Page 48 of The Way Back Home

“I thought you had August wrapped around your little finger?”

I give a humorless laugh. “No, we’re um . . . not wrapped around anything.”

He looks surprised by that—surprised, but not at all disappointed. “Well, in any case, she can stay here until you clear it with him. But we should go eat, so we can let this little girl rest.”

“Yeah, okay.” I hug Betty goodbye and promise to come see her soon, and then Doc leads me outside and across a small paved stone courtyard and into the main house.

It’s very much a bachelor pad, only neat, with open-plan living, dark hardwood floors, and stainless steel appliances. There’s a sectional sofa in front of a huge flat-screen TV and magazines likeMaximandSports Illustratedgrace the coffee table. On top of the pile sits a magazine that’s opened to my picture and the interview I did forSouthern Vet’s Life.

I pick up the copy and grin awkwardly at the doc. “You catching up on a little light reading?”

He rubs the back of his neck and smiles apologetically. “Er, sorry about that. Let me just . . .” He takes the magazine from my hands, stacks it in a pile and puts it with the others on the end table farthest from us.

Jude leads me to sit at the dining table that looks as if it’s hardly been used, while he serves up supper. I’m grateful that the room isn’t set properly with candles and the like, because that would be awkward. As if this supper wasn’t already awkward enough. I like Jude a lot, but I’m not interested in upgrading our friendship status to “in a relationship” on Facebook. He’s a good man; he just isn’t the man for me.

We talk about Paws for Cause, and he reminds me that he’s willing to check each one of the dogs for free anytime I need it. Of course, I refuse, because I know better than anyone that you need to get paid to live, but he insists, and since he’s the only vet in town, and I don’t even have a car yet, I can’t afford to go somewhere else if any of my animals need treatment.

The doc hasn’t exactly been backward in coming forwards where I’m concerned, but it’s still nice having a real conversation that isn’t loaded with tension and expectation, and the fact that he gets what I do doesn’t hurt either. After these few short weeks of living with August, it’s refreshing to not have to be on my guard all the time. On paper, Jude du Pont is the perfect man, but he’s nowhere near screwed up enough for me. I’m only attracted to broken men, the kind who I believe I can fix. The kind who don’t wanna be fixed. It’s always been that way with me and, unfortunately, now is no different.

After dinner, we move to the lounge room. I stay a little later, drink a little more wine, and when I say goodnight at his front door, for the barest hint of a second, I think he might kiss me. I even think I might like it. But that’s more than likely the wine and loneliness talking so I shake my head to clear those thoughts, and I step back and grab my bike.

“Thanks for supper.”

“You sure I can’t drive you?”

“No. I like the ride,” I say. What I don’t say is that August would likely jack him to Jesus for driving me home and showing up on his property. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he says, and I try to ignore the disappointment I see on his face and hear in his voice. I’m not used to men being so forward with me, or maybe it’s just that I’m always so busy I haven’t had time to poke my head up and see if there are men who are interested. Either way, the only capacity I want Doc in my life is as a friend, and so far, he’s been a good one. We barely know each other, but I trust him, and God knows I need all the friends I can get in this heartbreak town.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Olivia

Age seventeen

IWAIT ACROSS THE STREETuntil the car pulls out of the drive. My stomach pangs with hunger. I want to give it another ten minutes, or as long as I can stand to be out here in the pouring rain, but I know I don’t have a whole lot of time.

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