Page 27 of Axe-identally Married
“You take walk-ins?”
“Technically, no. But I also can’t let sick people go without care. And everyone knows it.”
My dad never said no, even if it meant staying late or making house calls. So it was impossible for me to swoop in and demand that we close promptly at six.
He sipped his coffee, his brow furrowed in thought. “But you need a break, and you’re only one woman. How about this? I’llcome down, be your bouncer, make sure everyone makes an appointment.”
A laugh bubbled out of me. “Doctors don’t need bouncers.”
“Ones as pretty as you do.” And there were those brown eyes again, staring right at me. “Plus, it’ll put my skill set to good use.”
“Which one is that?”
He set his coffee mug on the counter and cocked a brow. “The one where I’m intimidating.”
Cole Hebert was many things—massive, unexpectedly thoughtful, and weirdly funny—but intimidating wasn’t one of them. Maybe it was the shaggy hair or the big brown doe eyes, but when I looked at him, I felt safe and a bit silly. There was a little mischief there for sure, but not intimidation.
“Anyway,” I said, taking a step back, ready to extract myself from this early morning interaction. I was supposed to be keeping a healthy distance, focusing on work, and taking care of myself.
“I’ll work out with you,” he said, clapping his hands. “What’s the plan?”
Chatting about my dysfunctional relationship with exercise and my silly little workout routine with an ex-pro athlete and all-around Adonis—whose eight abs were on full display in my kitchen, by the way—was ridiculous.
“It’s nothing,” I hedged.
“No it’s not.” He straightened. “You’re a doctor. I don’t need to tell you how important it is to prioritize your health. I can drive. I’ll get my keys.”
“I don’t go to the gym,” I blurted out. “I’ve never felt comfortable there. Even when I was in better shape, I didn’t belong.”
He took a step forward, his brow furrowing. “Don’t say that. Fitness is for everyone.”
“Not for people like me.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, making all sorts of things pop and causing my brain to fizzle. “What does that even mean?”
“I don’t expect you to understand.” I stepped around him and shuffled to the sink. “Bigger people don’t have the same type of access to exercise as thin people do. It’s part of thin privilege.”
I filled up a water bottle, avoiding eye contact. The last thing I wanted to get into with my fake husband at five a.m. was my body issues and societal fatphobia.
I’d given up on the gym long ago. The only way for someone like me to work out in a place like that was to actively and loudly telegraph my self-hatred with baggy clothes and pretend I was there to torture myself into thinness. Shockingly, that wasn’t usually an effective strategy to get moving or feel good about myself. So I’d found a workaround.
“I started doing yoga in Baltimore,” I explained. “I found an inclusive studio, and I fell in love with it. At the hospital, I walked miles and miles each day. During a fourteen-hour shift, I’d get twenty thousand steps in.” I took a swig of water. “But here, I stand in one spot, examining patient after patient. And then I sit for hours while I work on charting and coding. So I’ve made a point of exercising every day. I know the toll this job can take.”
He considered me for a moment, his scrutiny sending a niggle of discomfort through me. Would he laugh? Make a comment about the chubby girl on her silly bike? My head was spinning with all the cruel ways he could respond. Cole was a jock, a bully. By marrying him, I supposed I had given him infinite possibilities to hurt me on a daily basis.
“I can help,” he said softly, his dark eyes earnest. “I’d like to help.”
My heart stuttered. Seriously?
“I mean it,” he continued, roughing a hand through his messy hair. “I enjoy fitness. And I got really into functionalmovement during rehab after surgery. I do a lot of yoga and Pilates. I could train you.”
“No,” I demurred. I couldn’t imagine anything more painful than being examined by this man while I huffed and puffed and sweated through my clothing.
“I mean it. It would be fun.” His lips tipped up. “We could hike, do some strength and agility stuff.” Mug in hand once more, he paced across the room, his tone full of excitement. “Yoga, of course, and whatever else you enjoy.”
He stopped in front of me, studying me as he sipped his coffee.
“Your job, it takes stamina.” He raised one eyebrow.
