Attached At Heart (Wildflower #3)

12. Delaney

CHAPTER TWELVE

delaney

M Y brAIN KEPT FLITTING in and out of work mode today, and considering that had never happened to me before, I wasn’t sure what to do about it.

I needed to be at work, though. Being here with my patients and beeping heart monitors and charting to get done grounded me, and after last night and my looming travel plans for tomorrow, that was necessary. My attention, as always, remained undivided when it came to my patients and the consultations I had today, and that focus kept me going, kept my head on straight.

But the minute I stepped out of the exam room? That was when my mind slipped away to somewhere very different. Like the open suitcase I had at home, which had absolutely not been filled yet. Or the plane seat I’d be sitting in at this time tomorrow. And the person who would be sitting next to me.

Blake and I had never traveled together. To be completely honest, we didn’t do fun things together, period. He was like a work friend who had become a real friend, a best friend, but the only thing we did together outside of work was talk about work. I mean, sure, technically, we did other things. We’d grab food and talk about work. Or meet for happy hour and talk about work. But food was a necessity. And sometimes, after a harrowing day of rounds, so was alcohol.

To be clear, that didn’t make Blake any less of a friend. Honestly, it made him more of one. My career was everything, and therefore, so was Blake. He was, after all, the only reason I’d made it this far. He was the reason I was as balanced as I was and the reason I felt lopsided when he’d unexpectedly moved to Boston. Blake was one of the most important people in my life, tied right up there with Bryan.

But still—the truth was that our friendship existed because of a particular set of circumstances. And traveling to Europe together was certainly not included in those.

“I was surprised to see you had the rest of the week blocked off on your calendar.”

I looked up from a patient’s chart to find Jack hovering over my shoulder. He was my least favorite nurse in the cardiac center at SCMC. Not because he wasn’t good at his job; in fact, Jack was a very capable nurse with a strong work ethic, and in most cases, I’d be considered lucky to have him in my unit. But he was also a terrible gossip, who always seemed to stand a touch too close to me for my liking. I hadn’t decided yet if his insistent familiarity was just friendliness I wasn’t used to or if it was something more. But either way, I couldn’t deny it made me uncomfortable at times.

I snapped the chart shut, not liking the feeling of being spied on.

“I’m going on my honeymoon,” I said, even though I knew I didn’t owe him an explanation. I also knew I didn’t owe him a smile, but I flashed a strained one anyway before moving back a step.

Jack only took that opportunity to sidle up next to me, like we were at the bar getting drinks instead of standing in front of the nurses’ station. His eyes popped wide before they dropped to my hand resting on the countertop and the beautiful ring on it—the one I hadn’t quite gotten over yet.

Jack discovering I was married was both annoying and perfect. He’d make sure everyone knew about it, which saved me a lot of faking-it work. However, I was still relatively new at SCMC and didn’t exactly relish the idea of being a topic in the rumor mill.

“Have I just been missing that big rock on your finger this whole time?” he questioned, saying it like he already knew the answer. Like he definitely would not have missed this big rock on my finger.

“Not the whole time,” I said tentatively.

“Damn.” Jack whistled. “Were you even engaged?”

“Not for very long,” a new voice cut in, and even though I didn’t understand it, my whole body, once again, relaxed at the sound of his steady timbre. An arm wrapped around my waist, tugging me back a bit—away from Jack—and I melted into the body behind me because I knew whose it was. “We were impatient.”

Even though I didn’t need confirmation to know it was Blake, I glanced over my shoulder anyway, seeking a glimpse of him—that sharp jaw, acute gaze, and wavy, dark hair. Yep, it was him. He was here, at my work. Holding me possessively as though I would slip away. I didn’t understand, but at this moment, I was grateful.

“Dr. Blake London,” he said by way of introduction, extending his free hand for Jack to shake. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Jack gave Blake a nice, long look before he shook his hand. “Jack Henry, one of the cardiac nurses. Nice to meet you, too.”

“If you don’t mind, I just stopped by to talk to my wife real quick,” Blake said, his voice hardening ever so slightly. It was his way of effectively ending the conversation with Jack, and to make it even more clear, he applied gentle pressure on my waist, encouraging me to twist to face him and turn my back on Jack.

I tried not to smile when my gaze met Blake’s, but it was tough. Behind us, I could hear Jack’s footsteps shuffle away. Blake didn’t move, though. He kept his arm locked around me, caging me close to his chest.

“What are you doing here?” I hissed. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Not as ridiculous as that guy,” he muttered. His eyes flicked up, blazing as they trailed after Jack. “He was practically standing on top of you.”

“I know,” I sighed. “I hate when he does that.”

Blake’s eyes cut back to mine with alarm. His jaw ticked as that fierce gaze of his bored into me. “You mean that’s a common occurrence?”

I shook my head because I didn’t want to get into it—not when we were still standing amidst the bustle of the cardiac center and I had things I should be doing. “What are you doing here?” I asked again. “You sure are making it a habit of showing up unannounced. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were scoping out SCMC to see if it’s better than Boston Medical.”

Blake answered me by producing a brown paper bag and holding it out to me.

“Lunch.” He gave me an assessing look, pursing his lips before adding, “I’m going to take a wild guess and say you haven’t eaten yet.”

I frowned. “Why are you so stuck on feeding me this week?”

“Because I’m starting to worry you didn’t have a single solid meal in the months we were apart.”

“I—”

Could not finish that sentence honestly.

Blake shook his head and stepped back, finally releasing his grip from my waist. The sudden loss of warmth sent a shiver down my spine, and I drew my white coat tighter around me. “I was meeting Nat for lunch to talk about some legal stuff with her ex, and I thought I’d stop up here and bring you my leftovers before heading back to Boston Medical.”

“Oh, how thoughtful ,” I drawled, but my words had no real bite. I’d happily eat leftovers. It would be much better than the rabbit food I packed this morning.

“No leftovers, I’m kidding,” Blake laughed. “I brought you a BLT with extra mayo and a pickle on the side. Promise I didn’t even take a bite.”

“That’s my favorite,” I said absently, peeking inside the bag.

“I know. I also know that you’ve been packing shit lunches for work, so we’re going to need to work on that when we get back.”

I bit my lip because I couldn’t even argue with him about that.

And when I looked up, Blake wore an expression of satisfaction because he knew I couldn’t even argue.

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” he asked suddenly, clearing his throat. “You were holed away in your room for hours last night. I can only assume you were packing.”

“Not even close,” I groaned, thankful for the change in topic. “I still have to pick out at least four more outfits that don’t look terrible.”

Blake snorted. He thought I was kidding.

I was definitely not kidding.

I didn’t buy clothes for myself very often, which meant my closet was full of things that went out of style a decade ago. I had at least a dozen peplum tops I should really just throw away.

“I’m sure none of them look terrible.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

“Let me be the judge, then.” He shrugged. “You can try on the options for me.”

“Didn’t realize you were a fashion show kind of guy,” I said, shifting on my feet and trying to push off this idea. I would not be trying on my outfits for Blake.

But Blake just grinned crookedly, held my gaze, and said, “I’m whatever kind of guy my wife needs.”

My brain knew he was being a lighthearted tease, but other parts of my body didn’t, clenching at his words.

“If you’re expecting a Victoria’s Secret–type show, you’re going to be disappointed,” I said with a sigh.

He choked a little at that comment, which led to a cough. His voice sounded strained when he finally replied. “You know, funnily enough, I did not assume you’d walk out in your underwear.”

“That’s not what I meant.” I waved that idea away quickly. “I was referring more to the level of hotness on the runway.”

Blake gave me a funny little stare, and I wondered what he was thinking. But before I could find out, he simply shook his head.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Lane.” He tapped on the paper bag with my lunch. “Eat. I’ll see you at home.”

“Thank you for lunch,” I called after him, and he grinned over his shoulder as I watched him walk away.

Like I actually stood there when I had a million other things to do, including scarfing down this sandwich, and watched my best friend walk away.

No, husband .

Blake was my husband.

And he was doing a very good job at reminding me of that a little more each and every day.

Not that I minded.

In fact, I was starting to wonder if I actually kind of liked it.

This dress was nothing like the other ones I’d tried on.

The first two pieces in this fashion show had been floral and flowy, the next had been solid and basic, and the one before what I was wearing now had been a linen shirtdress with buttons up the front and a tie around the waist. So far, Blake had surprised me with honest feedback about which dresses seemed to suit me better. I’d packed three of them and set one of them aside.

And now there was one more to try on.

This one.

I stared at myself in the corner floor-length mirror, which I was honestly shocked Blake owned but appreciated at the moment. I smoothed my hands down my sides, running my fingers over the fabric clinging to my skin. It was tight. It was red. It had a corseted bodice with ties in the back, giving me the illusion of having more curves than I did.

I’d bought this dress for Ophelia’s bachelorette party, which had been a ritzy affair in the Hamptons, and even though my residency schedule ultimately intercepted my ability to make it that weekend, I’d held on to this dress. It was a nice dress. Maybe too nice? Maybe too…salacious. Like a piece someone who was actually going on their honeymoon would wear, and I wasn’t really going on my honeymoon, was I?

“I think I’m done!” I called, loud enough for Blake to hear me over the boxing podcast he turned on every time I disappeared back into my room to change. I didn’t understand the appeal of two men talking about punching each other, but then again, it was also nice to see Blake so into a hobby. He went to his boxing club at least three or four times a week, and I had to admit, he always seemed to come home mentally recharged. Every once in a while, it made me miss ballet. Or just dancing in general.

“You told me there was one more!” he shouted back.

“I, uh, made a mistake!”

“Since when do you make mistakes?” He laughed, but I wasn’t sure if it was because of his comment or because of something the boxing dudes said. “I know you have a dress on. Just come show it to me.”

It was annoying how well he knew me.

I gave myself one more look in the mirror, debated, and then gave in, walking straight into the living room and stopping in front of Blake, who had his head bent, looking at something on his phone. “Also,” he started without looking up, “you know you don’t have to clean the entire apartment every day just because you live here now. I don’t know how you do my dishes so fast, but it’s not necessary.” He tossed his phone to the side a second later, glanced up, and froze. His entire body tensed. “Oh.”

That was the only word out of Blake’s mouth when he saw the dress. Actually, it wasn’t even a word. It was a single goddamn syllable. Just a syllable. Nothing else except for the clearing of his throat. He eventually adjusted how he was sitting on the couch, leaning forward with a patient look, both elbows resting on his knees. It felt like he was preparing to let me down easy.

“Cleaning is the least I can do since you’re letting me invade your space for the next year,” I said, forcing out a laugh as I felt heat rise into my cheeks.

“I…” Blake’s face contorted like he didn’t understand my words.

“It’s okay if you don’t like the dress.” I tried to say it casually, tucking my bare toes beneath the edge of the rug in his living room; years of ballet meant I had ugly, deformed feet. “Really, Blake. You don’t, do you?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” he replied, but his words were slow, as if he was thinking about them very carefully—thinking about how he could tell me the truth without hurting my feelings. Because Blake didn’t lie just to soothe people’s egos. It wasn’t like him, so I could see the gears working in his head as he tried to figure out what he could say that would be both honest and kind. “You look…” He cleared his throat again. “Great. Really great.”

“Thank you.” I smiled hesitantly before cocking my head to the side. “But you still didn’t answer the question.”

His mouth opened and closed as he tried to find the right words.

“It’s just, you told me this wasn’t going to be a Victoria’s Secret fashion show,” he finally said, and my jaw dropped, flailing open from his comment.

“I’m fully clothed, thank you very much,” I argued.

But Blake just sort of pressed his lips together and said, “Mhm.”

“Are you confused because you forgot I had boobs?” I asked because in glancing down at the surprising amount of cleavage this dress awarded me, I couldn’t blame him. I’d also forgotten what they looked like when I put them in a dress like this. I’d always thought that I was on the cusp of being in the itty-bitty titty committee—like perhaps if they were feeling generous, they’d let me in—but this dress was making me think that I actually wouldn’t have a chance. “Like, do you not like the dress because it’s weird that you can actually see them for once? Because honestly, I think that’s what’s getting me about it, too.”

“Delaney,” Blake choked out, and I couldn’t tell if he was mortified or laughing. His expression was hard to read, but his face was turning a shade I’d never seen before. “Stop. Just stop. I did not—fuck.” He rubbed the back of his neck, wincing like I’d physically injured him with this question. “I am…aware that you have boobs,” he rasped after a moment. “Always have been. And I did not say I don’t like the dress.”

“Okay, great. Then just give me your objective opinion,” I said, trying to reframe his thinking. I did a half spin to give him a better look, and Blake watched intently, trying his damnedest to do what I asked. But it also meant I felt his eyes like hot little daggers, and a warm flush rose up my body as I said, “Pretend you don’t know me and I’m not your best friend. You’re just a random guy, and I’m a random girl. Would you walk up to me in a bar and ask for my number?”

He raised one brow. “Are you hoping to give out your number to a lot of guys on our honeymoon, Lane?”

I rolled my eyes. “No, of course not. I’m just trying to…” I sighed, throwing my hands up in the air and giving up. “Never mind.”

I started to walk away, wanting to retreat to my room and hide my heated cheeks. But Blake saying my name stopped me in my tracks.

“Delaney.”

I should have kept walking but instead turned on my heel. Faced him again. Watched how his gaze flicked over me like he was deciding his fashion advice, determining the final verdict.

“You want to know what I think about that dress?” he finally asked, his voice hoarse, and I wondered if maybe this was a line we shouldn’t have crossed in our friendship. He might have offered to judge my travel outfits, but perhaps this one in particular was making him feel weird.

“You don’t have to tell me. I didn’t mean to push it or make you feel uncomfortable.” I bit down on my lip with a shrug. “I bought it for Ophelia’s bachelorette party, but I never got to wear it. I thought it might be a good option for the trip, but maybe not.”

“You’re not making me uncomfortable,” he said, and based on his earnest expression, I was inclined to believe him. “Not in the way—” He paused and looked away for a second before finishing. “I just wasn’t sure if you really wanted my…honest thoughts.”

“I do,” I insisted.

Blake nodded as he took in that information. He ran a hand down his face before piercing me with a gaze that told me whatever his next words were, he meant them. But then he dropped his head, staring at some spot on the floor as he spoke.

“If I were some random guy, and you were some random girl, and I saw you wearing that in a bar, I’d ask for your number in a heartbeat. And then I wouldn’t let you out of my sight for the rest of the fucking night. I’d chase off other men when you weren’t looking, and then I’d insist on walking you home, holding my breath when we got to your door and hoping to God you’d invite me in. And if you did, I’d?—”

He bit down on whatever the next words were going to be and looked up. I felt that look, that heated stare, that slight parting of his lips as words went unsaid, disappearing from his tongue. Whatever it was, whatever it meant, I felt it right down into my very being. It was terrifying. Exhilarating. I loved it because it felt good, but I hated it because I didn’t know why.

“Yeah, Lane. I’d ask for your number. I like the dress, okay? But it might, uh, cause some problems.”

“Because men are just going to start throwing themselves at me?” I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Now he was definitely taking it too far.

Blake remained quiet for a moment. “Something like that, yeah.”

“Sounds like men are the problem, not my dress.”

His lips finally cracked a smile again, like he’d snapped out of something. He leaned back onto the couch again, raising his hands in defeat.

“Men are most decidedly the problem, you’re right.”

I lifted my brows. “Blake Bennett London once again telling me that I’m right? Wow.”

“I heard that’s the key to having a happy marriage,” he said, that teasing glint returning to his eyes. “And I’m pretty committed to that.” He checked his watch. “You should finish up. We have a long day tomorrow.”

I nodded and turned to head back to my room. I nearly made it inside when Blake called after me.

“So, do you think you’re going to pack it?”

I paused, and I knew my gut reaction was to say yes. Because I couldn’t get that feeling out of my chest, the one I felt when Blake had lifted his gaze and said he’d ask for my number.

But for that reason, maybe he was right.

Perhaps it could cause problems.

“It’ll be a surprise!” I called back to him, deciding to keep my options open.

As I dropped to the ground to sort out the mess I needed to fit into a suitcase, I heard a soft curse leave Blake’s mouth, followed by a grumbled, “Great.”

Maybe he was mumbling about his podcast.

Maybe not.

Maybe I really didn’t want to know.