Cynda and the City Doctor: 50 Loving States, Missouri

I had to give him credit. As clapbacks went, his wasn’t half-bad. But then he ruined the effect by screwing up his face and admitting, “I don’t understand the nickname, but I have heard you called that.”

I shrugged and shook my head. “It’s a reference to this dumb thing I did a couple of years ago. A national pageant called Beauty Queen of America—though most people call it Queen America for short. I was crowned Princess Missouri before that, but when I competed in the big Queen America competition I didn’t win. So calling me Nurse America isn’t exactly right.”

“Ah…” he said with a nod. “Then I won’t call you that. Even behind your back.”

Something warm fluttered in her chest. “Thank you.”

I graced him with a beauty queen smile before returning to my food. I was down to my last few bites. And for reasons I couldn’t quite explain, I found myself eating way slower. Taking the time to chew each and every spoonful instead of wolfing down my post-shift reward meal like I usually do.

Lingering.

The word floated into my head like a third-grade spelling challenge.

Yes, I admitted to myself. I was lingering. Wanting this unexpected meal with The Fine Prince to last longer than it needed.

He was eating slower too, I noticed. Maybe because he was full. Or maybe he, too, felt the tension hanging in the air between us. Tight with unspoken thoughts.

“You know, what you told your friends wasn’t correct,” he said, breaking the new silence first.

“What wasn’t?” I asked, pausing the spoon above my last bite of food.

“I don’t only date White girls, as you called them. I’m quite open. And if I seemed cold, I’m sorry.” He averts his eyes. “I find it difficult to interact with especially attractive women as they make me nervous. It’s a byproduct of spending my formative years at an all-boys boarding school I’m afraid.”

Especially attractive women…wait a minute, he’s talking about me!

My heart stuttered.

“Oh, really?” Oh, God, why was my voice squeaky and weak?

I cussed inwardly. Really, Princess Missouri, really? You can play piano flawlessly for millions of people around the world. But you can’t keep your voice from going all squeaky when a hot doc starts flirting with you?

“Yes, really.” He put his plastic spoon down on a napkin beside his bowl. “Perhaps we should talk further about your many misperceptions of me…over dinner.”

I scooped up my last bite of pork fried rice and gravy. Chewed it slowly and swallowed it down.

He waited patiently for me to finish, but I think we both knew even before he asked me out what my answer would be.

That night he took me out to Dressel’s, a popular farm-to-table restaurant that was just a five-minute drive from the hospital.

And that’s when I learned he had twelve names not three. “My mother is Welsh and my father is—well, it’s a long boring story. But I’d prefer if you called me Rhys.”

So I did.

Chapter Three

Three years later, that first date replays in my head as I say to Rhys,” This is my father’s practice! You can’t just fire me.”

Dr. Haim stands up from his desk to agree. “No, you can’t fire her. I mean, sure, she’s late. Rather perennially I’ll admit. But other than that, she’s an extraordinary nurse.”

“Thank you for handing over the keys to the practice,” Rhys answers as if he didn’t hear either of our protests. “I’ll be returning to the hotel now. Please get in contact with my lawyer if you have any other questions about the binding contract we’ve both signed and notarized.”

With that, he gathers what looks like an expensive wool coat and walks past me to the door. Without so much as a second look or word of acknowledgment.

Dr. Haim gapes after him. “I’m sorry, Cynda. I had no idea he would do that. I assumed he would keep you on. In fact, I’m still not sure why he fired you so automatically.”

“We used to work together. At Raines Jewish.” I shake my head in an unbelieving daze. How is he here? Why is he here?

“Oh, I see,” Dr. Haim answers, his voice weak with confusion. “Were you tardy then often too?”

“No, I was always on time,” I answer, still looking toward the door Rhys left out of. “In fact most days I was early.”

“Then why did he…”

I launch forward, running after Rhys before my former boss can finish asking that question.

I can’t. I can’t let him fire me. I need this job and I still don’t have a renter for the back house. My plan to move to Pittsburgh will be ruined if he fires me!

I run out of the office and cut left to chase after Rhys.

“Rhys! Rhys!” I yell, when I see him walking toward Guadalajara’s only hotel in his fine wool coat.

He keeps on walking.