Page 2 of Tempting the Single Dad
When I return with my medical bag, David has settled Diana on a wooden bench beneath an apple tree. She sits with her legs dangling, her small sneakers kicking gently at the golden leaves carpeting the ground.
"This might sting just a tiny bit," I warn, kneeling in front of her. Diana's eyes widen as I clean the cut, her fingers twisting the hem of her flannel shirt. To distract her, I lean in conspiratorially. "You know what woke me up this morning? A squirrel doing backflips on my roof. I thought someone was throwing rocks, but nope… just a fuzzy gymnast practicing his routine."
Her shoulders relax as I dab the wound dry. When I describe the squirrel's dramatic finale, a leap that ended with him hangingupside down from the gutter, the corner of her mouth twitches upward.
"You're an excellent patient," I tell her, applying antibiotic ointment. "Much better than some of the grown-ups I treat."
David's low chuckle makes my cheeks warm. "I'm definitely not good with needles," he admits, winking at his daughter. "Last time I needed a shot, I almost fainted."
"Dad exaggerates," Diana whispers, so quietly I almost miss it.
David's eyes widen, and I pretend not to notice his reaction to hearing his daughter speak. Instead, I focus on selecting the perfect bandage with tiny pumpkins printed on it.
"Perfect for a pumpkin farmer," I say, carefully placing it over her cut. "How's that feel?"
She examines my handiwork, then nods solemnly.
"Dr. Allen—" David begins.
"Miranda, please."
"Dr. Miranda." My name in his mouth sounds different somehow. "Would you like to see the rest of the farm? I could give you a tour while we discuss Diana's follow-up."
"I'd love that," I say, perhaps too quickly. "If Diana doesn't mind?"
The little girl slides off the bench and, to my surprise, slips her hand into mine. Her fingers are small and warm, and the simple gesture of trust makes my throat tight.
We walk through rows of pumpkins as David explains the different varieties they grow. Diana occasionally points to ones she likes, though she doesn't speak again.
The afternoon sun casts everything in golden light, and the mountains beyond the farm look like they’ve been painted in watercolors.
“It’s beautiful here,” I say as we pause by a fence where horses graze. “So different from Boston.”
“Boston?” David leans against the fence, his height making me tilt my head to meet his eyes. “That’s quite a change.”
“I needed one.” The admission slips out before I can stop it. “Three years in pediatric emergency medicine is…” I glance at Diana, who has wandered a few steps away to offer a handful of grass to a curious chestnut horse. “Intense.”
Understanding crosses his face. “I can imagine.”
Our eyes hold for a moment too long, and I feel a flutter in my stomach. I clear my throat. “So, about Diana’s follow-up…”
“Right.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Dr. Winters was concerned about her not speaking. And she’s lost weight since…” He glances at his daughter again.
“Since your mother passed,” I finish softly.
He nods, the grief in his eyes still raw. “My wife died when Diana was three. My mother helped raise her. They were extremely close.”
My heart aches for both of them. “I’m so sorry.”
After a moment, Diana trots back toward us, brushing hay from her hands. I crouch to her level. “Is your arm feeling okay?”
She nods, then wipes her nose with the sleeve of her flannel jacket before asking, "Can you come back tomorrow?"
David and I exchange startled glances.
"Diana," he says gently, "Dr. Miranda is very busy—"
"Actually," I interrupt, "I'd be happy to come back tomorrow. I should check how that cut is healing anyway." The relief and gratitude in David's eyes makes something warm bloom in my chest.
