Dr. Good - A Man Who Knows What He Wants

“Yes,” I say, realizing I’m standing here with my mouth hanging open like a real idiot.

“Great.”

I hear her walk down the hallway, and then I’m left to wonder what the heck I’m going to do. I have to go out there and face her, of course, but at the same time, horrible ideas and swirling throughs fill my mind.

If Miller is tricking me…

He isn’t, something from deep inside of me screams, trying to calm me down so we can get to the point where I can give my man a child without being so freaking self-conscious about it. He wants you. He’d never trick you. Everything he said is true.

But if he is, then maybe this woman isn’t even his mother. Maybe this is all part of the twisted game.

I shake my head, pushing those unfair and unhelpful thoughts away.

He isn’t tricking me.

I overreacted last night, letting my anxiety and my self-consciousness drive me when I should’ve listened to the thrumming moving through my body, the heat swelling up inside of me when we pressed our bodies together.

Everything he said he wants, I want too.

I wish I could turn back time so I could tell him that, holding onto his face with my hands, feeling the hard press of his jaw against my palms.

I throw on a summer dress and some simple comfortable shoes and then make for the door.

I walk down the hallway, still struggling to believe I’m really here, my footsteps seeming loud on the marble flooring as I move from rug to rug. I round the corner to find the most elegant woman I’ve ever seen standing at the kitchen island.

She’s tall and her hair is a proud white, pearls glinting at her neck and her ears, wearing a dress that’s patterned with little roses. Her smile seems genuine as she takes me in, and she has the same dark eyes as her son, the sort of eyes that seem to see into me.

I look at the sleek obsidian surface in front of her and see that she’s already laid out two plates of pancakes, one of them with a generous helping of syrup on it.

“Those look delicious,” I murmur, my belly rumbling.

She waves a casual hand, displaying expertly painted fingernails. “Oh, it’s nothing. The least I can do.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, as I pick up my plate and together we move over to the table by the window, overlooking the city that glitters in early-summer sunlight.

“For you, Macie. For the woman who’s finally melted my son’s heart.”

I gape at her and she grins with a note of thrilled wickedness in her expression.

“I’m too old to mince words, dear,” she says, grinning widely at me. “My son has changed since you came into his life. He called me last night to tell me, and I was stunned. Stunned. When you’ve been around as long as I have, that’s a very difficult thing to achieve. But it’s the truth. I’ve never heard him like that before. He was borderline smitten.”

I must keep gaping like a fish because she laughs in delight, reveling in this moment.

“I don’t know what to say,” I murmur after a long pause.

“We spoke this morning too. I called him this time, wanting to see what he’d planned to do. He’s given me bits and pieces. He wouldn’t tell me why you’re here. He wants to respect your privacy.”

“It’s not a big deal,” I say, cutting into my pancakes to distract myself from how surreal this moment is. “I’ve got a stalker. Miller’s helping me.”

“How is that not a big deal?”

“Well…”

I shrug. I have no idea what to say.

“Hmm.” She taps her fingernails against the table.

“Hmm, what?” I giggle.

She laughs. I find it easier to sit with this stranger than I could believe if it wasn’t happening right now. It’s like we’ve known each other for a long time like we can do away with the social niceties that would normally be required in this situation.

“I think I’ve been exactly where you are, dear. Devaluing your emotions. Not wanting to bother anyone else with what’s happening to you. So let me state for the record… having a stalker is a very serious issue. But if Miller has decided to help you, I trust it will all be sorted out in the end.”

I fork my pancakes, making a metal scrape sound, mimicking the feeling of my heartbeat pounding against my ribs.

“Well, you must be a mind reader,” I say. “Because that’s exactly how I feel. But I fail to see how Miller can help.”

Especially if he’s tricking me.

“Macie, I did manage to work one thing out of Miller.”

“Hmm?”

“He said you doubt he truly feels what he says he does?”

I bite my lip, letting my gaze flit over the sun-flecked city.

“You can’t tell me it’s not difficult to believe. He’s Dr. Miller freaking Marshall. He’s… him. And I’m me. And it’s so sudden—”