Ready or Not (Ready #4)(7)

“Why don’t we go for a walk.” she suggested. “I have a little garden out back where we can sit.”

I suddenly had a picture of the two of us sitting in a garden, holding hands and chanting.

That’s not what we’re about to do, are we?

I looked at her with a bit of hesitation.

“Just talking.” She laughed, raising her hands in surrender. “It must be the long dresses or the tattoo, but I get a man in here with a Southern accent, and suddenly he’s looking at me like I’m going to sprout wings.”

Wait—did she say tattoo?

How did I miss that?

“We’ll be back in a few, Mia.” She said, briefly tapping the desk with her fingernails as she walked by.

As her flowery scent brushed past me, it was then that I saw it—an Indian floral design full of color and vibrancy running over her left shoulder and disappearing into the fabric of her dress.

How far down does it go?

I caught up to her and we walked silently, side by side, around the building along a little pathway that led to a small garden tucked between the office buildings.

“The dentist next door thought I was crazy when I told him I wanted to plant a garden back here, but I think he likes it now. I catch him back here, eating his lunch every once in a while.”

I took a look around and admired the way she’d grown vines to creep up the building, creating an intimate atmosphere that made me almost forget where I was.

“It’s great,” I said.

She motioned toward a chair, and I took a seat, watching her do the same. My foot started tapping like a jackhammer in anticipation of what she might say.

Was there something wrong with Noah?

Had I done everything wrong?

Shit, I’m a terrible parent.

I felt her hand on my knee, and I steadied.

“Whoa there. You look like you’re about to explode,” she said.

“Sorry, I’m nervous.”

She smiled. “You have nothing to be nervous about, Jackson. Noah is a great kid, a perfectly normal kid.”

I let out the breath I’d been holding for probably months. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Parents tend to forget that kids can be affected by stress just like adults can. Moving, leaving his friends, puberty—it’s a lot for a young boy to take on. He’s just confused and acting out.”

“That’s what I kept telling myself, but I was so worried—”

“That you weren’t enough?”

“He told you?” I asked.

She smiled warmly. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that his mom has been out of the picture for a while. He didn’t mention her once.”

“She left when he was a newborn, and she hasn’t been back since.”

Rather than saying I’m sorry or giving me those eyes that most people do—the sad ones that people always thought passed for empathy, but they were really just more pathetic than anything—she just leaned back in her chair.

“Don’t ever think you’re not enough. He’s doing great.”

“So, are you saying he doesn’t need therapy?” I asked.

She laughed. “I’m telling you that Noah is simply stressed, and like all stress, it will pass. He needs to learn how to work through it. Whether you choose to let me help with that or not is your decision, but I would never pressure you into therapy.”

I gave her a dubious look. “You’re not a very good saleswoman, Miss Prescott.”

“If I were in this for the money, I would have become a psychiatrist. But then, I wouldn’t have this garden, would I?” She raised her arms and tilted her head toward the rays of sun filtering down between the buildings.

This New Age counselor looked like a Greek goddess, and she’d planted a garden behind her office.

What else would this woman surprise me with today?

~Liv~

Considering my last patient had gone late, I wasn’t at all surprised when my phone started buzzing seconds after I’d walked through my front door that night.

“Hi, Mia,” I answered, shuffling around the bags of groceries in my arms.

“You didn’t even bother checking caller ID, did you?” she pressed.

I could hear the slight edge of laughter in her voice.

“Nope.” I set the cloth grocery bags down on the counter before rubbing my wrists where the straps had dug into my skin.

“Am I really that predictable?” she asked.

I stared at the bags boasting the words, I recycle. I’m awesome, in bright, bold green font.

“Mmm…yes,” I answered. “But I still love you.”

“Well, if I’m that predictable, why did I call?”

“The hot dad,” I said in a deadpan voice.

“Damn it!” she shouted, causing me to laugh. “I really am predictable. Oh well, I can live with it.”

“Live with what?” a deep male voice asked in the background.

“I’m predictable,” she said, answering Garrett’s question.

“That thing you did last night wasn’t predictable,” I heard him say in the background, his voice taking on a rough tone.

Mia’s shrill laughter came blaring through the speaker, and I briefly pulled my phone away from my ear.