“No, nothing serious.” She sniffs again. “Just a runny nose and sinus pressure. Must be spring allergies or something. I don’t know, but I’m definitely not up for fishing today.”
I shrug, taking the news in stride. “Okay. Why don’t we just hang out and watch a movie or something? I can make you chicken soup with extra noodles and rub your feet.”
“No. I don’t want to make you sick.”
“You said it was probably just allergies,” I remind her. “And even if you were sick, chances are I wouldn’t catch it. I’ve spent the past four years at the hospital swimming in germs. I’m immune to everything. Or almost everything.” I smile, nudging her socked foot gently with my shoe. “Besides, I’d risk a virus to spend the afternoon with you.”
“That’s sweet, but I think I should go back to bed.” She tucks her chin, causing her hair to spill around her face, hiding her expression. “I didn’t sleep well last night. I could use the rest.”
“All right.” I try to ignore the stab of disappointment in my chest, but I’ve been looking forward to seeing Lark again since the moment she closed the car door behind her last night. After our disastrous first encounter at the wedding, our first date went better than I could have imagined.
I woke up this morning hopeful that I was on my way to winning a second chance, and that date two was going to be even better than date one.
Now, I’m going to spend the afternoon alone.
But she can’t help being sick….
Hmmm…
Lark…sick….
I furrow my brow. Come to think of it, have I ever seen her under the weather? I rack my brain, but with the exception of a nasty case of food poisoning from raw oysters at a Mardis Gras party a year after we started dating, I can’t recall her ever being ill.
There’s a first time for everything, of course, but the way she’s refusing to meet my eyes makes me wonder…
“I’ll talk to you later, okay?” She keeps her head tucked to her chest as she stands and reaches for the door.
I stop her with a gentle hand on her shoulder, letting my fingers brush along the back of her neck.
No fever. After a harrowing year working in the E.R. during the pandemic, I can guess a person’s temperature by touch.
She shivers and glances at me over her shoulder. “What was that for?”
“Checking your temperature.”
“With your fingers?”
“You’re right. Can’t tell for sure with fingers.” I can tell with my fingers, but she doesn’t know that and an excuse to get closer to her is suddenly too tempting to resist. Leaning in, I brush her hair to one side before bending to press my lips to the column of her throat.
She sucks in a breath, and my chest goes tight.
God, her skin is as soft as I remember, soft and warm, smelling of shampoo and spiced apple lotion and Lark, the most honest and mysterious and addictive scent in the world.
In the past four years, I’ve dreamt about this smell dozens of times. Now, here I am, with my lips on Lark’s bare skin and the smell of her making my head spin, and I can’t resist just one more kiss.
And another…
And another…until she makes a soft, pained sound and spins away.
“Is that how you treat all of your patients?” she asks, her voice shaking. She’s scowling, but her breath is coming faster, making me hope I’m not the only one affected by the chemistry between us.
“Only the ones I really like,” I joke, hoping to lighten the moment, but her scowl deepens.
“Oh yeah? And how many of those have there been?”
My smile slips. “I was joking, Lark. I’m sorry if I overstepped, I just—”
“No, I know there must have been someone.” She hitches her chin up, the way she does when she knows I’m not going to like what she has to say. “Probably a lot of someones. You were gone for four years, Mason. Don’t tell me you didn’t date anyone the entire time you were gone.”
“I thought we were talking about doctor-patient relationships,” I say, not wanting to talk about other women. I don’t even want to think about other women.
Lark is the one for me. End of story.
She shrugs. “Well, now we’re talking about boy-girl relationships.”
I nod, buying myself some time. Obviously she isn’t going to let this go. I was hoping to have at least one more low key date before we started talking heavy stuff, but if she wants answers then I’m prepared to give them to her.
“Okay,” I say, propping my hands low on my hips. “I’ll talk about boy-girl relationships and anything else you want to talk about. Get your swim suit on and we’ll talk while we catch some fish for supper.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “I told you, I’m too sick to—”