Page 112 of Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That At Christmas
“We can learn together,” I say, reaching up to touch his face.“You show me how to trust again.I’ll show you how to lean sometimes.”
He lifts the pickle between us with a smile that finally reaches his eyes.“And we’ll always have emotional support vegetables to get us through.”
A slow smile spreads across my face as I lean closer, my heart lighter.“As a medical professional, I assume you know the importance of comprehensive teamwork.”
“Very comprehensive,” he agrees, setting the pickle carefully on the nightstand before pulling me closer.“Multiple approaches.Collaborative problem-solving.”
Adam makes a sound low in his throat that sends heat spiraling through me.“I’ve always been thorough, Foster.”His lips brush the sensitive spot below my ear.“Ask any of my patients.”
“I’d rather conduct my own research,” I manage before his mouth claims mine, his kiss deep and demanding in a way that makes me forget about funding cuts and ex-husbands and paranoia.
Dorothy chooses this exact moment to leap onto the bed with a territorial bark, wedging herself between us with impressive determination for a dachshund.
“Your timing needs work,” Adam tells her, but there’s amusement in his voice as he scratches behind her ears.
I can’t help laughing, the tension of the moment broken.“They must have passed each other a memo on when to interrupt.Taken lessons from Sally’sSchool of Meddling.”
Adam’s expression softens as he looks at me across Dorothy’s triumphant form.“Thank you again.For making me smile, too.And for everything.Together, I do feel like we might find a solution.Or I don’t know, find a way to deal with it.”
That simple “together” lands somewhere beneath my ribs, warming me from the inside out.Not everything is Chuck’s doing.Not every setback is a machination designed to hurt me.And not every man is waiting for me to fail.
Some are just waiting for the dog to fall back asleep so they can resume more important activities.
Like thorough medical research.And learning how to be strong together instead of alone.
Chapter thirty-five
ADAM
It'ssixthirty,andI'm fresh from the shower, towel still around my neck as I stare out the window.Eve left a note on the bathroom mirror in her precise handwriting: "Taking the dogs out.Back with coffee.Don't try to solve the world’s problems before I return."
The memory of last night weighs on me.The program I've spent two years building, gutted because of donor politics.The way Eve refused to let me retreat behind professional distance, handing me a crocheted pickle and demanding I talk about my feelings.
And I did.Actually talked instead of deflecting or minimizing.
The pickle sits on the nightstand where I left it, lumpy, green, and oddly comforting in its imperfection.Before I can overthink it, I reach for my phone.
Wes will be finishing his morning run.Mike's at the garage early, getting work done before Jamie wakes up.Kellan's probably on his second cup of coffee by now.Manuel never sleeps past five.
I stare at the empty group text for a long moment before typing.
GROUP CHAT: Adam In a Pickle Again.
Me
Rural vet program got gutted.60% funding cut.
I hit send before I can change my mind.The responses come almost immediately.
Wes
Damn.That's rough.You okay?
Mike
Wait.You're voluntarily telling us about a problem?
Kellan
