Page 2 of Paging Dr. Summers

I owed my love of classic rock to my mom. She was seriously the coolest. Sadly, the classic rock radio station I used to work for would never promote me or give me a better time slot. It made it easier to quit and go on this adventure. Mom had been telling me for months I needed to. She would have never let the station stifle her ambitions.

Dr. Summers looked up from staring at the laptop screen, his brows furrowed. Yet he still said nothing. What was up with him? Worst bedside manner ever. Unless he was afraid of me. I couldn’t rule that out.

“I’m sorry, I keep rambling. Attractive men make me nervous, and I also hate hospitals.” Oh, my gosh. Oh, my gosh. Did I really just tell him I find him attractive? Surely, he already knew. I mean, he was like the chef’s kiss of men. His parents probably high-fived themselves for making such a beautiful creature. I would high-five them if I ever met them.

Dr. Summers popped off the stool, his ears blazing red.

“I am so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. Maybe you could hurry and just check me out. No. No. No. I don’t meancheck me outlike, you know,check her out,” I said, doing my best imitation of some suave guy.

The corners of his lips twitched, and for half a second, I thought he was going to smile, but he frowned instead.

I did the whole zip-my-lips movement and averted eye contact, my heart pounding in my chest.

“When you fell off the bike, did you hit your head?”

I couldn’t stop myself from giggling nervously. “I can understand why you might think that, but no.”

“Under the circumstances,” he said stiffly, “I’d ask any patient the same question.”

“Oh. Right.”

Shoot. I made the mistake of making eye contact, and there was something in his mesmerizing blue eyes that grabbed ahold of me, something I recognized. I just couldn’t name what it was, and it was maddening. In the meantime, I was doing a terrible job of hiding how intently I was studying him—I was pretty sure my mouth fell open at one point, which had to be attractive.

He narrowed those gorgeous eyes of his at me. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head or lose consciousness?”

“Positive,” I said offhandedly. “Have we ever met?” Maybe that was what I saw in his eyes—familiarity. But surely I would have remembered such a beautiful man.

“No,” he snapped.

His curtness made me come to my senses for at least a few seconds.

Dr. Summers fished a penlight out of his shirt pocket and, without warning, shined it in my eyes. “Are you feeling dizzy or nauseated?” He looked closely into my eyes, obviously not buying that I hadn’t hit my head.

I couldn’t blame him.

I squinted and backed away. “Maybe a little sick about how this interaction is going.” It made me wish for the thousandth time I were more like my mom. She’d been able to charm almost anyone. And she’deither found a way to win over those few who didn’t immediately love her, or she’d easily written them off. I, on the other hand, was going to be waking up in the middle of the night and replaying this cringe fest for the rest of my life. Something to look forward to.

He lowered the penlight. “I could see that,” he agreed.

“Wow. That was blunt. I guess this means you don’t want to be my summer fling.” Yep, that tragically fell out of my mouth.

Dr. Summers did the only thing he could do. He turned and walked out of the room.

I numbly sat there, burning in Dante’s Inferno of embarrassment, yet frozen and unable to move. I wasn’t sure if another doctor would come in or if I was free to go. All I knew was, this was going to be a long summer.

I TWISTED THE KEY IN the ignition of Dad’s old cherry red 1971 Hemi ’Cuda convertible. The low purr of the engine lingered for a moment before settling into silence. It had been a long, strange day in the ER, and I needed a moment to process. So, I sat there in the drive, staring aimlessly at the rustic yet modern lake house with large windows and a wraparound deck—where one could admire the pristine view of the lake—and enjoyed the feeling of the gentle breeze and the late-evening sun on my face.

The house had always been my family’s happy place, from the time I was a small child and we’d rented it every summer. Later, we ran to it seeking refuge after Dad died—when I was sixteen and my kid sister was thirteen—and made it our year-round residence until Mom remarried ten years ago.

The best memories of Dad lived at the lake house, so it made sense that we wanted to make it our home. That was twenty-three years ago. It hardly seemed possible. A lot had happened in those years, including college and medical school. And ... Erica.

“Erica,” I whispered her name, feeling the ache of her absence. She was the real reason I found myself back at the lake house. When Mr. Salinger, the man we rented the house from, finally put it on the market the year before, I knew it had to be mine. So I’d sold my half of the practice I owned in Seattle and moved, hoping to find the happiness this place had once brought me.

Happiness had so far eluded me, but at least I had found some solace. Perhapssolacewasn’t the right word. I’d purposefully taken the position at the ER, knowing the hours would be grueling, giving me less time to be by myself and think about Erica.

However, this summer, I wouldn’t be alone. My sister Eden and her ten-year-old daughter Sophie were spending it with me. Eden, recently divorced, had decided the best place for her and Sophie was Aspen Lake. So, they were staying with me until Eden could find a place of her own. It would be nice to have the company. And every kid deserves a summer at a lake house.

I’d often dreamed of bringing my own kids there someday, but ... well ... that dream had died along with Erica. I tightly gripped the steering wheel of the car I’d helped Dad restore, feeling unsettled and guilty. For the first time since Erica’s passing a little over a year ago, a beautiful woman had caught my attention. A patient, no less. An odd patient, to say the least.

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