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I do the quick calculation in my head. That’s three degrees Celsius at the beginning of August. I shudder at the thought.
Dolores’s wise gaze zones in on me. “Who’s this girl? Your replacement?”
Sharon laughs. “No. This is Wren’s daughter. She’s just visiting.”
I get a curious once-over, much like the one I got from the woman at the grocery store. At least I don’t feel as out of place today, with my bare face and my flannel jacket. And then her gaze shifts to something behind me. A genuine smile stretches across the old lady’s face, showcasing misshapen yellowed teeth. “There you are.”
“On your way to see Helen again?”
My heart skips a beat at the sound of Jonah’s deep voice.
“Unfortunately. Are you taking me?” A hopeful sparkle dances in her black eyes. Does everyone in Alaska know and like Jonah?
“Not this time. But don’t worry, you’ll be in good hands with Jim.” He moves in to lean against the end of the desk, a position that allows him to face both of us while he talks.
I can’t seem to find the nerve to acknowledge him with a look or even a nod, and so I keep my focus on the old woman while watching him in my peripherals, all while my skin prickles with an electric current and my cheeks heat.
Three hours in the drizzle helped cool my hormones, both literally and figuratively. Letting that happen with Jonah this morning was a bad idea. I don’t regret it—how can I regret anything that felt that good?—but it can’t lead anywhere, so what’s the point? I’m going back to Toronto, where I belong, and he’s staying here in Alaska, where he belongs.
It’s a dead end.
It was a mistake.
Dolores’s black eyes crawl over Jonah’s face, pausing on his stitches. “I heard about the accident.”
“Just a scratch—I’m fine. I’m ready to go.”
Because you’re insane.
She frowns. “There’s something different about you, though.”
“No, there isn’t.” His voice is gruff, but his tone is teasing.
“Yes, there is.” She searches his face again. “I can’t put my finger on it.”
And I can’t tell if she’s joking or
not.
“He finally got a haircut!” Maxine hollers from her seat a few feet over. She’s a short, plump woman with a loud voice and an even louder laugh.
Dolores makes a grunting sound, then studies him another long moment. “I liked the old beard better,” she finally states, as if he were waiting for her to pass judgment. “You’re too pretty now.”
He grins, a move that shows off those deep dimples. He’s not in the least bit offended by her blunt and critical opinion. “Not as pretty as I’d look without it. Besides, some women like their men pretty.” A pause, and then he turns to look at me dead center. “Right, Calla?”
I feel all their eyes on me as my face burns. I clear my throat. “Some might.” You ass.
His knowing eyes crinkle with amusement. An ass you want to kiss again, he seems to be saying.
And he’d be right.
Bad idea, Calla. Bad. Horrible.
“Marie!” Sharon’s excited shriek breaks up our intense deadlock. She waddles around the desk in time to greet the tall, willowy blonde woman who just came through the door.
Did she say Marie? As in the Marie? The veterinarian who flies in once a month to save everyone’s animals? The crusader who vaccinated a raccoon for Jonah? The friend who Agnes is convinced wants to be much more than friends with him?
The stitched DR. MARIE LEHR across her jacket’s breast pocket pretty much confirms it.
