There was more to the entry, some stuff about physical therapy and a counselor who taught me the power of having a healing attitude, but that was the gist of it.
Man, how had I handled that experience with so much pragmatism? Probably because the full impact of the injury’s consequence wouldn’t matter to me until a decade or so later when I was looking to get married and had to consider my potential partner’s feelings and opinions.
How many guys had I broken up with within a day of their telling me they wanted children? Good guys. Some of the best guys out there. But I couldn’t give them that, and it was easier to make stupid, hollow excuses like, “It’s not you, it’s me,” than to see the pity on their faces or hear lies that they loved me no matter what.
Then, like a ray of sunshine in my dark world, Case had come along. Case! He hadn’t wanted kids. I’d clung to him like he was my oxygen mask—too quickly to notice how utterly incompatible we were in every other way.
He’d wanted a dog—someday.
We never did get one.
What’s weird is, I hadn’t even told Case I wanted to name our future dog Jasper.
His dreams for his life had served as a get-out-of-jail-free card for me. I hadn’t even needed to tell him I was a defective model. He couldn’t have cared less.
I shoved the Jasper-reference-less stack of journals back onto the shelf. They told me nothing—except that there was a faint chance that Dr. Luke Hotwell was a mind-reader.
No way could he have gleaned that information by stalking me, even if he’d invaded my apartment and dug through my most personal records.
And I hadn’t been consciously thinking about the dog named Jasper, not for years. So Luke Hotwell would have to be a subconscious memory reader.
“Ha!” My explosive syllable of a laugh echoed to the high ceiling and bounced off my floor. As if a busy heart surgeon would have time for such nonsense—or be interested in someone like me.
It was too weird to consider.
So, I was left with a big, gaping how the heck?
The question crawled up and down my spine like a mean old spider. I couldn’t shake it. I paced my kitchen. I called Jane, but she didn’t pick up. I ate five clementine oranges in quick succession. I counted backward from a hundred.
Still, no relief.
I had to ask him.
Problem was, I didn’t have his phone number, and I couldn’t go confront him again at his office in the hospital, since rumor had it he was off for several weeks for his injury.
He lives at the castle.
I wasn’t going to the castle and bugging him at home.
He totally lives on the top floor of that apartment building. He told me straight up.
Right. Because of the viewwwww. If I had a dime for every man I met who worshipped a view … A low growl rose in my throat.
No, I wasn’t going over there. I would eat lunch. I would not think about how a good-looking, injured doctor with a bad bedside manner, who’d still managed to win my dad’s heart, knew my secret innermost thoughts.
What else did he know about me?
Although, the main floor of The Citadel did reportedly have a great café with a reputation for excellent french fries. I’d never tried them personally. Maybe today was a good time to check that out. After a packed morning, I didn’t have any more clients this afternoon.
***
“Sheridan? What are you doing here?” Luke looked at me like he was seeing a ghost—but a welcome ghost. “Come in.”
I clutched the two clamshells of takeout from the café downstairs. I shouldn’t go in. Really. But there were things I needed to know. “Thanks.” I went in.
Yep, the penthouse apartment of The Citadel did not disappoint. Glass and steel, sharp angles, clean lines, impossibly-uncomfortable-looking furniture, as expected.
“It’s kind of messy.” He threw a sheepish glance over his shoulder as he backed in, leading me toward the front room.