Page 77 of Careless Whisper

She didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at me like I was a ghost she couldn’t believe had crawled out of her past into her present—alive and inconvenient.

“You’re the new hire?” she demanded, voice flat, arms crossed like armor.

“I am.”

Her lips pressed together, and her eyes narrowed. “My grandmother hired you.”

It wasn’t a question, so I nodded.

“Hi, I’m Juanita,” the woman who was sitting next to Reggie said as she got up, her hand out. “Hablas Espanol?”

I grinned. “Si.”

“Stop getting friendly with him; he’s not staying,”Reggie muttered in Spanish as she pulled her phone out of the pocket of her scrubs.

“She’s just tired.” Juanita smiled flirtatiously at me. “You want a drink?”

“Coffee would be nice.”

I had landed in San Miguel de Allende in the morning and spent most of the day settling into the apartment I’d rented from Seattle, which took some doing.

Apparently, getting access to your housing in this city required at least three rounds of small talk, two cups of strong coffee, and one very polite but confusing conversation about a missing envelope that may or may not have existed.

I chatted with a dozen people—neighbors, a property manager who kept calling medoctorcitolike I was a kid playing a grown-up, a flower vendor who swore she knew Reggie’s mother, and finally, a teenage boy named Hugo who handed me a single key on a worn leather loop like it was sacred.

“Third floor, white door, don’t touch the plant on the balcony. It belongs to Señora Teresa, and she’s watching,” he warned, dead serious.

The apartment itself was small but surprisingly beautiful—tucked off a cobbled side street near the Mercado de Artesanías. It had arched windows with faded wooden shutters, hand-painted tiles in the kitchen, and a balcony that was just big enough for one chair and a glass of wine. The walls were thick adobe,which kept the heat out, and the scent of lime and dust clung to everything in a way that was oddly comforting.

There was one bedroom, which was barely big enough to turn around in after they put a full-size bed in it.

Great! My legs won’t fit.

The living space felt more like a cozy reading nook than an actual room. The shower had exactly one temperature setting—lukewarm—but the water pressure could strip paint. The place was humble and lived-in. It couldn’t have been more different from my condo in Seattle, with its glass and stone and silence.

I liked it very much.

I could hear Reggie yelling at her grandmother, or maybe it was her mother, on the phone as Juanita led me to the small kitchen in the clinic. It was small, with one counter that had a stove, a coffee machine, and cups, a sink, and a round table that could seat four.

Juanita turned on the coffee machine, leaned against the counter, and looked me up and down.

“So, you’re the man she ran away from.”

“Yes.” There was no point in subterfuge, and I needed all the allies I could get in my quest to win back my woman, who was still screaming at someone on the phone, which meant she wouldn’t be making it easy for me.

“You’re a big-time cardiac surgeon, so what do youthink you’re going to do in this clinic?” she demanded as coffee began to drip-drip into a ceramic cup.

“Whatever needs to be done.”

“You don’t have a job in Seattle?”

This was an interrogation, no doubt about it.

“Yes, I do. I took a sabbatical.”

She raised an eyebrow. “To work at a small clinic in San Miguel de Allende?”

“To work in a small clinic that the woman I love runs, yes.”

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