“Sweet Jesus,” I hiss, clutching the exam table.
When I join Emmett and Luc in the waiting room, I’m limping just a little.
Luc winces in sympathy. “I got one when I tangled with some poison ivy a couple of years ago. Burns likeEl Diablo.”
I wave away his attention. “Worth it. I’ll feel better tomorrow and—” I freeze.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving.
At the look on my face, Luc’s brows shoot up. “What’s wrong?”
I cover my mouth in horror. “Thanksgiving.” My heart starts hammering in my chest. I recognize the symptoms of hyperventilation and sink into a chair. “I never—I never placed an order at Whole Foods.”
I’d meant to do it Monday, but I felt like crap, and the day had been crazy with all of the kids’ interruptions. Every free moment I had between patients I’d spent responding to their texts.
I look up at Luc. “Do you think I can place an order now and pick it up today?”
He just shrugs, looking completely unconcerned. “Maybe, but you’re not going to.”
I blink. “Why not?”
Les Dimplesspring into action. “Because y’all are coming to my family’s for Thanksgiving. Mami and Papi are already expecting you.”
Emmett’s eyes bug. Then he leaps into the air, fist held high. “Yes!”
“B-B-But…”
Chapter Twenty-One
LUC
“Dios mío,what are those?”
Millie is trying to lock her front door with a ginormous arrangement of flowers balanced on her hip.
“I can’t go to your parents’ house for Thanksgiving empty-handed,” she says, turning her face away to avoid getting a mouthful of greenery. “That would be rude.”
I climb the porch steps to unburden her as the kids race to my Tundra.
“Shotgun!” Emmett calls.
Someone’s feeling better.I take the arrangement from Millie and call over my shoulder. “Not today,jefe.You three in the back.”
He doesn’t look back at me but drops his shoulders instead. “Awww.”
“Not middle!” Harry shouts.
“Not middle!” Mattie echoes.
“Aww,man!”Emmett whines.
My eyes track to Millie who’s dropping her keys into her purse with a look that clearly says,Tell me about it.
This woman. I swear. She has the patience of Job.
“How are you feeling?” I’m dying,dying,to touch her, but I don’t. As much as I’d like it to be, this isn’t a date. Of course, if it were, it wouldn’t involve her siblings. Or my parents.
She nods her relief. “Much better, thanks. The doc wasn’t lying about that cortisone shot.”
