Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Willa
I took in my tiny cottage, at a loss. I still hadn’t wrapped my head around what we’d done.
There was a man here.
He lived here.
And we were married.
I rubbed my eyes, confused. It was five a.m., which in my resident days was practically mid-afternoon.
In another life, I’d be sleeping in, loving life as a fellow, with regular hours and normal daily expectations. I’d sip my coffee and read new journal articles, flagging things to discuss with my mentors over designer salads at lunch.
Instead, I was half awake, tripping over the largest shoes I’d ever seen. I owned snowshoes smaller than these.
This man was an actual giant. Always ducking through doorways and accidentally bumping his head. He was lucky he lived with a doctor. I had a penlight in the kitchen, and I was pretty sure I’d have to use it to check him for a concussion more than once.
My plan was to exercise before I left for work. I’d found my groove lately, working to prioritize self-care. Without a little morning workout, I wouldn’t have the energy to get through a busy day of patients, and I found it was helping me sleep better too. But the thought of jumping on my bike and singing along to Beyoncé in front of him brought a wave of dread with it. Hence the extra-early wake up. I figured I’d exercise, grab a cup of coffee, and shower before he woke up.
Except when I flipped on the kitchen light, I came face to face with my new roommate-slash-husband.
Shirtless.
I froze in place, my mouth instantly watering.
His athletic shorts hung low on his hips, and from behind, a whole slew of muscles was on display, his latissimus dorsi, trapezius, rhomboids, and one of my personal favorites, the levator scapulae. Thank God for anatomy. I could happily trace the lines of fascia under his skin.
He turned around before I started naming blood vessels, but the damage was done.
Because Cole was built. It may not have been surprising, but it was still jarring this early in the morning.
His attention dipped, and a wave of heated embarrassment crept through me. Crap. I’d come out here in nothing but a sports bra and shorts. Despite how I wanted the floor to swallow me up, I had no doubt my nipples had joined the party.
Because chest hair .
I’d never had an opinion. It was there. An evolutionary adaptation.
But the dark hair sprinkled across his sculpted chest? It looked delicious. Manly.
And I was hit with an urge to nuzzle him.
Nuzzle? Jesus, I needed coffee and a lobotomy.
“Morning, wifey,” he said with an easy smile. “Coffee?”
With a deep breath in, I willed my mind and my body to settle and asked, “You made some?” in a relatively normal voice. It was a miracle.
He nodded. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“The bed not comfortable?”
He shrugged and held a steaming coffee cup out to me. “Most beds aren’t big enough for me, but I’ll deal.”
I cupped the mug with both hands and inhaled, relishing the rich scent.
With his own mug in hand, he took a sip. “Black, yes?”
Bringing mine to my lips, I nodded. As the flavor hit just right, I asked, “How did you know?”
“I pay attention.” He held my gaze in a way that once again had my body temperature rising, but not in embarrassment this time. And suddenly I needed out of this kitchen. As quickly as humanly possible.
How on earth could I have thought this would work? I was barely holding things together as it was. Now I had to dodge through the beefcake obstacle course every morning?
“Go back to bed,” I said.
“Nah.” A half smile tipped his lips. “I’ll keep you company.”
I huffed. Seriously? “I’m going to exercise and get ready for work. Mondays are usually ridiculously busy. I’ll have patients booked all day, not to mention the walk-ins.”
“You take walk-ins?”
“Technically, no. But I also can’t let sick people go without care. And everyone knows it.”
My dad never said no, even if it meant staying late or making house calls. So it was impossible for me to swoop in and demand that we close promptly at six.
He sipped his coffee, his brow furrowed in thought. “But you need a break, and you’re only one woman. How about this? I’ll come down, be your bouncer, make sure everyone makes an appointment.”
A laugh bubbled out of me. “Doctors don’t need bouncers.”
“Ones as pretty as you do.” And there were those brown eyes again, staring right at me. “Plus, it’ll put my skill set to good use.”
“Which one is that?”
He set his coffee mug on the counter and cocked a brow. “The one where I’m intimidating.”
Cole Hebert was many things—massive, unexpectedly thoughtful, and weirdly funny—but intimidating wasn’t one of them. Maybe it was the shaggy hair or the big brown doe eyes, but when I looked at him, I felt safe and a bit silly. There was a little mischief there for sure, but not intimidation.
“Anyway,” I said, taking a step back, ready to extract myself from this early morning interaction. I was supposed to be keeping a healthy distance, focusing on work, and taking care of myself.
“I’ll work out with you,” he said, clapping his hands. “What’s the plan?”
Chatting about my dysfunctional relationship with exercise and my silly little workout routine with an ex-pro athlete and all-around Adonis—whose eight abs were on full display in my kitchen, by the way—was ridiculous.
“It’s nothing,” I hedged.
“No it’s not.” He straightened. “You’re a doctor. I don’t need to tell you how important it is to prioritize your health. I can drive. I’ll get my keys.”
“I don’t go to the gym,” I blurted out. “I’ve never felt comfortable there. Even when I was in better shape, I didn’t belong.”
He took a step forward, his brow furrowing. “Don’t say that. Fitness is for everyone.”
“Not for people like me.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, making all sorts of things pop and causing my brain to fizzle. “What does that even mean?”
“I don’t expect you to understand.” I stepped around him and shuffled to the sink. “Bigger people don’t have the same type of access to exercise as thin people do. It’s part of thin privilege.”
I filled up a water bottle, avoiding eye contact. The last thing I wanted to get into with my fake husband at five a.m. was my body issues and societal fatphobia.
I’d given up on the gym long ago. The only way for someone like me to work out in a place like that was to actively and loudly telegraph my self-hatred with baggy clothes and pretend I was there to torture myself into thinness. Shockingly, that wasn’t usually an effective strategy to get moving or feel good about myself. So I’d found a workaround.
“I started doing yoga in Baltimore,” I explained. “I found an inclusive studio, and I fell in love with it. At the hospital, I walked miles and miles each day. During a fourteen-hour shift, I’d get twenty thousand steps in.” I took a swig of water. “But here, I stand in one spot, examining patient after patient. And then I sit for hours while I work on charting and coding. So I’ve made a point of exercising every day. I know the toll this job can take.”
He considered me for a moment, his scrutiny sending a niggle of discomfort through me. Would he laugh? Make a comment about the chubby girl on her silly bike? My head was spinning with all the cruel ways he could respond. Cole was a jock, a bully. By marrying him, I supposed I had given him infinite possibilities to hurt me on a daily basis.
“I can help,” he said softly, his dark eyes earnest. “I’d like to help.”
My heart stuttered. Seriously?
“I mean it,” he continued, roughing a hand through his messy hair. “I enjoy fitness. And I got really into functional movement during rehab after surgery. I do a lot of yoga and Pilates. I could train you.”
“No,” I demurred. I couldn’t imagine anything more painful than being examined by this man while I huffed and puffed and sweated through my clothing.
“I mean it. It would be fun.” His lips tipped up. “We could hike, do some strength and agility stuff.” Mug in hand once more, he paced across the room, his tone full of excitement. “Yoga, of course, and whatever else you enjoy.”
He stopped in front of me, studying me as he sipped his coffee.
“Your job, it takes stamina.” He raised one eyebrow.
“Yes,” I admitted. “Between the ridiculous hours, the ridiculous number of patients, and the wildly fluctuating days. I’ve spent my life preparing intellectually for this job, but not physically. And having spent so much time with my dad lately, I realize I need to prioritize my own health.”
Dad took care of all the people of Lovewell, but he had no time to do the same for himself. If this was what I would be doing for the next few decades, I needed to get my ass moving.
A wide smile spread across his handsome face. God, now the dimples were popping. Fuck, at this rate I’d be doing push-ups with him at four every morning. I was a sucker for his boyish enthusiasm.
He scratched at his stubble. “You’re kind of awesome. You know that?”
Huh? My chest tightened at the unexpected comment.
“You’re smart and thoughtful. God, I can’t believe I drunkenly married an ambitious doctor in Vegas. How are you so grounded and normal?”
“Me?” I pointed to myself. Normal? I supposed he was right. I was the definition of average. He, on the other hand, was nearly seven feet tall and a hockey star—clearly not the normal one in this marriage.
He rubbed his hands together, grinning. “Okay, wifey. You go cycle, and then I’ll lead you through my morning mobility circuit. We’ll get you loosened up and get your blood pumping before you spend the day doling out flu shots.”
I couldn’t say no. Not when he was so fit and healthy and I’d revealed my secret gym shame. I guess we were doing this. And something about letting Cole help me get my blood pumping was strangely enticing.