Page 37 of Fool Me

It feels cheap to make a joke about that being dangerous with you, since you went to school for eight hundred years.

You might feel different when I tell you what’s on my mind.

But you’re so practical.

I hate that you have me dead to rights.

It’s not a bad thing. Practical is steady—it’s safe in the best way.

In that case, I’m proposing a very practical date to grab ice cream tonight.

Are you going to get vanilla, Mr. Practical?

Vanilla gets undeserved hate, but if it’s the right ice cream, vanilla can be all you need.

We’re still talking about ice cream, right?

Sure, Clover. We’re talking about ice cream.

Does seven work?

That’s so late for a Wednesday.

Now who’s practical?

Harlowe: I’ll come to you this time. I’m dying to meet the infamous Muley Cyrus.

I smile to myself, looking like a fool alone in my office. Agreeing to fake date my brother’s ex-girlfriend certainly seems to suggest some truth to that.

Not kissing her when the chance presented itself . . . only an idiot would do that. But a feeling in the back of my brain told me to stop—that it wasn’t the time. Maybe I’m not a fool as much as a romantic. I wanted that kiss to mean more than it would have in that moment. And now, taking into account that I just made up an excuse to see her—because waiting four more days was too damn long—the evidence continues to pile up. I’m a fool who’s developing romantic feelings for the girl he’s supposed to be faking it with.

Grace clears her throat outside my door. “Sorry, boss, but I’m about to wipe that smile right off your face.”

“What’s going on?”

“You’ve got a walk-in patient.”

I don’t need to ask to know who it is. “Betty?”

“The one and only.”

“What is it today?”

Grace gives me a sad smile. “Her voice sounds funny.”

I don’t point out that Betty’s voice always sounds a bit funny, mostly because of the nonsense that pours from her beak. After only a few weeks in town, I know she’s a perfectly healthy bird and the reason for her frequent visits runs deeper than a concerned owner.

Marilyn is lonely and struggling and I hate that I have to continue to charge her. Grace and I have gotten creative with her billing, giving her a break where we can because flat-out not charging her would only cause her to feel called out.

“You can set her up in Exam Room One,” I tell Grace.

“Eventually, we’re going to need to do something about this.”

Marilyn has gotten close to my mom in the years I’ve been gone. Maybe poking around next time I see my parents will help me figure out what I can do.

“You’re probably right.”

My conversation with Marilyn goes about as expected. When I tell her Betty is perfectly healthy, her mouth pulls into a thin line. Instead of sending her on her way, I spend the last ten minutes before my next patient is scheduled talking to her, asking her for recommendations in town for things I don’t really need, trying to get to know her better.

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