Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 104657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
“You think I’m interested in Will because he’s older? A father figure?”
She shakes her head, yet shrugs as if that might be what she’s implying.
“Fitz is older than you.” I stop short of asking if she has daddy issues because we know that answer. She grew up without him and learned some pretty shocking things about his past.
“He is,” Jamie says with a brave smile, like she’s fine with me talking about her father.
Maren clears her throat, nervously fiddling with the ends of her blond hair that’s pulled over one shoulder. “Has Will met your father?”
“No,” I say, glancing down at my drink.
“Have you told your father about your past relationship with Will?” Maren prods.
“I was thinking of going with modern decor for my barndo, but I’ve seen some really cool designs on Pinterest that incorporate reclaimed wood. So now I’m leaning in that direction. What do you think?”
Maren and Jamie share a look. I fear this bestie threesome is not happening today.
Chapter Nineteen
Will
The Missoula Fire Department gets called by the US Forest Service dispatch to help with a wildfire eight miles south of town. I spend my forty-eight-hour shift on that fire. By Monday, it’s still at zero containment.
As I climb into my Bronco to head home, I get a text.
Fitz: Heard your house got called
Will: Yeah. Heading home to crash. U?
Fitz: Just sent out a group. Staying at the base today
Fitz: Jamie said there’s sexual tension between u and the Dr
I slide my sunglasses onto my head to make sure I’m reading his text correctly.
Will: WTF
Fitz: That’s what I figured. Go sleep
I grumble a few expletives and then drive home. After removing my boots at the back door, I glance up and freeze. My kitchen is a disaster again. Dirty dishes in the sink. Crumbs on the counter. An open bottle of AriZona tea on the coffee table beside a pair of wadded pink socks.
“Sleep first,” I mumble on my way to the stairs, “and kill her later.”
Four hours later, I awaken to the vacuum running downstairs. I pull on jeans and follow the high-pitched hum. Halfway down the stairs, I stop, squinting at the stranger cleaning my house.
“Hello?” I yell.
The young, dark-haired woman jumps and turns off the vacuum. “Hi. Hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Well, ya did. Who are you? And why are you in my house?”
“Oh, I’m Alba. Dr. Reichart asked me to clean your house. I own a cleaning business. I’m an ex-patient of hers, but she said I shouldn’t tell you that, but I’m not ashamed to admit that I needed her. She helped me so much. You must feel privileged getting to be her roommate. She’s brilliant.”
“Agree to disagree. Listen, Alba, I worked a forty-eight-hour shift, and I need sleep. So maybe you can come back tomorrow afternoon or anytime Wednesday or Thursday.”
“Sorry, sir. I only have Mondays available.”
I pull in a deep breath and hold it while returning a tight smile. Letting it out, I stomp back upstairs, grab a T-shirt, socks, and a hat. Then I breeze past Alba and head to Dr. Reichart’s office.
“Oh! Sir!” The same blond as before follows me down the hallway.
But this time, I know where Everleigh’s office is.
“Sir? Uh, Will?” The blond chases me. “Dr. Reichart is not to be disturbed for another fifteen minutes unless it’s an emergency.”
“It’s an emergency,” I say, opening her office door.
It’s dark except for the light from the hallway. There’s spa music playing. And Everleigh is on the leather sofa under a blanket with a sleep mask over her eyes. I slam the door shut behind me, and she jumps, sliding her mask up her forehead.
“Will?” She squints.
“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re sleeping while one of your patients is vacuuming my house so that I”—I jab my thumb into my chest—“the firefighter who just completed a forty-eight-hour shift, can’t sleep?”
She wrinkles her nose while standing and pulls her hair back into a ponytail before tucking her black blouse into her cream skirt. “I told her to wait until afternoon. And she’s not my patient anymore.”
“Well”—I smack her M&M dispenser several times, sending some rolling off her desk and onto the floor while a few land in my hand—“I sleep until mid to late afternoon following a two-day shift.”
“You’re making a mess,” she says, picking up the M&Ms from the floor.
“Oh, I’m making a mess? You’re a pig. My kitchen was a disaster when I came home this morning. I think your hidden tattoo says a lot more about you than your favorite childhood book.”
Everleigh tosses the M&Ms into her sleek gold trash bin. “I’m very sorry. I tried to check with you, but you didn’t answer your phone or return my text.”
“I was working the Travelers’ fire. Sorry I didn’t have time to discuss chores with you. I was busy saving homes and possibly lives.”