Dr. Morales whistles low. “Sedona… that is a lot to give away.”
“It’s not giving it away,” I correct. “It’s an investment. I want the clinic to survive. I want it to thrive. I can’t do that from New York, but you can do it here.”
He picks up the contract I drafted. He scans the pages, his eyes moving back and forth.
I watch him. I try to keep my composure.
But my skin feels tight. My heart is racing. There’s a ball of warmth sitting low in my stomach.
It started as a pleasant glow—an aftereffect of the afternoon with Tex. The memory of the daisies, his mouth on me, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world.
But the glow has shifted, condensed into something heavier. A pulsing knot of heat that radiates outward.
I shift in my chair, wincing as the seam of my jeans presses against sensitive skin.
“I will need to look this over,” Dr. Morales says, tapping the papers on the desk, “run it by my lawyer. But on first glance… it looks like a very good deal.”
“Take your time,” I say. “Just let me know before the end of the week.”
He nods, standing up. “Alright. Thanks, Sedona. Really.”
He leaves the office, the door clicking shut behind him.
A few minutes pass before I finally push myself up and head out. The heat is intense; I feel like I’m burning from the inside out.
I pull my phone from my purse, needing a distraction. The screen lights up with a notification: a missed call from an unknown number.
I frown and check the voicemail.
“Hey, Sedona. It’s Cole.”
My stomach drops.
“I know you’re avoiding me. But we need to talk. About the apartment. About… us. Call me back.”
I delete the message.
I debate calling Tex just to hear his voice, just to ground myself, but I stop. He dropped me off an hour ago; I can’t be clinging to him already.
I take a breath, straighten my spine, and walk out the front door. The sun hits me, blinding. I squint, fumbling for my sunglasses in my purse.
“Sedona?”
I freeze, looking up.
Seth is walking up the path, wearing a crisp white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
His hair is combed back, neat and tidy. He looks official. Handsome.
He smiles when he sees me, but it falters.
He stops a few feet away. I stare at him, and the ball of heat in my stomach flares. Seeing him—the concern in his eyes, the line of his jaw—makes the heat spike.
“Hey,” I say, my voice breathless.
“Hey,” he replies. “I was just coming back from a meeting with Mayor Ruth. We were finalizing the schedule for the fair, so I thought I’d stop by. See how the meeting went.”
“It went well,” I say. “He’s interested.”
