Page 46 of Doctorshipped
I reread the caption and feel my forehead crease. Why can’t she wear normal clothes? And why does she have to be such an intrusion—one that refuses to leave me alone long after she goes home?
“Why don’t you smile more often?” Jayme asks with a quizzical, but teasing look on her face.
“I smile when there’s reason to smile.”
“There’s always a reason to smile.”
“Hmph.”
“It’s a scientific fact that you use more facial muscles to frown than to smile.”
“Well then, it appears I’m also getting in a bonus workout. Now if you’ll excuse me, as delightful as this conversation has been, I’ve got actual work to do, and I believe you have a tutoring job to get to. You could wait for Fiona in the family room or the kitchen.”
“Okay, Ebenezer.”
“That’s a Scrooge joke, right?”
“Do you prefer Grumpy?”
“Of the seven dwarves?”
“Yes. Or Darcy?”
“Pride and Prejudice. Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“You know Pride and Prejudice?” She sounds mystified.
“I attended high school, so yes.”
I don’t mention that I think Jane Austen could be one of the greatest writers of all time. She may have written romance, but her books were about so much more. They aren’t drivel, despite the romantic notions she set forth. The last thing Jayme needs to know about me is that I’ve read more than one Jane Austen novel, and not because they were assigned.
“Now, if you’ve finished listing all the grumps from Victorian through modern literature, I’ll get back to work and let you get to waiting for Fiona.”
“Okay, Oscar,” Jayme says, shooting me a smile over her shoulder as she stands and walks toward the door.
“The Grouch?” I ask.
“You guessed it,” she says with a giggle as she slides the door nearly shut behind her. I hear her listing off more names as she walks toward the kitchen, “Oooh … I forgot Eeyore, Holden Caulfield, Severus Snape …” Then I hear her delighted laugh at her own musings as if she’s really tickled by her ability to label me alongside the great grumps of well-known fiction.
I should be irritated, not amused. Instead, I’m surprised to be kicking myself for ushering Jayme out of my office. I’m considering viable excuses for making my way into the kitchen while she’s waiting, when the front door flies open and the thumping of Fiona’s footfalls pound through the foyer and straight upstairs.
I stand and follow the sound, nearly bumping into Jayme at the bottom of the steps. Apparently she heard Fiona too.
Jayme collides into me, her hands hitting my chest as she braces herself to keep from falling over. I grasp her upper arms to stabilize her. We stand there for a moment, my hands on her arms, her palms flush against my pectoral muscles. The feel of her through my shirt draws more of my attention than I’d like.
How long has it been since a woman touched me? Oh. Yes. Less than two weeks, when this same woman curled into me in her sleep. But before that, it feels like forever. I may be sworn to singleness for valid and imperative reasons, but I’m a man. My body doesn’t always obey my mind when it comes to being touched by someone like Jayme. I can’t control the visceral reaction across my skin and in my fingertips, or the thoughts that crowd my mind against my will.
Our eyes lock. I’m unpleasantly off kilter. Jayme smells like a bakery, homey and inviting, and I have that strange and unwelcome urge to lean in and kiss her again. I shake my head and separate from her, her hands sliding down my torso as they drop.
I glance upstairs toward Fiona’s room and tell Jayme, “I’ve got this.”
“I think she might be upset.”
“I gathered as much since she didn’t run into my office rambling on about school. Make yourself at home. I’ll send her down when she’s ready. Or if you need to go, Fiona can call you later to set up a time for tutoring.”
“I’ll wait,” Jayme says with a look of concern. “I’ll just be waiting down here.” She hooks her thumb over her shoulder toward the kitchen.
I nod and head up the stairs to see what has Fiona upset. If she had a good day she would have bounded into my office, bubbling over with stories about her new friends and her classes. I dread whatever she’s about to tell me. School can be unfairly hard for her. I had hoped today would be a smooth start. After all, that’s partly why we moved. That, and the need to get away from the myriad of memories that felt like heavy galvanized titanium anchoring us to the pain of our past.
