The Reunion(15)

“What was that?” she asks, her eyes still on me.

“Nothing,” Ford says.

“And look, a little bit of a dimple in your chin. Isn’t that cute.” Her good arm rises. “Can I touch it?”

“Uh, touch what?” I ask as I lay a pillow across her lap and adjust her exam table so she’s sitting up.

“Your chin dimple. I want to press my finger in it, like it’s a button.” Heat rises in my body as I try to concentrate on casting her arm, but it’s proving to be more difficult with every second that goes by. My hands feel slightly unsteady, my mind is confusing the process, and hell . . . she could totally touch my chin dimple. She doesn’t even have to ask.

Ford lowers Palmer’s arm gently. “Maybe leave Dr. Beau’s chin alone for now.”

“Right, right, he’s focusing. We don’t want to disturb a great man at work . . . an attractive man, wouldn’t you say, Ford?” Ignoring her praise—praise I wish I’d had many years ago—I slip the stock net over her arm carefully and then start rolling the protective cotton around her wrist. The x-rays we took showed a distal radius fracture, the most common type of a fracture, which usually occurs as someone’s trying to catch themselves when falling. In this instance, exactly what happened. “So, Dr. Beau, are you single?”

I nearly choke on my own saliva.

“Why don’t we just let Dr. Beau do his job, Palmer. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.” Ford pats his sister’s arm.

Yes, please, just let me do my job.

I finish wrapping and straighten up. “Would someone be able to bring her in tomorrow? I’d like to make sure the butterfly bandages are healing the way I want them to.”

“Yes,” Ford says. “I can arrange for that.” He types something into his phone and then sits down in a chair while letting out a pent-up breath. His head rests against the wall, and he looks absolutely exhausted.

Not surprised. The man works himself ragged.

He’s the one and only Ford Chance, the reason the Chance family is even on the national map, and the reason my sister has a job.





CHAPTER EIGHT





FORD


“Good morning,” Larkin says with a smile as she sits across from me.

The Marina Island Bed and Breakfast has a large dining space with accompanying fireplace, multiple wooden bistro sets with differing floral linens draped over them, and striped green and white wallpaper on the walls, met halfway down the wall by white board and batten. The aesthetic is busy, but also oddly calming, with the soothing natural colors and potted plants scattered throughout the space.

But it does nothing for my mood this morning.

“Good morning,” I say, pouring myself a cup of coffee from the carafe that Louise, the owner, brought over to me when she mentioned how tired I looked. Pleasant woman.

Larkin studies me. “You look . . .”

“Tired,” I finish for her. “So I’ve heard.” I drag my hand over my face and lean back in my chair. A muffin rests on my plate, along with some fruit, but I have no desire to eat them at the moment, especially since the muffins look dry and incredibly unappetizing. Hate to admit it, but my mom was right about the continental breakfast.

“Does this have anything to do with Palmer and a wine bottle?”

“Talk to your brother, the famous Dr. Beau, this morning?”

“He mentioned a late-night visit. He obviously didn’t go into details, but he did want me to check up on you and make sure you were okay. He said you seemed stressed.” Larkin props her chin on her hand. “Anything you want to talk about, boss?”

“Not really.”

“Does that ever work with me?”

“No.” I pick up my fork and stab a piece of pineapple that’s seen better days. I examine it and set my fork back down.

“How about this—instead of pretending like we’re going to eat these dry bran muffins and semicanned fruit, why don’t we head over to Watchful Wanderers? They have food trucks parked out front in the morning. We can grab breakfast and walk through the store, maybe get those creative juices flowing and then go over the schedule for today.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a great plan.” I tilt my head to the side, taking her in. “Why do you know me so well?”

“Four years of spending way too much time together.” She stands and adjusts the rolled-up sleeves of her black-and-blue buffalo plaid shirt. Before we left, I told her to pack casual for the trip. It’s just us—no reason to dress up. I’m glad she took me seriously, because she looks comfortable in her leggings, boots, and flannel. “Let’s go—I’m not going to take no for an answer.”

“When have you ever taken no for an answer from me?”

“It’s rare.” She smirks as I stand.

I leave a tip on the table, not sure if that’s what we’re supposed to do, and I follow Larkin out of the bed-and-breakfast. Together we turn right on Marina Ave. “Do you ever miss living here?” Larkin asks as our feet fall in step together.

“Sometimes,” I answer. “I don’t miss the constant ferry rides and the fear of missing the last boat off the island. But I do miss living near the water. Nothing like a landlocked state to make you realize how much you enjoyed living on the coast.”