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Persy
~ Three Months Ago
“It feels so good to get out of these shoes!”
As soon as the door to my red and white farmhouse opened, I stepped inside and kicked off the strappy silver stilettos I’d worn for the ball—the Night of a Thousand Heroes Ball, sponsored by my technical employer, Jackson Ridge Medical Center. It was the first time I’d gotten really dressed up in a long while, and tonight, I’d gone all out.
My best friend Ryan Branson shook his head as he stepped inside behind me. “I don’t know why you wear those torture devices, Persephone.”
Yep, that’s me. A doctor in the twenty-first century with the name of an ancient Greek goddess. My mother wasn’t just a hippie, but a lover of Greek and Roman mythology, hence the name. Everyone except Ryan called me Persy. “Because look at them, Ry. Look at them, and tell me they aren’t magnificent.”
He shrugged. “They’re just shoes. But if I tell you how sexy they are, will you model them around the living room for me?”
I shivered at his words and quickly shook off that reaction. This was Ryan—my best friend since forever. “After you twirled me around the dance floor all night like a rag doll? No way. But if you agree they’re magnificent, I’ll wear them to get us something to drink.” I was in desperate need of liquid pain relief, after wearing a plastic smile all night and teetering around on those incredible heels.
Ryan held up a hand and shook his head. “Since I’m wearing sensible shoes, I’ll get the drinks. You,” he pointed to the sofa, “rest your feet.”
I flashed a grateful smile. “Thanks, Ry.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m the best. I know.” He waved a hand and strolled to the kitchen in his familiar, loose-legged gait.
“You really are,” I called out, because he was the best. Ryan had been there for me through pretty much everything, including a string of failed relationships and single motherhood.
Ryan returned with a bottle of chilled tequila and two double shot glasses. “Are you buttering me up for something, or is this tipsy, I-love-everyone Persephone?”
I shrugged and leaned back on the sofa, feeling good. Relaxed. Happy that I got to spend an evening in a new dress with my best friend. “Probably the latter, but it’s the truth, Ryan. You are the best. The absolute best.”
Something flared in his blue eyes, but it disappeared just as quickly as it came, intriguing me. A smile flashed across his handsome face as he handed me a full glass of tequila. “To being the absolute best.”
“I’ll drink to that.” The tequila, an expensive birthday gift from my friend and hospital administrator, Suzie Wright, slid down my throat with an icy burn. Moments later, the warmth spread throughout my body. “I’ll have to make a note to thank Suzie again for the tequila.”
Ryan smacked his lips. “It’s damn good. Best I ever had.”
“I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”
His lips spread into a fake smile that I didn’t quite understand, but my mind was just fuzzy enough to write it off for later.
“What girls? No one is lining up to date a man with grease under his nails who spends his days under the hood of an old car.”
I snorted in disbelief. “That’s bull, Ry, and you damn well know it.” I took him in again, this time with a critical, if tipsy, eye. He wasn’t just good looking. No, with curly blond hair that he only cut about twice a year and clear sapphire-blue eyes, he was gorgeous. Add in plump pink lips, a dimple in his right cheek, and the lean muscles that covered every inch of his usually coverall-covered body, and he was hot. “You run your own business, you’re hot as hell, and you are the sweetest man in the whole world. Any girl would be lucky to have you.”
“Aw, shucks,” he said sarcastically and sent a sexy wink my way. “You’re gonna make me blush.”
I rolled my eyes at his put-on accent. “You already are blushing.” I pointed at the telltale pink creeping up from his loosened bowtie and coloring his neck and cheeks.
“Am not,” he insisted and stuck out his tongue at me before he handed me another shot.
“We need limes,” I said abruptly and stood. My kitchen was spacious but still cluttered, with a giant butcher block table in the center and marble counters around the perimeter of two walls with a mosaic backsplash I’d let my son Titus pick out last year. The kitchen was the hub of my home, like most homes, even though I wasn’t much of a cook.
“Limes won’t magically appear on the table just because you want them to, Persephone.” Ryan’s voice sounded right behind me, and I turned to face him with a startled gasp. “Who else would be here?” He gave an amused shake of his head.
