The Reunion(51)

“It’s easier that way—only have to pay one mortgage.”

“Smart man.” She shifts on her seat. “You know, I’m going to be honest with you: my mud ass is getting all over your nice leather seats. I’m nervous to see what kind of damage I’ve done.”

I chuckle. “It’s fine. Really. I’m not worried. I’ve had worse in my cars. I actually helped a lady deliver a baby in the back seat once. The detailers at the body shop know me well, and I was due for a clean. This just gives me an excuse.” I drive up to the cream-colored Victorian house with sage-green and burnt-orange accents—the place I call home.

“I can, uh, give you money for it.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” I pull into the driveway looping around the back of the practice, where I’ve grown a peaceful garden full of colorful peonies. Last summer I installed a stone walkway that leads to a small bistro set canopied by a grove of overhanging ponderosa pines. “Your money’s no good here, but nice try.” I put the car in park and let the rain fill the silence for a few breaths. “Are you going to want to shower?”

“Would you mind if I did?”

“Not at all. Your cast is already wet, and it would be good to get you warmed up and get the mud off your ass. I have some clothes you can borrow. Warning: they will be large on you.”

“That means they’ll be comfortable.” She smiles softly.

“After that, we can reset your cast. We’re going to have to be extremely careful because it’s been a week, and resetting right now is not ideal.”

“I’ll be the best patient: still and a good listener.”

“Good.” I glance at the time on my watch. “Did you want me to take you back home after that . . . or did you want to stay longer?”

“Can I?” she asks, her perfectly moss-green eyes staring up at me, begging me.

“Of course. We can eat dinner or something . . . that’s if you’re hungry.”

“Starving.”

“Then it’s a plan. Stay right there, and I’ll help you out of the car.”



“You’re super gentle,” Palmer says as I carefully rewrap her wrist with cotton.

She took a quick shower, which was surprising. I somehow expected her to be in there longer, but she was in and out and popped out of my bathroom smelling like me and dressed in my clothes.

For a guy who has compared all girls to the one in front of him, it’s hard to see her in my clothes, to see her in a position that a girlfriend would take. Especially since I know there’s no way she’d ever look at me like that, regardless of my chin dimple. Not after everything we’ve been through.

“Are you saying I have good bedside manner?” I tease, focusing back on the present.

“I would say that you do. Your hands are even warm.”

“Keep the compliments coming. I’m loving them.”

She chuckles. “Your shampoo smells nice, and I’m shocked that your bathroom was spotless. I assumed a bachelor would have a nasty bathroom.”

“You assumed wrong,” I say, snipping the cotton. “What kind of guys have you been hanging out with?”

“All the wrong ones,” she says while I prepare the fiberglass wrap.

“So, you’re saying no one has tickled your fancy while traveling around the world?”

“Who our age says ‘tickled your fancy’?”

“Apparently doctors with warm hands and good bedside manners.” I wink, and she smiles.

“No, I haven’t.” She continues to hold still while I wrap her up. “I think everyone assumes I’ve had this glamorous life, traveling from country to country, eating delicious food, dining with celebrities, wearing designer brands. And yes, it’s been a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I know I’m quite lucky with all the places I’ve seen and the people I’ve met, but I’ve also spent that time traveling alone. There are a lot of isolated nights, way more than the nights full of company.”

“I can see how that would get tiresome after a while. Is that why you’re back home? For some companionship?”

She shakes her head. “I’m back home because I can’t afford to live in New York City anymore.” Her voice goes quiet, and I glance up at her. Tears well in her eyes. “Shit, don’t repeat that to anyone—no one knows.”

“What do you mean? Did you lose your apartment?”

“I didn’t lose it—I told the landlord I couldn’t make rent and luckily found someone to take over my lease.” She shrugs as I finish wrapping her cast. “Jobs dried up, passed on to celebrities and influencers with more status, and so did the money.” A tear slips down her cheek, and she quickly wipes it away. “I came back here thinking I’d have time to gather myself, to figure out where to go from here, but as you know, my parents are selling the house and moving to some apartment in Seattle, which means I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Is that why you were walking in the rain?” I ask, my heart aching for her.

“Sort of. I just needed to get out of the house. I didn’t want to face Ford or hear him joking around with Larkin, so I took off and just started walking. I lost track of time and where I was, and once it started raining, I just let it fall down on me. I didn’t seek shelter, didn’t attempt to call anyone. I wanted it to rain on me. I wanted that moment of sadness, the chance to reflect on where I’ve landed.”