My schedule is different from when I worked at the university. No journal articles to review. No papers to grade or messages from students inventing wild excuses for not submitting their assignments on time. My favorite was the breathless, “Miss! Miss! I was attacked by magpies when I was riding my bike to campus! They destroyed my paper! It was a frenzy! I’m lucky to be alive!” before the message cut out with a beep.
These days, I still have messages to check on the answering machine, but they are less…imaginative. Except for the poor woman who runs the motel. She’s always experiencing a crisis. Honestly, I think she just needs a vacation.
The clinic door creaks open.
Oh God. This is a disaster! Flustered and with absolutely nothing ticked off my checklist, I scoop up a handful of pamphlets—
“Hello there.”
I yelp. Photos of women looking far too cheerful to be waiting for a pap smear soar into the air and scatter over the reception desk. My eyes narrow to a razor-thin line as I turn my head.
Sure enough, Luke stands in the doorway, his hands behind his back.
“You,” I say.
He fights to hold back a smile. “Is that how you greet all the patients?”
I ignore his attempt to lighten the mood. If he wants to be sexy with all that ridiculous smirking, there are plenty of tourists heading to the beach for him to charm.
I cock my chin. “Do you have an appointment?”
“You know I don’t.”
Iwillwhen I tick off the rest of my to-do list—but wasting more time on Luke is certainly not on there. “Well, then…” I march to the door. My hand is steady on the knob when I yank it open. “Don’t let me keep you.”
“Elsie.”
I wave my hand in the gap leading outside. “Thanks for stopping by.”
He doesn’t budge.
“Out,” I insist.
“Not before I apologize,” he says. “Properly this time.”
His “proper” apology appears from behind his back. An oversized bouquet of white rosebuds is the last thing I need.
I snatch the flowers out of his hand. “Apology accepted.” I butt my shoulder into his in a further attempt to push him out the door.
Luke still doesn’t budge. His feet plant in the beige carpet, and he chuckles because isn’t thishilarious?
“I don’t think you’vereallyaccepted my apology,” he says.
“You’re smarter than you look. Thanks for stopping in.” I put all my weight into my shoulder and give another push. “Bye.”
“You’re adorable even when you’re justifiably angry with me.”
“This isn’t the time to be cute.”
“Because you’re still mad?”
“Of course I am. Do you honestly think that this”—I stick the bunch of flowers in his face—“changes anything that happened last night? Or that it in any way makes up for any other times you talked garbage about me to anyone who’d listen?”
Luke’s hand curls around mine, but only long enough to lower the bouquet. Blue eyes and a sad smile wait underneath. “Firstly, no, I don’t think it will change anything. You’re furious at me. Deservedly. I will put in the necessary hard work to regain yourtrust. Secondly, I only diverted attention if someone put me on the spot.”
“Like who?”
He pauses. “Sawyer.”
