Page 45 of A Place Like You

Wren: Are you spying on me?

Sutton: No, we just want the scoop.

Wren: There’s no scoop. He brings food made by his amazing brother, and I can’t just push him away. It’s called politeness.

Sutton: You have a crush on the doctor.

Wren: He’s my colleague.

Sutton: Have you at least ridden the doctor?

Wren: Stop right there.

Sutton:You’re no fun.

Wren:Your concept of fun is different from mine.

As I’m typing my response to Sutton’s last text, I catch sight of the time on my phone. Instead of continuing our conversation, I turn my attention to Milo. “Okay, Milo, it’s time for bed,” I announce, hoping he’ll understand and won’t throw a sudden tantrum.

His lower lip juts out in an exaggerated pout. “But I want Drake to read more books.”

I walk closer to him, smoothing his messy hair and giving him a knowing look. “The books won’t go anywhere, but it’s bedtime.”

Drake smiles warmly at Milo. “Your mom’s right, buddy. But I can come back, and we’ll read the rest, okay?”

Milo’s pout dissolves, replaced by a grin. “Okay, see you tomorrow,” he agrees brightly.

Taking Milo’s hand, I lead him toward his bedtime routine. “Let’s get pajamas on and brush those teeth,” I gently coax. He drags his feet a little as we head to the bathroom.

As we go through our regular bedtime ritual—showering, putting on pajamas, and brushing his teeth with his favorite blueberry-flavored toothpaste—I hear Drake tidying up the living room. The domesticity of it all warms my chest, and I can’t help but feel a sense of contentment settling over me.

After our bedtime prayers and some sweet snuggles, I finally get my sleepy, dinosaur-obsessed little boy settled into bed. I turn out the lights and leave his door slightly ajar, just how he likes it.

When I return to the living room, Drake is waiting with a tender smile that mirrors my own overflowing emotions. This evening has felt like a glimpse into a future that suddenly seems possible, but I shouldn’t want.

My heart is tired of the whiplash, but I don’t know how to do this any other way. I suck at relationships, and I always seem to choose the wrong person. That’s why I should resist picking him. But my body . . . Well, it’s not concerned with logic. It only craves Drake, here and now.

“Shall we chat outside for a bit?” Drake asks, and although I know I should send him home to respect my boundaries, I find myself agreeing to spend more time with him.

The cool night air provides a welcome relief after a long day. I settle onto the porch steps beside Drake, handing him a freshly poured glass of merlot.

“To surviving another crazy week at the clinic,” I say, clinking my glass against his with a grin.

Drake chuckles. “It was a trial by fire, that’s for sure.”

I take a sip, savoring the rich wine. “You’re so great with all the patients, though. They love you. I don’t know how I managed without you before.”

“I’m just glad that I can lighten your workload a little.” He swirls the deep red liquid pensively.

“Have I mentioned how thankful I am that you’re here?” I bump my shoulder against him playfully. “No, seriously. It’s made a huge difference at home and the clinic.”

Drake meets my gaze, his eyes glinting with warmth. “I should be thanking you for taking a chance on me. Turns out I love being a small-town doctor.” His gravelly voice sends a shiver through me.

Inwardly, I wrestle with the urge to lean over and kiss him senseless. Instead, I take a breath and steer the conversation to lighter topics—amusing patient anecdotes, plans for Jez’s birthday, whether Gael should make us gluten-free cupcakes. Anything to distract me from the magnetic pull between us.

Too soon, Drake glances at his watch and then gives me an apologetic look. “I should probably get going. I have an early day tomorrow at the ranch.”

I try not to let my disappointment show as we gather the wine glasses and bottle to rinse in the kitchen. The merlot has left me feeling warm, relaxed, and dangerously comfortable in his presence. His closeness makes my pulse skitter erratically. I hold on to the last thread of self-control I have in my body.

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