Page 151 of Reeves

I press my forehead against the cool tile, my breath coming faster. Reaching for the shampoo, I work it through my hair, and continue the motion until my hands steady.

I wrap my hair in a towel and slip back into my robe. The bathroom mirror is fogged from steam, but I can still see theoutline of my body. I swipe over the reflection with a towel and see a cloudy version of my face.

There's a knock at the front door that echoes through the house. And just like that, it snaps everything back into place.

"I'm coming," I call back, tightening the belt on my robe.

"You don't need to knock," I say as I open the front door.

Now he doesn't need to knock when he comes to my house? How did that happen so fast?

"Drop-off went smoothly. Ms. Lin says hi."

My heart stutters. I wonder if Ms. Lin wonders who this hot man is dropping off my son.

"Good. Thank you." I reach for the coffee canister, but he's already moving toward the machine.

"I'll get it."

We settle into a rhythm that feels practiced. He measures grounds while I grab mugs from the cabinet. I add cream to both and sugar to mine. It's the kind of quiet teamwork that usually takes months to develop.

The coffee maker gurgles to life, and he leans against the counter, watching me.

"I should get dressed. I have a patient at nine."

"Go ahead. I'll wait to drink my coffee with you."

His deep but gentle voice makes me pause. His voice is steady, keeping his eyes locked on me when he says it.

In my bedroom, I pull on navy scrubs and twist my damp hair into a low ponytail. When I return, coffee waits on the counter, steam curling from both mugs.

"Perfect timing."

We sit at the small dining table, morning light streaming through the windows. He asks about my patient schedule. I tell him about some of my notable patients, and he is engaged. I don’t rush through it the way I usually do.

His eyes linger on mine a beat too long when I laugh at a jokehe makes about dads in the drop-off line. When I reach for my mug, our fingers brush, and neither of us pulls away immediately.

He glances toward the hallway, then back to me. I think about him sneaking around in his underwear, how Benjy almost caught us in bed together, the way we navigated it together without discussing strategy.

I sip my coffee and let the warmth settle in me. My phone zzzz-zzzzz against the table with a calendar reminder.

Out of habit, I open my email app. The first email catches my eye. The sender hits, and my stomach drops.

Mississippi Department of Human Services.

I tap it open, scanning the formal language. Words jump out at me.Audit.Medicaid billing irregularities.Investigation pending.

"Shit."

The word comes out sharp and low. My coffee mug clatters against the saucer as I set it down too hard.

"What's wrong?"

His voice cuts through the sudden humming in my head. When I look up, his expression has shifted completely. Alert. Focused. The same way he looked when his truck got towed, already calculating solutions.

"I..." I stare at the phone screen, reading the same sentences over again. "There's been some kind of flag on my Medicaid billing. They're opening an investigation."

The words stick when I say them.