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“We still need to work on training him not to attack,” I say. “Or keep him on a shorter leash in public places until we’re sure he’ll listen when we tell him to sit.”
“Agreed,” she says. “I’m going to save some peas from supper to use as training treats.” She pulls open the fridge as she nods toward the window over the sink. “And he’s out back playing on the swing set.”
I cock my head. “Excuse me?”
“The swing set,” she repeats, pulling ingredients from the produce drawer. “The Tanners were selling their old one for cheap since their kids are all teenagers now. I bought it and set it up for Kyle. He won’t let me push him in the bucket swing yet, but he loves the slide and running up and down the seesaw.”
I cross to the window and gaze out in time to see Kyle zooming down a faded red slide, wings spread wide and wattle flapping in the breeze.
“Strangest pet ever,” I mumble.
“Best pet ever, you mean,” Starling says, appearing beside me with a bag of snap peas. “I’m so glad you didn’t let anyone shoot him. Wash these, I’ll start grilling the zucchini.”
Starling and I fall into the familiar rhythm of cooking dinner together, just like when we were kids, whipping up supper so Mom wouldn’t have to worry about it when she got home late from working a double shift at the accountant’s office during tax season. I’m so grateful to have her here. I haven’t minded living alone, but it’s nice to have someone to talk to, even if she doesn’t always respect my boundaries.
But that’s just part of being sisters.
I know Starling only pries because she cares.
I also know that I made the right decision this afternoon, though I seriously doubt that Christian and I will ever be more than friends. Even before Starling shared his “monogamy in moderation” policy, it felt weird to think about kissing Barrett’s brother, let alone anything more.
But I don’t regret saying no to Barrett.
In fact, I don’t think about Barrett again until after Starling and I finish dinner and adjourn to the living room to watch reruns of America’s Funniest Home Videos, a show Kyle appears to enjoy if the way he stalks back and forth in front of the TV, cooing low in his throat is any indication. It’s only when I pull my cell from the charging block in the corner and see a text from Barrett that my eyes zoom back to that spot in the hallway by the door, the one that will probably haunt me for the rest of my life.
His text may haunt me, too—
Just wanted to tell you that I’m glad you’re back, and I look forward to seeing you in the office tomorrow. It hasn’t been the same without you.
“What’s up?” Starling asks.
“Nothing,” I say, setting the phone on the arm of the couch and tucking my legs beneath me. “Just one of the other nurses touching base.”
“Is something wrong? You looked sad.”
“I’m not sad,” I say, forcing a smile. “Everything’s fine.”
But everything’s not fine. Tomorrow, I jump back into my old routine. I should be excited. As much as I loved my big adventure, by the end of my travels, I was so homesick. I missed my job, my jewelry making supplies, my friends and family, even my crazy, but good-hearted, little hometown. I was ready for my life to get back to normal, but nothing about this feels normal.
Barrett and I are weird together now.
I have no idea what working with him will be like or if my vow to keep things professional will hold. All I know is that I don’t want to be the woman I was before. I don’t want to be taken for granted or mischaracterized or invisible.
I also don’t want to be hurt and sadly, I’m pretty sure that’s all Barrett has to offer me.
Chapter Eight
BARRETT
Monday mornings are always unpredictable.
It’s the easiest day of the week to book a last-minute appointment and the first chance for patients who’ve run into trouble over the weekend to be seen. I’ve come in to waiting rooms packed with pregnant women concerned about spotting or Braxton-Hicks contractions more times than I can count.
I’m accustomed to keeping a level head in the midst of a Monday stress fest and calming the fears of patients experiencing common, mostly benign symptoms that won’t put their babies at risk. Even when providing care for more serious issues, I’m rarely shaken. I’ve been working in a small, but busy private practice since the summer I finished my residency and am accustomed to the bustle.
At first, I was partners with Dr. Graham, an older doctor near retirement, who was eager for a protégé. But for the past three years, I’ve managed the caseload solo. Dr. Graham still delivers babies occasionally, as do the midwives in town, whose services have become more popular in recent years, but it’s largely a one -man show around here.
