A Town Called Valentine(56)
Monica frowned. “What does she have to do with it? Poor lady is in bed again today.”
“Which leaves you with the bulk of the work during the daytime. Nate seems to think Mrs. Wilcox would like a rest but is too concerned you’ll need her.”
“That’s ridiculous! She knows she can tell me anything.”
Emily shrugged. “I’m only telling you what Nate told me.”
“Did he give you any brilliant solutions? Because if he’s wrong, and I hurt her feelings by suggesting a long vacation . . .”
“His brilliant solution is one that would help me, too.” Emily took a deep breath. “If it’s okay with Mrs. Wilcox—and you, of course!—I could take her place part-time until I go home. It’ll give her a break, and me a little spending money and—”
Monica threw her arms around her. “And me someone reliable to help out so I’m not trapped here twelve hours a day. This is perfect!” She stepped back, still holding Emily’s shoulders. “But are you sure you’re not trying to do me a favor out of some misplaced sense of gratitude? I know how important it is for you to sell quickly and move on.”
She almost winced, for that made her sound so self-centered. Was that how she came off? “No, Monica, you’d be helping me so much—you know that. Certainly, I haven’t been successful at hiding my financial problems from you guys.”
Laid-back Monica actually giggled. “I’m so happy! Not about your financial problems, of course—which I can relate to, because I’ve been there before—but that you’ll be working with me.”
“Will we get anything done?” Emily laughed. “So how much do you want me to work?”
“I’ll have to talk to her, of course, before making something permanent. But what do you say to fifteen to twenty hours a week during the day? I can be very flexible.”
“So can I. I think this will work out.”
They grinned at each other.
“I have an appointment with a bride in fifteen minutes,” Monica said, “so I should probably get out my paperwork. Let me talk to Mrs. Wilcox and get back to you. Then we’ll arrange a training day—it won’t take long.”
“Just let me know,” Emily said, taking her package of curtains and heading out the back door. She was really looking forward to working with customers and hanging out with Monica several hours a day. She didn’t like being alone so much. She would have to remember that, when she narrowed down her major—to find a career where she worked with other people.
When her phone beeped, she found a text from Nate waiting for her. They had an appointment with Dr. Ericson at eight in the morning. The little thrill that shivered through her just seeing Nate’s name on the screen was something she’d have to deal with eventually.
The next morning, Emily changed clothes three times before deciding on what to wear—just to ask questions of a doctor! She felt like an idiot even as she knew the doctor wasn’t the reason she was wearing sundress, sandals, and summer sweater, even though it was raining outside.
When she heard a horn honk in the alley, she scooped up her pink raincoat and purse, then dashed outside. She opened the passenger door and got in, meeting Nate’s gaze, before deliberately looking out the passenger window. She heard the soft drumming of the rain on the roof, felt the damp mugginess from keeping the windows up. It was like a warm little world inhabited by the two of them. Far too seductive, making her feel overheated and dismayed all at the same time.
After letting her off at the front door to the doctor’s office, he parked around back and met up with her inside the vestibule.
“The doctor opens early,” she said, feeling awkward.
“No, but he did today, for us.” Nate glanced down at her as he rapped on the inner door. “I didn’t think you’d want other patients seeing the two of us at a doctor’s appointment together.”
Her eyes went wide, for it had never occurred to her—and then she started to laugh, covering her mouth when the door creaked open.
Dr. Ericson was a short, spry man with a white mane of hair. He gestured them into his small waiting room, which was mercifully empty, and then through another door into his book-lined office. A pair of skis rested in a corner.
“You haven’t put those away yet?” Nate asked, gesturing to the skis.
The doctor shrugged. “A man can hope. I’m thinking about skiing the Fourth of July bowl. My nephew can take me up on his snowmobile. I’m too old to be skinning up a mountain.”