Chapter 20
The Munro Medical clinic is housed in a cozy bungalow, painted in teals and creams, the door a glossy, deep magenta colour that also frames the windows.
The exterior has a low-pitched, gabled roof and tapered square columns, with two outdoor rocking chairs set side by side.
During the holidays, it’s adorned with lights and decorations that complement the snow-capped roof, like something out of a Christmas tableau.
Focused on Liam, and his thumb, I’ve momentarily forgotten about the time-travel issue, along with worries about the clinic—and my parents. But as I start up the front steps, it all rushes back in, stopping me. Liam soon realizes I’m not beside him. “Libby? Everything okay?”
“Yes! I was… thinking about Christmas lights.” I quickly head up the stairs, joining him. “I volunteered to do the outdoor lights. Don’t want my parents up on ladders, especially when they’re the only doctor and nurse in town.”
“Luckily for me, there’s another doctor in town today,” Liam replies, casting a warm smile my way.
We’re at the front door, standing so close together our arms touch.
Our winter coats provide a layer between us, but I’m hyperaware of his nearness.
I take a second too long to react, and Liam’s smile drops.
“You’d tell me if I was keeping you from something, right?” he asks. “I know you have a lot going on, with the party.”
“I do… have a lot going on,” I reply, reaching for the door handle. “But I’m happy to stitch you up.”
Liam laughs, says, “Okay, then,” and I add, “To be clear, I’m not happy you need stitches. But I am glad I can help.”
I’m flustered, sweating with unfamiliar nervousness, and hide my awkwardness by stomping snow from my boots on the HEALTHY HOLIDAYS doormat. Liam follows suit before we head inside.
It’s festive and warm, with exposed beams lining the ceiling, a stone hearth fireplace, which is lit and crackling, and a miniature Christmas village set up on the mantel.
The air is scented with an orange-and-pine fragrance that I know Miss Betty—the clinic manager, who has been here from the beginning—makes at home.
Candy-cane-fabric-covered pillows add holiday cheer to the waiting room chairs.
Strands of tinsel garland cross the ceiling, from which hand-cut paper snowflakes hang, each bearing a name and age.
I smile, figuring these snowflakes were made by Amelia’s students, all of whom are also my parents’ patients.
Glancing around the space, I’m filled with unexpected pride.
Not only is it merry and bright, it’s also the most comfortable and calming waiting room I’ve ever been in.
“Proof the Munro family takes Christmas decorating as seriously as medicine,” I say.
“And not just Christmas,” Liam replies. “Don’t forget Easter, Valentine’s Day, Canada Day, and my favourite—outside of Christmas—Halloween, of course.
Your parents go all out. They turn the clinic into a haunted house—but with friendly ghosts, for the kids.
” He throws a smile my way. “But you know all this.”
I try to smile back, like, Yes, I do know all of this . But I’m struck with melancholy, reminded again how unaware I am now of the ebbs and flows of life here in Harmony Hills—a place I used to call home, but had no problem leaving. Along with everyone in it.
“Hello?” A woman’s voice echoes down the hallway that leads to the back treatment rooms.
“Hi, Miss Betty—it’s Libby,” I call out. I haven’t called myself Libby in over a decade, and yet it feels perfectly natural here.
“Welcome home, my darling girl!” Miss Betty envelops me in a hug.
She’s tinier than I am, but has impressive strength for a seventy-year-old.
“Daily yoga and plenty of walking with a weighted vest,” she told me last year when she came by the house to visit Mom after her fall.
I shiver at the memory, at the bizarreness of knowing the future, which is supposed to be a mystery.
Miss Betty’s silvery hair is styled in a chic pixie cut, and she’s dressed in her usual—though unconventional—medical clinic uniform: hot pink leggings that match her lipstick, and a white linen button down that hangs loosely, with a Christmas light necklace and matching earrings.
“You are a sight for sore eyes, young lady,” she says, holding me at arm’s length.
“I was just about to say the same to you,” I reply, beaming. “The clinic looks wonderful.”
“Thank you, honey,” she says. “Only thing left is the Christmas tree. I think your dad is planning to get one in the next couple of days.”
I nod, then say, “Oh, excuse my manners! Miss Betty, this is Liam. Liam Young.”
“Of course I know Liam, Libby. He’s responsible for my daily sourdough habit, and most of the Christmas trees in town.”
“Oh?” I say, and Liam shrugs. “Harmony Hills is my best customer.”
“He’s being modest,” Miss Betty says, setting her hands on her trim hips. “He doesn’t charge a penny for those trees! The whole town visits the farm during the season.”
Liam’s cheeks redden. “I like Christmas, and this town,” he says, smiling easily.
I wonder again if this guy has any flaws—aside from the quite minor breakfast foods thing, and a supposed inability to bake.
“And how’s your granddad doing?” Miss Betty asks Liam.
It’s possible I’m reading into her expression, but something changes in her face when she mentions Mr. Cutler. A slight rise of eyebrows, a deepening of her smile, a laser-sharp focus as she waits for Liam’s response.
“He’s well, Miss Betty,” Liam replies. “Thanks for asking.”
“Glad to hear it. Please tell him ‘hello’ for me,” she replies. Then she notices Liam’s hand, his coat shifting to reveal the towel, and purses her lips. “Hmm. The same can’t be said for you, it seems?”
“A few stitches for our brave dishwasher here.” I set a hand on Liam’s arm, noting (again) his impressive muscles. Now is not the time, Libby … My hands drops.
“The place is yours,” Miss Betty replies. “It’s going to be quiet for a couple of hours, until your mom and dad are back from house calls.”
“Perfect.” I shrug off my coat, as Miss Betty helps Liam with his. “Also, I’m going to hang the outdoor Christmas lights after this. Any chance you could pull them out for me?”
“Already done.” Miss Betty points at a large storage tub near her desk. “Ladder is leaning against the side of the house. Give me a holler if you need anything. I’ll be in the back, working on the photo collage.”
“Photo collage? What’s that for?”
Miss Betty gives me a curious look, then an exaggerated wink. “Oh, you are good at secret keeping, Libby. I should take a page out of your book. I’m having a terrible time not spilling the beans.”
“Wouldn’t want to ‘spill the beans.’?” I wish desperately she would do just that.
“It’s tough to have a surprise party if the surprise has been ruined,” Miss Betty adds. “Too bad Austin can’t join us, Libby. I was looking forward to finally meeting your beau. Next time, I guess!”
I nod and give a weak smile, my mind spinning. Surprise party? “Next time,” I reply, my voice strained.
When I look at Liam, he’s focused on the holiday decor, but there’s a slight tension to his jaw—like he’s clenching his teeth—which makes it seem he’s about as pleased to hear Austin’s name as I am.