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CHAPTER ONE
WALKER
"Dr. Evans, always good to see you at events like these," Mark says while holding out his hand for me to shake. I hesitate for a brief second and then grip his hand in the customary greeting. I've never understood why we shake hands here in the Western world. So unhygienic. However, growing up in this tight-knit community means adhering to handshakes and small talk.
“What would Christmas be without the annual Jack Frost Skating Competition?” I ask once the socially acceptable time for shaking his hand is up. When he still doesn’t go away, I move on to my next practiced line of small talk – medical conditions. As one of the few doctors in this town, I know pretty much everyone’s injuries and pre-existing conditions. “How’s your leg doing?”
“Just fine, Walker. You did a good job stitching me up. Our neighbor’s son is putting up the rest of the Christmas lights for us. Falling off a ladder once is one too many times for me,” he says with a chuckle. I return his smile, though it’s mostly just to get him to move along.
I’m not an antisocial jerk, I just don’t always know how to behave around people. I can appreciate these get-togethers and traditions though, especially during this season. Here in Christmas, Michigan, we take our holiday celebrations very seriously, and that means everybody participates. Aside from this ice-skating and hot chocolate party, we have toy drives, present-wrapping competitions, and a tree lighting. There’s even a goddamn parade.
I’d never hear the end of it from Mable Thatcher, the self-appointed town grandma, if I missed a single one of these events. And since I see her nearly once a week at my private practice for one thing or another, it’s in my best interest to make sure she has nothing to complain about. Then again, maybe it’d be nice to have her harping on me about something other than finding a good woman to settle down with.
It’s not that I’m against the idea, I just haven’t found anyone worth pursuing. After a few failed relationships in college, I decided I wasn’t going to dedicate my time and energy to something I don’t understand.
“Walker, you made it!” I turn my head in the direction of the voice, putting on my charming smile. Time to drag out my two lines of small talk again.
“Of course. What would Christmas be without the annual Jack Frost Skating Competition?” I should have known better than to ask Bradly Simmons a rhetorical question.
"Horrible is what it would be. Just dreadful. Remember a few years ago when the whole event was canceled because of that blizzard?"
I nod passively while he continues to ramble on. I notice he has a plate full of cookies and all sorts of sugary treats that will surely mean bad things for his diabetes. Eventually, the portly man talks himself out, which is my cue. "Have you had any trouble managing your diabetes during the holiday season?" I ask, looking at his plate rather pointedly.
Bradley chuckles and claps a hand over my shoulder. “I’m doing just fine. This is for my wife,” he says, lifting the plate slightly to emphasize his point. “Do you ever turn off your medical professional side?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Maybe you should try it sometime and see. The world is more than black and white, Walker. If you step outside of your comfort zone, you might learn to appreciate all the shades of color in between.”
I nod, ready for this conversation to be done. Luckily, Bradley seems to realize I’ve had enough. He gives me a final grin before finding his wife in the crowd. The thing is, the worldisblack and white, at least for me. I like boundaries and dealing in cold hard facts. Not being emotionally attached to someone makes it easier for me to give a correct diagnosis and come up with a treatment plan.
It’s not the first time someone has told me to lighten up, and it won’t be the last. I’m still not quite sure what it means, or why I would want to. Maybe if…
My inner monologue is interrupted when I see her.
Her curves are silhouetted in the soft light, and I can’t help my eyes from wandering down her body. Something stirs in my gut and works its way into my chest, making it uncomfortably tight. It’s not heartburn, nor is it indigestion. I don’t feel tingling or numbness in my limbs, and I’m young and healthy enough to not be overly concerned about a heart attack. I run through a list of symptoms and possible diagnoses, but nothing quite matches what I’m feeling.
What is wrong with me?
My condition only worsens the longer I look at her, yet I can’t bring myself to do anything else. The woman spins around, making her silky black hair fan out and then fall around her shoulders. I have the overwhelming urge to weave my fingers in her long locks and pull her head back so I can kiss the fuck out of her full, soft pink lips.
I want to feel every inch of her lithe little body. First with my hands, and then with my lips. I want to suck on her skin. Jesus, I want to bite her. Mark her. Fuck her so good and so damn hard she’ll scream my name as she falls apart. I’ll be the first one to touch her like that. I’ll be the first and fucking only one inside her. I don’t know how I know that, but I know it with every fiber in my being.
And then she smiles. Holy hell, I think I might pass out. It’s not even directed at me, but I feel the warmth and sparkle all the way across the room. She’s talking to Mrs. B, who is cradling a baby in her arms. The mystery woman nods and laughs at something Mrs. B says, and then scoops up the baby. The way she cradles him in her arms gives me crazy thoughts of her holdingourbaby.
Hold up. Am I already thinking about kids with her? No, that can’t be right. I add “intrusive and uncharacteristic thoughts” to my ever-growing list of symptoms.
The tiny, beautiful woman stands to one side of the rink and scans the area with a bright, curious smile on her face. Her head is tilted slightly while her eyes dart from person to person, both on and off the ice. I know I should look away, but I’m still frozen in place. When her eyes land on me, my heart stops beating.
Obviously, that’s not the case, yet I can’t shake the feeling that she’s jumpstarting everything in me. She’s a fucking defibrillator.
Teal eyes lock on mine, and the air is drained from my lungs. This might be the color in my black and white world Bradley was just talking about. The woman studies me the same way I’m studying her, both of us trying to figure out what this strange, visceral connection is. The woman has pale, porcelain skin, inky black hair, and full lips. Coupled with her unique blue-green eyes, thick eyelashes, and delicate features, she looks like a fucking pixie who wandered in from a magical forest.
Again, with the intrusive, uncharacteristic thoughts. Pixie? Magical forest? Who am I right now? And more importantly, who isshe? It’s cliché, but I know just about everyone in this town, and I would definitely remember seeing her around. Whoever the pixie is, she must have just moved here.
Oh shit, she’s headed this way. If I thought she was gorgeous before, seeing the sway of her hips and the way she practically floats on air makes her absolutely otherworldly. She’s somehow both innocent and sinful. Sweet and strong. Naughty and nice.
The woman’s eyes never leave mine as she makes her way through the crowd. I watch in fascination as her cheeks turn pink. My dick responds immediately. Goddamnit. It’s been so long since he’s risen to the occasion and he has to pick this moment to spring to life?
