The Doctor’s Simple Life (Love Heals All Wounds #3)

21. Reece

CHAPTER 21

REECE

W e drive for about an hour to get where we’re going. I tried to keep our destination secret, but Sienna has this way of catching me off guard and managed to get it out of me that I’m taking her to a nice restaurant.

She keeps telling me that I don’t need to do anything for her. When I told her I wasn’t going to change my mind, she told me that there are plenty of good restaurants in Silverbell and that I don’t need to take her anywhere fancy, and I certainly don’t need to pay for it.

I’ve ignored every one of her complaints. I’m doing this whether she likes it or not.

And she will like it.

Yeah, the restaurants in Silverbell might be okay, but that’s all they are. Okay.

The people here are very kind and care about their jobs or whatever, and I’ve not been too horrified by the food standards, but I want to take Sienna somewhere properly exclusive, somewhere where she can feel special for a change. Somewhere that feels like a real treat.

And I know just the place.

When we got home, I told her to put on something nice. She argued with me about it, of course, but eventually she gave in and agreed. Then she came downstairs in a gorgeous emerald green evening dress, swirling around her knees, fitted to her torso and showing off her cleavage. She’s beautiful.

I told her so, and she scoffed.

We’re almost forty minutes into the drive when Sienna finally asks, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want to.”

“Yeah, but why do you want to? Why are you doing this for me?”

“I thought I should take you on at least one proper date before…”

“Before what?” she asks, cutting me off. Then her face flushes as she realizes I said date and meant it.

But I don’t finish the sentence. I can’t bear to say before I leave.

If I don’t say it, then I can continue living in my delusion that this is never going to end.

When we get to the restaurant, Sienna’s face falls. She freezes in place, staring at it, trying to decide if I’m joking with her or not.

I grin. “It might not be much to look at,” I say. “But this place has a Michelin star.”

“It does?” she says, her mouth dropping open in shock.

I can understand her hesitation. It looks slightly too run-down to be real. The neon sign in the window has seen better days. The nameplate above the door could really do with a revamp, and the paint is peeling. But inside, it’s awesome.

“Just trust me, okay?” I say.

She frowns but follows me anyway. We step inside, and the girl standing at the door smiles warmly at us. “Reservation for Dr. Westbrook,” I say, “for two.” She confirms. I nod, and she leads us to our table.

Sienna’s mouth dropped open the moment we stepped inside, and it hasn’t shut. The outside of this building isn’t much to look at, but on the inside, it’s all pastel colors and impressionist prints. Of course she was going to love it.

“This is amazing,” says Sienna as we sit down.

“I made sure to book the best table,” I say.

She gives me an almost despairing look. “You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“Who said it was for you?” I scoff. “I like it in here too.”

Her eyes narrow slightly as if she’s trying to work out how much I am joking. Then she shakes her head as if to move on. I’m glad. I don’t feel like arguing while we’re here. I want this to be perfect.

“What’s good on the menu?” Sienna asks, her eyes flicking over the leather-bound list.

“Oh, literally anything.” I shrug. “I’ll probably get a pasta. They cook it to perfection, but they do a great pizza too. And risotto. Honestly, anything on the menu is great.”

“Helpful,” she says dryly.

“I try my best.”

A waiter marches up to our table and introduces himself. He asks us for our drinks order, and I order a bottle of champagne for the table.

“Champagne,” says Sienna. “What’s the occasion?”

“Does there need to be one? You and me having a nice meal together, is that not occasion enough?”

“Are you trying to tell me something?” she giggles, and I take a sharp breath in.

Yes. I am. Of course I am. But now that I need the words, I’ve forgotten how to speak.

Instead of telling her the truth I should tell her, I say, “I guess I’ve remembered what passion feels like. I mean, we’ve really helped Mr. Bird. I would never have done something like that back in Miami. I would never have cared.”

She nods, and I launch into some stories of the best times I’ve had at the hospital. There are so many now that I talk and talk and talk while Sienna sits there laughing at me and laughing with me.

Everything feels so special again. I think this is the way doctors are supposed to feel; like they help, like they care.

I think this is how I felt once, when I was young, when I was bright-eyed and fresh from graduating. I think I forgot that I cared, once.

“So you’re sad to leave, then?” Sienna asks suddenly, and it’s like she’s popped a balloon on our good mood.

Slowly, I say, “I don’t think I would go that far, but it’s been a much better time than I was expecting. Plus, I met you.” I grin at her, meeting her eyes and noting the surprise I see.

“Me?” she blinks, her mouth opening slightly like there’s a breath she forgot to take. “I’m nothing special.”

“Don’t say that,” I snap. “Don’t even think it.”

“Sorry…” She looks down at her silverware, then quietly says, “So does that mean we’re…?”

“We’re what?”

She blinks back up at me, and despite the blankness she forces her expression into, I can still see the worry and doubt swimming in her eyes. “I don’t know. I just thought maybe… maybe we were something more… well…”

“But I’ll be gone soon.” I sigh, finally laying what we were both thinking on the table.

“Yeah,” she whispers.

“So let’s not worry about labels.” It pains me to say it, but if I make her think it’s not serious, I can protect her from the hurt when I leave. It doesn’t matter what I really want. I don’t want her to be hurt. “We can just keep things as they are, right? Having fun, you and me.”

“Yeah,” Sienna says quietly.

And because I never learned when to stop, I add, “I’m just not ready for commitment. I’m not settled enough in my life.”

“Me neither,” she says, withdrawing.

I feel myself shriveling too. Clearly that wasn’t the right thing to say.

We sit in silence long enough for our food to come. I thank the waiter and pop the champagne, then pour us both out a glass. Sienna smiles thinly but still says nothing.

I can’t handle the weird tension between us, so I change the subject. It’s safest to go back to talking about work, so I do, and Sienna engages with me a little, but there’s something weird about her. It’s like suddenly she’s totally detached from our date.

Surely, she wasn’t expecting me to tell her that I wanted things to be official between us? That I wanted her to be my girlfriend?

That word sounds so juvenile. It doesn’t come close to describing how I feel about her. Not even a little.

Too soon, we finish our meal, and I raise my glass to her again. “To us,” I toast.

She smiles and clinks her glass against mine. “To us.”

As we head out of the restaurant, I offer her my hand, and she takes it. A rush of relief floods through me that she’s not mad at me, and as we get into the car, she says, “That was really great. Thank you for bringing me out here.”

“My pleasure. You look lovely tonight, and I always enjoy sharing dinner with a pretty lady.”

“I bet,” she says softly, then turns her head to look out of the window.

I expected that comment to be met with more banter, but it just falls flat. How do I keep saying all the wrong things?

I close my eyes for a second and try to imagine myself here for longer. Could I become a country boy again? Could I live like my parents, far from a big city, out here in Silverbell? For Sienna, maybe.

But something about a small town is so claustrophobic to me that it makes me shudder.

I take a sharp breath and start the engine.

“You okay?” Sienna asks, turning back to me.

“Yeah,” I say, though I might be lying. I don’t even know anymore. “Let’s get home. Are you staying at mine?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Of course,” I say, maybe too fast. I pull out of the parking lot and hit the road.

The sun gets lower as we start to approach Silverbell, and we don’t say much until Sienna finally breaks the silence.

“So, you and me,” she says, and I brace myself for what’s coming next. “I’m going to come back to yours, and we’ll have fun. And I like that, enjoy it even, but… that’s all I am to you? Fun?”

I sigh, staring straight at the road. I don’t know how to answer that question in a way that’s going to satisfy her. “I like the way things are,” I say carefully. “I like spending time with you and seeing you every day. I like the way we fit together.”

“And what about if things change?”

“What’s going to change?”

“You’re going to leave.” Her voice wavers and cracks as she lays this bare, and I grip the steering wheel a little tighter.

What do I say to that when it’s true?

“But not yet,” I say, hoping I sound soothing. “Let’s keep having fun for now.”

She grunts, and that’s the only response I get for the rest of the journey.

I pull up outside my house and say to her, “I can take you home, if you prefer.”

“Don’t you want me to come in?” she asks again, staring at me with an intensity I’m not used to seeing from her.

“I do. Why wouldn’t I?” She just shrugs, and I get out of the car to go and open the door for her. I gesture for her to get out, and as she does, I say, “You’re always on my mind, Sienna. Let me show you what I’m thinking about.”

She raises a single eyebrow at me, and as soon as the front door shuts behind us, our lips collide as we try to hold on to this moment, the one we know can’t last forever. Our hands make quick work of our clothes. Her body presses against mine and I try to trace every inch of her soft skin, try to map every curve and contour of her.

I need to remember what she feels like. I need something to hold onto when I’m not here anymore.

So I pay close attention to the sound of her breath, the heat of her lips, the wetness running down her legs, the ache building in my belly. I draw the smell of her into my lungs and let it overwhelm me as I grip her hips, digging my fingers into her flesh until there are faint red marks there, proof that I existed at all.

We don’t even make it upstairs before passion overwhelms us, and together, we make music.