Page 7 of Tension with the Mountain Man
I nod, staring at the message.
"What are you going to say?"
What am I going to say? The smart thing would be to decline. I'm supposed to be focused on my career, on the Vancouver decision. Getting involved with a local, especially a patient, is the last thing I should be doing.
But God, I want to see him again.
How about 4?I type back.
His response comes immediately:See you there.
"I'm going to regret this," I mutter.
"Or you're going to finally start living a little," Bronwyn counters. "Sally, you're twenty-six years old. You're allowed to have a personal life."
An hour later, I find myself standing outside Pine & Percolate, smoothing my scrubs and wondering what the hell I'm doing. I never meet patients for coffee. I don't date locals. I keep my professional and personal lives completely separate.
But then I see Tucker through the window, and all my careful rules seem ridiculous.
He's waiting at a corner table, hands wrapped around a coffee cup, and when he sees me, his face lights up with a smile that makes my stomach flip. I've never had a man look at me like that—like I'm something precious, something worth waiting for.
"Hey," he says as I slide into the seat across from him.
"Hey yourself." I order my usual—large coffee, black—and try to ignore the way my body responds to his presence. "How's the shoulder?"
"Good as new. You do excellent work." He pauses, studying my face. "Rough day?"
"No more than usual.”
Tucker laughs, a rich, warm sound that makes me want to hear it again. "Small-town medicine."
"Exactly." I take a sip of coffee. He's wearing a clean flannel shirt and jeans, his hair still damp from a recent shower, and there's something about his presence that makes me feel safe. Protected. Like I could tell him anything and he wouldn't judge me for it.
What is happening to me?
“Can I tell you something?” he asks.
I nod.
He's quiet for a moment, considering his words. "You seem like someone who's spent her whole life trying to prove she belongs. Like you're constantly looking over your shoulder, waiting for someone to figure out you don't deserve to be where you are."
The accuracy of his observation steals my breath. "That's very perceptive."
"Am I wrong?"
"No." The admission feels like stepping off a cliff. "I finished residency two years early. I was the youngest in my program, the only woman in several of my rotations. I got used to having to work twice as hard to be taken half as seriously."
"And now?"
"Now I don't know how to stop. I don't know how to just... be good enough as I am."
"You are good enough," he says with quiet certainty. "More than good enough."
"How can you be so sure? You barely know me."
"I know you've never once made anyone feel stupid for coming to you with their problems, no matter how minor." His gaze holds mine steadily. "Small towns talk, Sally. And what they say about you is that you care. That's worth more than any degree."
Tears prick at my eyes unexpectedly. When was the last time someone saw me so clearly? When was the last time someone looked past my credentials to see the person underneath?
