Page 17 of Texas
“No problem,” I say, wiping a bead of sweat from my temple, running my eyes up and down her body. “You look like a woman who runs the world.”
She laughs. “Just this corner of it.”
As she leads me through the front lobby, I look around. The waiting area is cozy, with soft chairs and a stack of books on a low table. There’s a bulletin board with flyers for prenatal yoga, free STI testing, and domestic violence resources. I clock it all.It’s subtle, but intentional. This place was built with women in mind.
“This is Denise,” Kristin says, nodding toward the front desk. The woman behind it looks to be in her fifties, with short silver hair and a glint in her eye.
She gives me a once-over and then smiles. “So you’re the Harley,” she says.
I blink. “Excuse me?”
Denise grins. “Kristin mentioned someone new staying in her guest house. With a motorcycle. I can see she was holding out a few details on us.”
Kristin clears her throat, but she’s smiling. “Denise has no filter.”
“I like her already,” I say, and Denise winks. We keep walking. The hallway is lined with framed prints of abstract shapes in soft colors, nothing clinical.
Kristin stops outside one of the patient rooms and knocks before opening the door. “This is Tasha,” she says. “One of our nurses.” Tasha is tall, Black, and gorgeous, with braids pulled back into a bun and a clipboard in hand.
She gives me a nod, then turns to Kristin. “This the one who’s has you distracted this morning?”
I watch Kristin’s eyes widen. “Tasha.”
“What? I’m just saying you have a different look about you today.” I cough to cover a laugh. Kristin glares at both of us, but there’s no heat in it. Tasha smiles. “It’s good to meet you.” Our eyes connect, and there’s a hint of concern there too. Maybe a warning. “I hope to see more of you.”
“Likewise,” I say with a nod.
Kristin leads me into her office next. It’s small but full of warmth. Bookshelves line one wall, filled with medical texts and a few picture books for children. There’s a framed photo of her and an older woman who looks a lot like her standing in frontof the lake house. A diploma from Vanderbilt. A mug that says “Trust Me, I’m a Professional.”
Closing the door behind us, she leans against it. “For some reason, I wanted you to see this place.”
“It’s impressive,” I say, and I mean it. “You built something real here.”
She nods, but her eyes are distant. “Sometimes I forget that.”
“Don’t.”
There’s a knock at the door, and Denise’s voice comes through it. “Your three o’clock is here.”
Leaning closer, Kristin gives me a quick kiss. “Duty calls. It won’t take long if you want to wait,” she says before opening the door to step into the hall.
I follow her to the waiting area, where a young woman stands, holding a baby in a carrier with one hand and a diaper bag with the other. She’s maybe nineteen, with tired eyes but a gentle smile. Beside her, a guy stands. He looks early twenties, jeans too clean, and a ballcap pulled low. He’s not holding anything.
“Marie,” Kristin says, greeting the girl by name before looking at the guy. “Tyler. Good to see you both here. If you’ll follow me.” Marie starts to follow Kristin to the exam room. The guy, apparently Tyler, hangs back, arms crossed, jaw tight. I lean against the wall and watch him. He’s not coming across as dangerous, but he’s not happy to be here either. Kristin meets his stare, and I watch him flush red, then follow her and Marie down the hall.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m still in the waiting room when I hear him say it. “This place is full of feminist bullshit,” he says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “All this talk about choices and empowerment. Like marriage vows don’t mean anything anymore.” The exam room door flings open and the guy storms out. I’ve seen that look before. It’s the slow simmer ofresentment in a man who thinks everything belongs to him, even the woman trying to disappear into the wall beside him.
My spine straightens. My jaw tightens. Kristin steps out of the exam room, calm as ever. “Tyler,” she says, voice smooth. “If you’d like to wait in the lobby, you’re welcome to. But this is Marie’s appointment. Not yours.”
He glares at her, then at me as he walks past. I stare him down. Just enough to make him look away first. Kristin turns to me and mouths, “Don’t.”
“I wasn’t going to hit him,” I whisper back with a grim smile. “I was only deciding which window to throw him out of.” The thing about guys like him is that they mistake kindness for weakness, but I’ve made men bleed for less. It’s not about violence. It’s about reminding them that not every woman they underestimate is unarmed.
Kristin smiles, tired but grateful. “That won’t solve anything,” she says, eyes soft. “I’ll be home by six. You want to do dinner?”
“I’ll pick something up.”
“Really?”
