The Doctor (Nashville Neighborhood 1)

I went hazy in the aftermath.

Everything was tingly numb as he slowly retreated, dropped a kiss on the sensitive spot right below my ear, and climbed off the bed. I vaguely acknowledged him in the bathroom, moving around and running the tap. The bathroom light was clicked off, plunging the room into darkness. When he came back to me, he was warm and naked, and pulled my leaden body into his arms.

His kisses were deep, slow, and passionate. It was like he wanted to learn the taste of me, and I squeezed my eyes closed tight—strange tears threatened to fall, but I successfully held them back.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

“Yeah.” I ran my fingers over his chest, wondering what was going on in the heart beneath my fingertips. Was he okay? After I’d confessed such sinful things? He seemed to be, but nerves fluttered in my ribcage anyway.

It was quiet and peaceful between us for so long, I was sure he’d dozed off, but then he let out a deep breath.

“Tonight in the operating room,” he started. His embrace tightened, like he feared I might pull away. “I’ve lost patients before. It’s always rough, but this one was . . . really hard.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. It didn’t even compare, but I’d had a rough day too, and it felt good to be able to be there for each other.

He used his fingers to stroke lines up and down my arm. “I’m glad you texted me.”

“I wanted to see you.”

“I wanted that too.” In the darkness, I could see the displeased look cross his expression, but it seemed self-directed. He tried again. “What I meant to say is, I’m really glad you’re here, Cassidy.”

My chest swelled and tightened, and I pressed my palm flat over his heart. I wasn’t invisible—he made it sound like my presence was everything. It was something I hadn’t had in a long time, was desperate to hear, and it meant even more coming from him.

I’d been nothing but honest tonight, yet this was truer than anything else I’d said to him. “Me too.”

TWENTY-SIX

EVERYTHING CHANGED AFTER THAT NIGHT.

I hadn’t allowed myself to think about a future with Dr. Gregory Lowe, but that restriction vanished as the sun rose the following morning. We had everything working against us. His schedule, the age difference, and the Preston situation. Despite it all, I wanted to try, and he seemed to as well.

We saw each other as much as we could during the final week while Preston was out of town. Greg inflicted his “new classics” movies on me while I tried to teach him how to use Snapchat. He told me the filters were stupid, so I put flowers in his hair and showed him how gorgeous he looked. He’d ripped the phone out of my hands, threw it onto his bed, then tossed me down beside it, his hands going for the button of my shorts and an evil grin on his face.

On Thursday evening, he texted me he was leaving the hospital and invited me over for a late dinner. I quickly replied.

Cassidy: See you soon.

I was halfway out the door, my purse slung over my shoulder, when my mom’s voice rang out from the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” she asked lightly. “Preston’s?”

I skidded to a stop. It wasn’t until that moment I realized I hadn’t told her we’d broken up.

My mom was a genuinely busy person. When I was in high school, she’d been crazy active in volunteering. PTA vice-president. Music boosters. Senior class trip chaperone. She didn’t do it to invade my life, and hadn’t either. She just liked being involved and couldn’t sit still. Even during the weekends when she was home from her demanding IT job, my mom was go-go-go with her nine million hobbies.

The latest one was her garden in the back yard. She was growing everything from vegetables to roses, and determined to make it all the best it could possibly be. She was out there from sunup to sundown, digging and planting and fertilizing and watering.

It meant I rarely saw her this summer.

I closed the door and pivoted on my heel to face her. She wore an old marching band t-shirt from my sophomore year, cotton shorts, and a baseball hat to shield her eyes from the sun. She stood at the fridge filling her water bottle. Even in worn-out clothes and no makeup on, she looked good. Young and pretty, with sharp eyes and mouth that was quick to smile.

The easiest, fastest way to get out the door was to say yes. It wasn’t a lie technically. I mean, I was going to Preston’s.

My mom and I were close-ish. In high school, I’d felt like I could tell her anything, but the year away at college had changed us a little. After eighteen years of it just being the two of us, I thought we both liked the privacy. We got to be women on our own.