9. Fallon

Fallon

"Ha!" I laugh, feeling my cheeks flame even hotter than they were before. I try to pull my hand away, but Brett holds on, his eyes shining in the fluorescent lights as he gazes up at me.

I know he's a sports guy—but maybe he's also an actor, because the way he's looking at me right now is giving me butterflies. He genuinely looks like a man proposing to the woman he loves, and it's making my entire body feel weird.

"I'm serious," he says, giving my hand a soft squeeze, then loosening his grip, so I can pull away if I want. Shocked, I leave my hand limply between his.

"You're serious," I parrot.

"Yeah." That silly grin still across his face. He looks like the human version of a Golden Retriever, like a man that just won the lottery. "I'm completely serious. It will be fun."

"Entering into a fraudulent marriage will be fun ?"

"I've never been married before, so it will be new. Plus, I like you. You're my favorite physical therapist. I think you deserve to take your shitty grandpa's money."

"Wow, just wait until you meet my dad ," I joke, poking fun at the fact that he's now insulted both my mother and my grandpa.

"Shit, I'm so—"

"No, you're right. He's shitty. I deserve the money, but Brett—" I cut myself off, surprised by the pull in my gut that wants me to say yes to this. It's like the world is rocking, urging me toward him. But it's insane—and Cassidy is right. I don't need to twist anyone else up in legal trouble.

"I can't." I realizing my hand is still in his. I pull it away, thanking every god and spirit I can think of that nobody walked in on us while we were doing that. My boss would not have been happy with the image of a patient asking me to marry them.

"I just—it's not appropriate."

"You need the money," he reminds me. "I need a hobby."

I snort out a laugh, then cover my mouth with my hand, embarrassed. Brett looks delighted.

"Hobby, sure." I shake my head. Someday, someone is going to marry him, and they're going to have a lot of fun, but that person isn't going to be me. "Thank you, it's very, very generous, like insanely, too generous, but I'm saying no—"

"Here," Brett says, taking a sticky pad from the computer stand and digging out a pen from his pocket. He scribbles something, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he does. Everything about him is cartoonish—I didn't know people actually did that.

He peels off the top piece and hands it to me, proudly, like a kid who's just finished his first art project.

"If you change your mind."

I stare down at the paper, heart skipping. He's listed his phone number, address, email—I'm shocked his social security number isn't on here.

When I look up, he's grabbing his jacket, and I realize our time is done for the day.

"Let me write down the exercises—" I start, but he shakes his head, tapping his temple with his finger.

"Don't worry, I know them. Got a great teacher."

With that, he turns and walks out the door.

***

I'm climbing up the porch steps, jiggling my car keys in my hand, thinking about everything that happened today. Chloe had the day off, so thankfully, she wasn't there to see what a mess I was after my surprise proposal.

There's still a part of my mind that's pissed I didn't say yes.

But Brett is one of those guys—nice to a fault, willing to always sacrifice himself for others. I can see it in the way he walks, how he chats amicably with the receptionist every time he sees her, no matter how boring it is. He'd lay down and let you walk on him if you asked.

And I can't do that to him. I can't take advantage of him just because he wants me to.

A shiver runs down my back at the thought and I banish it far, far into the back of my head. I have a baby now. Even if I wanted to, I just don't have time to fantasize about him.

When I push into the house, it's pure chaos. Joey is in the kitchen, yelling at someone to give him space. I can hear Chloe on the phone upstairs—she must be talking to her mother. Randall is dancing with Reginald the cat and Ainsley has a hand over her mouth, face turned away, as she squeezes a cockroach between a pair of tweezers, lowering it into Spunky's tank while he skitters toward her to take it.

"Welcome home," Cassidy says, dancing in, and Ainsley immediately turns to her, face pinched.

"You were here ?" she exclaims. "So you could have fed this thing!"

"Cover your earholes," Cassidy whispers to Spunky, who's still chomping on the cockroach. Then to Ainsley, "Don't be mean to him—he is not a thing. And stop being such a wuss."

"Don't slur me."

"Wuss is not a slur!"

"Gerald!" Joey calls from the kitchen, voice distant but rising. "I appreciate your help, but really, I got it, man!"

"Where's the baby?" I ask, dropping my bag on the floor when my eyes zero on her empty bassinet.

"With Chloe," Randall says, cradling Reginald in his arms. "Upstairs."

I take the stairs two at a time, knocking gently on the door frame. Chloe is in bed, lying on her back with the baby cuddled to her chest. She looks comfortable, content, her fingers stroking gently up and down the baby's back. She'll make a great mom someday.

When her eyes meet mine, she brings a finger to her lips slowly.

I can take her , I mouth, gesturing to the baby.

No , Chloe mouths, shaking her head almost imperceptibly, shower first.

You sure?

Go, Fal.

I nod and back away, thankful for the chance to collect myself before I take the baby again. Last night, I made a bed on the couch, and I didn't get more than 47 minutes of consecutive sleep between her waking up and crying. My watch advised me to improve sleep hygiene.

Now, I grab a towel and move quickly to the shared bathroom, saying another silent thank you when nobody is inside. I crank the water as hot as it will go and stand under it, unable to shake the image of Brett on the ground in front of me, kneeling, holding my hand.

Why does it make my heart race?

My body is hot. It must be from the water.

When my hand starts to drift down, over my thighs, I gasp and yank it back up, heart galloping.

What am I doing ? He's my patient.

My patient who just asked me to marry him…

I step out of the shower and hastily wrap a towel around my body, ignoring the pulsing need between my legs. As far as I'm concerned, that has nothing to do with me. It's my traitorous, unprofessional body leading the charge there, and I won't entertain it.

In my room, I yank clothes from the drawers, trying to get dressed as quickly as I can so I can take the baby from Chloe. I wonder how long she's had her today, and feel guilty about consistently dumping this baby on my friends.

But I already looked into the cost of childcare, and of course, it's insanely expensive. Just like everything else needed to raise a kid. I glance at the laptop on my desk, thinking about Brett. Thinking about his offer.

If I was going to accept it and marry him, I'd need to know him.

I mean, I do know him. I know his blood type. I know that he's from Minnesota. I know that he loves grape soda, and I know how he acts when he's in pain.

My mind flashes back to one of my mom's boyfriends, and how he'd accidentally hit his thumb with a hammer while putting together a bunk bed. Before that moment, I hadn't had an instant reflex to men in pain. After it, I did.

But Brett is self-deprecating, calm when he's hurting. The first time he came to me with an ache in his leg that he couldn't get rid of, it took weeks for us to strengthen the muscles around the bone so the chronic pain would go away. During that time, he'd make jokes, grit his teeth, and blow out fast gusts of air, but he was never mean.

Grabbing my laptop, I decide I'll just take a few moments to look him up. Make sure he's not a criminal. I head straight for the Vermont public court system website—I've used it in the past to research Mom's boyfriends, and I use it now to look up Brett Ratcliffe.

A couple of speeding tickets, that's all.

Not even a DUI. That's a good sign.

After scrolling through the rest of the Bretts in Vermont with "R" last names, I open a new tab and start typing his name into Google. I guess there are a lot of things you can do that may not necessarily show up as a court case.

I'm just about to hit search when my door flies open, and Chloe is standing there, breathing hard. I slam my laptop shut like I've been looking at porn.

"Fallon?" The desperate panic in her voice immediately makes me sit up, concerned. The baby is in her arms, and she kind of holds her out a bit, as though I should take a look.

"Something is wrong. "