The Doctor (Nashville Neighborhood 1)

Oh, option three wasn’t an option at all.

“And I can’t stay away,” I admitted. “I don’t want to stop. Do you?”

“No.”

“So . . .”

The muscles along his jaw flexed and his eyes went narrow. He was in agreement, but not happy about it, and I understood. I wasn’t thrilled about sneaking around either.

“Just until the end of summer.” It was a statement, but he said it asking for validation.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

He drew in a deep breath, pushed it out, and pulled me back against him. His lips brushed the edge of my hairline on my forehead. “This is a bad idea.”

I set my palm flat against his chest. “We can add it to the list.”

SIXTEEN

GREG BROUGHT ME A CAN OF DR. PEPPER when he got up to refill his wine, and I stared at the logo printed on the aluminum. Preston didn’t like Dr. Pepper, and I’d never seen his father drink it either, which led me to believe the case always stocked in the garage was for me.

Greg hesitated before speaking. “Can I ask you something?”

No one ever said that unless something serious was about to come out, and I tried not to hold my breath. “Go for it.”

“I’ve never heard you talk about your dad.”

I blinked slowly. “Probably because there’s nothing to say. I never met the guy.”

“Is he still alive?”

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

Greg looked like he just discovered he was standing barefoot surrounded by broken glass and wasn’t sure which step to take next. All his options were going to be painful. “I’m sorry I brought it up. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s just, we’ve known each other a while, and I always wondered.”

“My dad fled town as soon as he found out my mom was pregnant, and she hasn’t heard from him since.” My body went cool, matching my voice. “He didn’t give a single thought to us, so I make sure to return the favor every chance I get.”

I couldn’t read what was going on behind his eyes, other than the panic swimming there. Was he thinking about what he’d done to Preston? It didn’t compare. Greg hadn’t been in much of Preston’s early life, but he also didn’t disappear. He hadn’t walked away and left him without a father at all. Even scraps were better than nothing to a starving person.

I leaned over Greg, snatched the remote off the nightstand, and turned the TV on. It was super awkward, but anything was better than continuing the conversation, and my actions communicated it effectively.

The older movie on screen was low definition, and I’d turned it on somewhere in the middle of a scene where banquet tables with fine china were being flipped over and pushed to the side.

“The flowers are still standing,” Greg said to himself quietly.

“What?”

On screen, a young Bill Murray shouted the same thing. More tables crashed to the side, and a green ghost floated around a crystal chandelier, dodging laser beams.

“That’s my favorite line in Ghostbusters.” Greg gestured to the TV. “When he pulls the tablecloth off and breaks everything on the table except the centerpiece.”

I shrugged. “I never saw the old one.”

It was like I’d just told him I didn’t know who the president was. A personal affront. “How is that possible? Man, I loved this movie when I was a kid.”

I watched the Ghostbusters come up with their game plan of trapping the green ghost. The special effects looked ancient. “How old is this thing?”

“I don’t know . . . It came out in nineteen eighty-four, I think? I saw it in the theater with my parents.” A weird look flitted over his face. Embarrassment? “I got freaked out,” he said, “by the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, and my mom had to take me out to the car. We missed the end of the movie.”

A smile caught the edge of my lips. “I’m sorry, a marshmallow man? Those fluffy, white things?”

“Yeah, but he’s, like, a hundred feet tall.”

I chuckled. “Sounds terrifying.”

“To a six-year-old, it was. He was running around crushing buildings.” Greg settled in and got comfortable against the headboard. “Whatever, you’ll see. We’re watching the rest of this.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, are we?”

“This movie is a classic.” He peered at me with scrutiny. “What else haven’t you seen? Caddyshack? Animal House? Ferris Bueller’s Day Off?”

I pressed my lips together. Did he realize those movies were already at least twenty years old by the time I was born?

“Jesus.” He shook his head. “Okay, we start fixing this tonight.”

So, we watched the rest of Ghostbusters, and I wasn’t sure which I liked better—the ridiculous movie, or the way Greg watched me experience it. And when it was over, we talked. Like, an actual conversation about everything from my desire to go to veterinary school to his aggravation with a fellow surgeon whose phone chimed non-stop through procedures.