Our Finest Hour (The Time #1)(31)

We were apart more than we were together.

When we were together, we were comfortable.

But guess who else I feel comfortable with? My mom. The people who work in my practice. The surgical team at the hospital. The barista I see on Monday mornings at the coffee shop down the street. Even the cashier at the grocery store I’ve been going to since I moved in here.

When two people are in love, when they’ve decided to get married, I don’t think they should settle for comfortable.

I think maybe sometimes they should be uncomfortable.

Passion, in anger or in lust, should make them agitated.

Hurt feelings should touch them so deeply there’s no way to keep from spilling over.

Desire should push them to the point of frenzy.

And they should be able to eat ice cream whenever they feel like it.

So I do. Armed with a spoon and a pint, I eat it on the couch.

And I think a lot, maybe even too much, about Aubrey.





My hip’s jammed against the kitchen sink as I stare at the man in front of me. He shuffles his feet, looking everywhere but at me.

It’s not that I don’t want this for my dad. I want him to meet someone. I really do. But that was an idea, a maybe this will happen someday thing.

Not tonight, like he has just informed me. I’m happy for him. It’s just shocking, I guess. How many years has it been since he has been on a date?

To alleviate the awkwardness, I busy myself rinsing Claire’s yogurt from her bowl. “Are you nervous?” I ask him.

“Nothing to be nervous about,” he says, opening the fridge.

“Liar.” I place the bowl in the dishwasher.

“Don’t make a big deal about this. It’s nothing.” His tone is gruff.

“Fine. I won’t.” I hold up my hands, a dish towel dangling from my right hand. “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t you have Claire’s appointment today?” He closes the fridge and looks at me.

“Eleven. Are you going to come?” I’d like to have someone else in the room with me. Someone besides Claire. Isaac makes me feel… well, a lot of things. Things I’m not supposed to feel. Things that are asinine. Insane. Foolish. Things his fiancee wouldn't appreciate. It would be nice to have a buffer in the room. Someone with a different energy.

Dad shakes his head, zapping any hope I held. “I have to work.”

“Why don’t you want to go?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. It’s ten o’clock. He never leaves our house this late.

“Don’t give me that look.” He frowns. “I’d go if I could, but I’m driving downtown for a meeting.”

“I can call Greg.” I warn. Besides my dad, Greg is the most trustworthy guy on their crew. He’ll tell me if they’re really working today.

“Call Greg.” He lifts his chin in a challenge.

I consider him for a moment. I think my nerves are making me see things. It’s not that my dad wants to leave me alone with Isaac. He really just can’t go. “I trust you,” I say slowly.

He laughs. “Sometimes I wonder who’s the parent here.”

“Both of us.” I answer, grabbing my phone off the counter and slipping it into my back pocket. “I’m going to get Claire ready. Will you be here when we get home this afternoon?”

“Happy hour,” he says around a mouthful of banana.

I pause, studying him.

“What?” He asks, his tone sharp.

“Nice beard. Very neat. Trimmed. But you’re right. It’s nothing.” I turn and prance from the room as my dad grumbles something behind me.



“Hello, Ms. Reynolds.” The portly woman peers down at Claire through the glass window she pulled back when we walked in. “You must be Claire.”

“I am,” Claire announces, making the woman laugh.

“We’ve been expecting you.” The woman winks at me.

“Wonderful,” I murmur. Would Isaac have told this woman who we are?

Claire and I sit in the waiting room. I fill out paperwork while she draws on the little Boogie Board I brought with us.

When I return the paperwork to the woman, she beams at me. I wish she would stop smiling at me like that. It makes me uncomfortable. And embarrassed.

Claire’s drawing a robot, one she says will pick up her dirty clothes off the floor. I check emails on my phone until our name is called.

I don’t know why I thought it would be Isaac calling us in. I push the disappointment aside. With Claire’s hand nestled in mine we walk to the young woman holding a clipboard.

She smiles, introduces herself as Nicole, and tells Claire she’s going to take pictures of her arm.

“Do you mean x-rays?” Claire asks.

Nicole laughs. “Yep,” she says, leading us to the x-ray room. We pass door after closed door, and inside one I hear a man’s deep voice. Isaac’s?

Inside the x-ray room, Nicole situates Claire and motions for me to stand behind a wall with her. She takes three x-rays, all with Claire’s arm in different positions, then moves us to an exam room.

“Dr. Cordova will be right in.” She closes the door behind her with a polite smile. It makes me feel better. Maybe he didn’t announce who we are to his whole staff.