Hotshot Doc(80)

He says all this while he strides confidently back toward me. I make a move to get off the bed, but he’s quicker. He bends down and grabs my knees, tugging me so my butt is right on the edge. I think he’s going to help me up, but instead, he pushes me back down with one hand on my chest.

My heart leaps into my throat. “I thought we were going to the bathroom,” I say, voice faint.

He’s staring down between my legs, a drugged look in his eyes. “We are…just as soon as I’ve finished.”

“Matt,” I warn, but it’s no use.

He smiles and gets down onto his knees. “Maybe try not to wake the entire neighborhood this time.”

I toss my hands up over my head in defeat. I highly doubt we’ll be getting any sleep tonight.





Chapter 28





MATT



The next morning, Christmas music blares at full volume, a fresh layer of snow coats the ground outside, a steaming pot of coffee waits to be poured, and I’m trying to wrestle a wooden spatula out of Bailey’s hand.

“Hand it over, Matthew, or so help me.”

That’s her taunt and I can’t help but laugh. She’s diminutive. I could pluck her up with two fingers and deposit her elsewhere.

My brow arches, and with one tug I yank the spatula out of her hand and hold it up over my head. She jumps to get it and I move it just a little farther out of her reach. Suddenly, I’m a middle school bully. I’ll stuff her in a locker next.

“Can’t you just go enjoy your coffee in the living room?” I press a hand to her chest. “Go cocoon yourself and watch the snow falling. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

This is hard for her, me making breakfast. Instead of listening to me, she lingers in the kitchen, asking if I need help with anything. I scramble eggs and fry up some bacon, both of which I had to run down the road to purchase before she and Josie woke up. Her fridge had only four items in it when I checked this morning, and none of them looked fit for human consumption.

I drop some bread into the toaster and she rushes over, explaining to me how it works.

“Ohhhh, I see,” I reply, as if enlightened to the art of toast for first time in my life. “You put the bread in the two little slits and push down right here. Got it. I always thought there was more to it.”

My sarcasm is lost on her. She flies over to the fridge. “Why don’t I make us some fresh-squeezed orange juice?”

She bends down and roots through the empty drawers, no doubt trying to find the orange I saw earlier. It was growing a Petri dish’s worth of mold. It’s now in the trash.

“Bailey,” I chide, dropping my hands on her shoulders and directing her into the living room. She attempts to dig her heels in, but my size makes it a futile fight. “When was the last time someone cooked for you?”

She frowns up at me, having to think hard. “Josie tried to make me pancakes a few months ago, but she set off the smoke alarm and then like a dozen firemen showed up.” She waves her hand. “It was a whole thing.”

Josie, who’s sitting on the couch eating cereal (which I also bought), smiles proudly. “It was actually pretty cool. One of them let me try on his uniform.”

I chuckle and turn back to Bailey. Her eyes say, Please let me help. I shake my head, tip her chin toward me, and am about to give her a chaste kiss when I realize her sister is watching us. Instead, I straighten and gently shove her down onto the couch. “Sit.” She tries to stand. “No. I said sit.” I step back and hold up my hands, retreating hesitantly. “Stay.”

“You’re talking to me as if I’m a dog,” she says pointedly.

“If only you were—maybe then you’d actually listen.”

She narrows her eyes before I return to the kitchen. To Bailey’s credit, she stays put for the entire ten minutes it takes me to finish up the bacon and eggs. I fix our plates, top off our coffee mugs, and then set the table.

Bailey is inexplicably touched by the gesture. “You didn’t have to do all this,” she says, waving to her food and the bouquet of flowers I picked up at the checkout counter on a whim. I felt foolish carrying them in earlier, like maybe it was a little too much, but then Bailey walked out of her bedroom, wiping sleep from her eyes and dragging her feet. She paused, face frozen, mouth agape, and then she asked very slowly, “Are those for me?”

A million responses leapt to my mind, none of which seemed appropriate at that moment, so I settled for a simple, “Merry Christmas.”

I’ve never seen someone fuss so much over a few damn roses. She trimmed them carefully and arranged them in a vase. They sit on the table between us now, and she’s staring at them as she takes a big bite of scrambled eggs.

Josie opts to finish her cereal in the living room. Apparently, there’s some kind of holiday movie marathon on TV that she doesn’t want to miss.

“Matt, this is amazing.” Bailey grins.

“It’s nothing. I make myself breakfast every morning.”

She levels her gaze on me. “You know what I mean. I really appreciate it.”

“How will you ever thank me?” I ask, hoping Josie is too enamored by her cheesy movie to catch my innuendo.

Bailey’s eyes light up. “I can give you your presents!”