Page 34 of Axe-identally Married
Keeping my expression neutral, I dipped my chin. “Of course.”
“And I read. Never stopped. This isn’t a job, Blondie. It’s a calling. A life’s mission. You don’t punch out at the end of the day. This stays with you on your way home, while you eat dinner, on the weekends. You carry these people and their lives with you forever.”
His words washed through me, a reminder of why I was doing this.
I’d known all this going in. But I couldn’t help but hope I could be everything my community needed without burning out and destroying my health and happiness.
“See you Wednesday,” he said as he stepped out into the hall, leaving me in my cramped office.
As I input my notes and codes, his words played on repeat in my mind. I’d graduated from med school six years ago, and yet I was still waiting for the confidence to kick in. For the ability to thrive and own this job the way my dad had. To possess the ease with which he approached each day and the tidal wave that came through the door.
So many of my med school friends had dreams of going into specialties with minimal patient involvement. They longed to be the expert who swept in at the last minute to solve the big problem. Or the doctor who triages a patient and then passes them along.
I envied them. They could take off the coat and switch it off. Put boundaries in place to protect themselves.
But me?
I didn’t have that luxury. And I was shit at setting boundaries.
The evidence of that was currently living in my spare bedroom. My husband. My platonic roommate. The man who, in the span of a few days, had gone from an acquaintance I barely tolerated to a major part of my life.
While the news was burning through town like wildfire, I didn’t waste much time worrying about it. I’d grown up here. I knew how it worked. New gossip would pop up in a matter of weeks, and we’d be old news. Teenagers would spray paint a penis on the side of the water tower, or Bernice would introduce a new flavor of pie at the diner, and my Vegas nuptials would be all but forgotten.
And then we could quietly separate as friends and move on.
Or he could move on. There were very few romantic prospects for me up here, and if the past few months were any indication, it would be many years before I had time to start the whole dating process.
But I’d worry about that another day.
I was almost thirty-one. There was plenty of time to worry about me later.
Right now, my job was my primary focus. And my biggest concern?
My accidental husband.
Chapter Twelve
Cole
Alittle past seven, Willa finally pulled in, her tires crunching on the gravel. She hadn’t been kidding about the long hours she worked.
At the window, I watched her climb out of her hatchback. If my former teammates could see me now, wearing an apron while prepping dinner for my wife, I’d never hear the end of it.
But I was strangely… content? Or something approaching that. After the meeting this morning, I’d been desperate to turn my brain off. Working with my hands, I’d learned since returning to Lovewell, was a great way to do it. So creating a delicious dinner became my goal.
I was not trying to impress Willa. Nope, not at all. And while I baked, I hadn’t daydreamed about her short shorts and flushed face while we did yoga together this morning.
She walked in looking weary, pausing inside the doorway. Her honey-blond hair was piled up on top of her head in a knot, and her shoulders were slumped.
“You made dinner?”
I pressed my lips together to contain my pride. A few months ago, I couldn’t boil water. And while I was still learning, I’d come a long way.
“Do you like lasagna?”
“Like?” she said, hanging her purse on one of the hooks by the door. “I love it.”
Delight lit up inside me. “Good. I made the sauce from scratch. No weird additives that way.”
