Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
“I honestly forgot I opened the account,” I say, keenly aware of Wren’s attention, laser-focused on my no-doubt flushed face. “I didn’t mean to be inconsiderate. I’m just busy.”
“And good at your job,” Sylvia says. “I feel so much better already. You shouldn’t be on Middle-Aged Match anyway. No way you’re over forty.”
“I’m thirty-five,” I say. “But the average lifespan of men in my family is only sixty-five or seventy. History of heart disease. So, from that perspective I thought… Scientifically and statistically… Well, probability, I suppose is a better word…” Cursing myself for diving deep into my family health history in front of a woman I swiped on and one I’ve actually slept with, I stop blathering and surge to my feet. “In any event, I’m glad I could help. Have a good day.”
“Yeah, you, too,” Sylvia says, calling after me in a teasing voice, “And thanks for getting the squirrel out of my vagina.”
I exit the room, as uncomfortable as a resident doing a pelvic exam for the first time and start toward the next exam room on the list, wondering how I’m going to explain this to Wren. Or if she’ll even care. A part of me hopes she will, a little jealousy would show she isn’t as over what happened between us and ready to move on to my brother as she seemed yesterday in the park.
But the other part—the part that doesn’t want to hurt or disappoint her any more than I have already—hopes she’ll understand that it didn’t mean anything.
I hear the door open behind me and glance back to see my head nurse emerging into the hall. I pause, my brows lifting as I study her face, but she doesn’t so much as glance my way. She turns and heads down the hall toward the staff bathroom, closing the door a little too firmly behind her.
“Fuck,” I mutter, but there’s no time to talk things over with Wren now.
And there isn’t time for the rest of the day.
The patients keep coming and a few of the cases are more complicated than I expect from looking at their charts.
I work through most of lunch, grabbing a quick bowl of soup after the nurses have already finished their meals and gone back to work.
It isn’t until nearly five, as I’m heading for the breakroom for my customary end-of-day tea that I finally have the chance to breathe. The office is already clearing out, all the patients gone, and Betsy is turning off the lights in reception. I half expect Wren to have left without saying goodbye, but when I get to the breakroom, I find her waiting with two steaming mugs, just like old times.
But the expression on her face isn’t like old times.
She looks…hurt, and I curse myself all over again for being so fucking bad at this.
She deserves better. She deserves a man who knows how to woo her properly, with no missteps or mistakes. I should probably keep my mouth shut and let this be the thing that kills any chance of more-than-friendship between us. It would be the best for Wren, but the thought of her moving on makes me want to smash things, so instead, I say, “I needed a date for the wedding. That’s it.”
She frowns. “What?”
“That’s why I got on the dating app,” I add as I cross to the table for two where she’s placed the tea. “I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend or anything long-term. I just need a date to Lane’s wedding. I already RSVP-ed for myself and a plus one. If I show up without a date, Lane will notice. I don’t want to mar her big day with pity for her ex.”
Wren shakes her head, but before she can speak my cell rings.
“Sorry,” I say, pulling it from my pocket. “It might be Nora. I hired her to check on the dog today. Since she works from home.”
“Your neighbor Nora?” Wren asks, her eyes going wide with horror.
Dividing my attention between her and the phone, which is indeed displaying Nora’s name, I nod. “Yes. Why?”
“Nora’s terrified of animals. She has been since we were kids.”
“But she said—” I break off, knowing I have to answer the call before it’s sent to voicemail. “Just a second.” I tap the green button. “Hello, Nora. What’s up?” Hysterical crying explodes from the speaker, the sobs so loud I wince as I add, “Nora? What’s wrong? Are you at my place? Is something wrong with the dog?”
“I’m so sorry, Barrett,” she says, still crying so hard I can barely understand her.
Wren squeezes my forearm before hurrying from the room.
“I tried, but Keanu Reeves is going to kill me,” Nora continues. “I’ll probably be dead by the time you get home. I’m so sorry! Tell my brother I love him, okay? And that he can sell my vintage clothing collection to help pay for Gram to move into an assisted care facility?”