the gala. It’s the holiday I’m not a fan of.”

“And now?”

“Still not a fan,” I admit.

“Come on. Think about all the fun you had growing up. I know you miss it.”

“We did have fun, but those parties included someone from my past. Someone who will never be a part of my future. It’s hard to see the good anymore. It’s all shadowed by the bad.”

“I’m sorry.” She tilts her head to the side to study me, and I can feel my skin burn from her attention. I turn to check the biscuits in the oven when I know damn good and well they’re not even close to being done yet.

“I think you should let me help you.”

“All we’re waiting on is the biscuits,” I tell her.

“No, I think you should let me help you find your love for the holidays again.”

I’m shaking my head before she’s even finished speaking. “It’s done.” My voice is firm, and I don’t leave room for negotiation. I clear my throat, feeling like an ass for being so short with her, but that’s me. That’s who I am. I change the subject. “So, what exactly do you need from Jerry at this meeting tonight?”

“Nothing, to be honest. He just likes to touch base and make sure he’s executing the project to my plans. We meet for a few, talk about it, and then it’s good.”

I’ll bet. I’m sure Jerry does anything he can to meet with her. Fuck, look at me. I’m making her dinner two nights in a row. Welcoming her into my house, touching her when I know it’s a temptation I don’t need, but I do it all anyway.

Silence surrounds us as I watch her and she stares down at the bottle of water in her hands. It’s not uncomfortable, but I want to know more about her. “Two siblings, right?” I ask her.

“Yes. Brooklyn and Beckham. I’m the oldest, and Brooke is the baby.”

“What was that like?”

“Good. There are six years between me and Beck and ten between me and Brooke. I’m the oldest of all the grandkids. It was just me for a while, and to hear my family tell it, I was quite the character.”

“How so?”

“Do you remember my story about the wiener pants?” she asks.

I chuckle. “Yep.”

“Okay, so there was also this one time my uncle Maverick showed up a little late to a family event, and he had what I thought was a golden ticket stuck to the bottom of his shoe. You know Willy Wonka, right?”

“I do.”

“Great. So, anyway, I saw the gold and got excited, thinking it was a golden ticket. I got rushed away, and it wasn’t until I was older and my mom and aunts were reliving some of their ‘Blake tales’ that I learned what it really was.”

“Well, what was it?”

“A condom wrapper.” She covers her face with her hands. “Talk about embarrassing.”

“How old were you?” My shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“I think seven or eight. Go ahead, laugh it up at my expense.” She waves her hand in the air.

“I’m sorry, but that’s funny.”

“My aunt Alyssa said it was one of those ‘you had to be there moments,’ but they all still laugh their asses off anytime someone brings it up.”

The oven timer goes off, so I turn and grab the biscuits before they burn. I make both of our plates and take a seat next to her at the island. “Eat up.”

“Do you ever use your formal dining room?”

“No, not really. Most of the time, it’s just me, and this island seats five. This is more convenient.”

“You should host a holiday dinner party. Invite your best friend and his family.”

“Yeah, no. I won’t be doing that.”

“Grump,” she teases, leaning her shoulder into mine.

“Sunshine.” I wink at her, and that blush I love so much coats her cheeks.

While we eat, we chat about our college experiences and why I chose to go into the medical field. With parents who are doctors, the choice was easy for me. They never pressured me to go to medical school. It was something I wanted to do. By the time we’re finished and the dishes are in the dishwasher, we’ve got just enough time to make it back to the hospital to meet this Jerry character.

“They’re working on the big Christmas tree at the main entrance,” Blakely directs as she bounces in her seat. She really does love Christmas. “You can park over there.”

Doing as she says, I park in the spot she pointed out, and she’s out of the car before I can open her door for her. I rush to turn off my SUV, grab my keys, and follow her. I scan the area and count five guys working. None of them are paying us a bit of attention, so I’m certain none of them are this Jerry guy. I hope he’s pissed that she’s not alone.

“There she is!” a jovial voice calls out.

I step up behind Blakely and slide my arm around her waist. She peers up at me under long lashes, a look of confusion crossing her face. The urge to kiss her is strong, but the man in question, who I’m guessing is Jerry, steals her attention.

I don’t like it.

“What do you think?” the guy asks.

I peel my eyes away from Blakely and bite down on my cheek to keep from smiling. Jerry, if I had to guess, is in his late sixties, and he’s not looking at Blakely like he wants to drag her to his bed. No, he’s looking at her with genuine affection. My shoulders fall, and I relax, knowing he’s not the competition.

“I’m so excited,” Blakely replies.

“I knew you would be. Last year, I think you spent as much time out here while we put up and decorated this tree as our crew did.” Jerry laughs.

“I can’t help it. This is incredible.” Blakely tilts her head back to look up at the gigantic tree on the front lawn of the hospital.

“This year you brought a friend.” Jerry smiles kindly.

“Oh, I did. Sorry, this is Oliver Thompson. He’s an orthopedic physician here at Willow River General. Oliver, this is Jerry. He’s the head of maintenance and a magician with leading his crew in all things tree decorating.”

I hold my free hand out to Jerry. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You as well.” His eyes flash to my arm that’s around Blakely’s waist, but I don’t move it.

I like having her this close. I refuse to think about why and ignore all the warning bells flashing in my mind. “This is a big task,” I comment, looking away from him and to the tree.

“It is, but one that I enjoy. My Martha, she loves it too. We’ve come to the Tree Lighting Ceremony here since it started almost thirty years ago.”

“How is Martha?” Blakely asks.

“She’s perfect.” Jerry beams when he talks about his wife.

“Tell her I said hello. I’ll see her at the lighting in a couple of weeks.”

“I’ll do that.” Jerry nods. “So, any changes? Words of wisdom?” he teases.

“No. And you know I only wanted this meeting to see you and look at the progress.”

“I know.” He nods. “It’s getting cold. You better go on. I’ll send you progress pictures.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“I know, but I know you love them, and that keeps you from standing out here in the cold all night watching as we work.”

I peer down at Blakely and see she’s smiling. “Okay, fine. Thank you.” I can hear the excitement in her voice. She looks up at me. “Ready?”

“When you are. It was nice to meet you, Jerry.”

“You too, son,” he says.

With a smile and a wave, we’re walking back to my SUV.

“Thanks for dinner. Again,” Blakely says, as we get closer. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Where are you going?”

She points to the other side of the building. “To my car.”

“Get in. I’m driving you.”

“I can walk.”

“And I said I would drive you.” It’s dark and cold as hell. She can sit with me while her car warms up.

“Bossy.”

“Brat,” I fire back. She sticks her tongue out at me, and it only makes the urge to kiss her even stronger. I open the door for her, and she climbs in. It takes us no time to drive to her car. Reaching over, I place my hand on her thigh, something I enjoy much more than I should. “Start it and let it warm up.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You will be, right here in my car that’s not nearly as cold as yours.” Reaching over, I adjust the heat a little higher and point the warm air toward her.

“You’re a nice guy underneath all that grump, Oliver Thompson.”

“Just to you it seems,” I say, my hand lifting to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Nah, you’re just a big old softy hiding behind your past.”

“Are you a therapist now?”

“No, but I see you, Ollie.” Her voice is soft with her confession.

“I see you too,” I admit. I lean in. I need to kiss her. I have to.

“Thanks again.” She rushes the words before climbing out of the car, waving, and climbing into hers.

I missed my chance, but that’s okay. The next time, I’ll make sure she can’t get away so easily. It’s been four years since I’ve kissed someone, and Blakely Kincaid is about to break that streak. She just doesn’t know it yet.