INDIE SEPTEMBER
INDIE
SEPTEMBER
"So... you're not my Nana's doctor anymore."
"I am not."
"And we've been on fourteen amazing not-dates."
"We have,” I say, my grin widening.
"The coffee not-date, the ice cream not-date with Nana. The gluten-free bakery where I discovered gluten-free cinnamon rolls are just as good as regular—"
I cut in with a dry laugh, "No, they're not."
"Okay—no, they're not," Teddy agrees easily, making me snort. "But they're… alright."
"It'll never live up to the real stuff," I tease as I sip my iced tea. "But I do appreciate you trying."
"I would do anything for you, Indie Miller," Teddy murmurs, reaching across the table—reaching for me.
My heart stutters. This isn't the first time we've touched. Not the second or third either.
In fact, for the last seven not-dates, we've parted at my car with a hug that’s grown longer and longer each time. The last time was twenty-seven seconds long.
I've been counting. Mostly to distract myself from the fact that he smells so good, and his large body practically swallows mine, and he's so warm.
Women I’ve dated loved my height, while some men did not. Wearing heels turned it into a whole thing about emasculation and insecurity.
But Teddy seems to really like how tall I am.
It's nice.
Through our not-dates, I’ve learned a lot about Teddy’s personality. He’s kind, extremely easy-going, incredibly funny, and respectful, and really good at making me forget how to perform ‘normal’ because I don’t feel the need to mask around him.
I can just be.
I've also learned through observation that Teddy is a little clumsy. Though I suspect he just channels all his dexterity into his art, leaving nothing for everyday life.
As he reaches toward me, he misjudges where his lemonade is on the table and tips over the cup. The plastic top and straw keep it from spilling too much, but it still sends a bunch across the table... and into my lap.
I gasp at the sudden cold, and his eyes are wide for a long moment, both of us in shock, before he moves.
"Oh, shit—" Teddy says, quickly grabbing napkins, and instead of cleaning the table, he comes over to kneel next to my chair and dabs my scrubs.
I want to tell him that scrubs are meant for messes, that he doesn't need to bother, but I don't. Because the care he's showing is making my throat feel tight and my stomach feel funny.
He's not trying to cop a feel or be creepy; there's such genuine concern in his eyes as he gently dabs the napkin on my pants.
And of course, I want to ease the worry on his face, so I open my mouth and say the first thing that comes to mind.
"If you were a bird, you'd be an Albatross."
Teddy stops cleaning up the spill and blinks at me blankly. I realize my attempt at a joke, once again, has fallen completely flat. So, of course, I decide to make it worse and stumble through an explanation.
"I mean—just because—they have the largest wingspan of any bird," I say quickly.
"In fact, the wandering Albatross has a wingspan of 3.
5 meters, which is the record for the longest wingspan of any living bird.
It's about—er, I think that's about 11—11 and a half feet.
Some even get up to 12 feet... I think... "
I trail off. That was usually the time when people would stop listening to me, sharing exasperated looks with each other that they thought I didn't catch. Or when I did that to my exes, they would just initiate sex to shut me up. They thought I didn't notice that either.
But Teddy isn't looking at me like that.
No, he's looking at me with a grin and awe-filled eyes.
"How did you learn that?"
"Uh, I think I read it somewhere," I mutter, shrugging.
My face feels hot, and I reach for my drink, taking a sip to clear my throat.
"Sometimes a question will pop up in my brain like...
what are the American Bald Eagle's nesting habits, and then that makes me question when eaglets leave the nest—"
"Eaglets?" Teddy questions with a chuckle.
"That's what baby eagles are called," I beam, feeling that general excitement rising inside of me when I talk about something I know.
"But then that makes me wonder how big they are when they do leave, and then I wonder how big an eagle actually is.
Then that will have me looking up wingspans and comparing them to other birds, and then I learned about Albatross, and—why are you smiling at me like that? "
"I just..." he shakes his head, eyes a little glazed. "I really like how your brain works."
"Oh. Thanks," I shrug, shifting in my seat. "Most find it kind of annoying."
"Not me," he says, his voice firm.
"Yeah," I tilt my head. "Why not you?"
He shrugs. "I like everything about you, Indie."
"You don't know everything yet," I shake my head, though there's a smile on my face. "I could name a few dozen things that you probably wouldn't like."
Teddy holds my gaze.
"I think they'd just make me like you more."
God, how does he do that?
Make me believe that he would just like me more after finding out how particular I am, how I shut down when overwhelmed, how I can become a real fucking bitch when I'm uncomfortable or scared. That I’m defensive and petty, that I can be judgmental without realizing it, that I’m a bit of a control freak.
How sometimes I just need to be alone with my headphones on, pretending the world doesn't exist.
And he’s seen it, but he’s still here.
For the past couple of months, Teddy Williams has become a fixture in my life. None of my past girlfriends or boyfriends ever made me feel strongly enough to consider making things permanent.
Not until Teddy.
He's patient and understanding of my schedule, which sometimes runs over if I need to speak a little longer to a patient or help out another resident. He's deeply kind in a way I've never experienced from a man before, just gentle and sweet with everyone he encounters.
He'll offer Nana Ellie his arm when we walk into a cafe, before extending his other arm to me.
I blinked in confusion the first time he did it, but he just smiled softly.
"Gotta let these other guys know I've got the prettiest doctor on my arm," he winked at me.
My cheeks were warm throughout the entire meal, especially when Ellie smirked at us over her coffee.
He talks so positively about his family, his mom and dad and older sisters. How they always have Sunday dinner every single week, holidays meals and family parties.
He makes me laugh when he talks about his best friends and roommates—Luke, an NP who works in an affiliated hospital of Hyde Cancer Center, and Heath, an IT specialist.
A barista brings over a wet rag to us to clean up the table. Teddy takes it with a grin and a thank you to wipe the sticky mess.
I grab his half-empty cup and send him a grin as I carefully pour some of my iced tea into his lemonade cup and then pour some of that combo into mine.
“When life gives you lemons,” I mutter, before smiling as I hand him his drink. “Make an Arnold Palmer.”
Teddy hums as he sips the drink, my eyes pointedly don’t track the way he licks his lips after. But my flushing face probably gives away my thoughts.
“A crisp can when you’re hungover is heaven,” Teddy sighs and I nod in agreement.
"I practically lived on them in college," I grin, taking a sip through the straw.
"I still can't believe you supported yourself through med school," Teddy shakes his head, his voice impressed. "I only went to college because my dad kept hounding me. 'How can I trust you to take over if you don’t know anything about business, Theo?'"
"Your business degree could come in handy, though," I point out. "For when you're a world-famous artist."
"Yeah, right,” he snorts derisively. “It's not going to happen, Indie."
"Why not?" I challenge, not liking his tone.
He ducks his head, his mouth twisting.
"Because... I'm an electrician."
"And an artist.”
"You haven't even seen any of my work,” he protests, shaking his head. “I could be awful."
"So, show me," I shrug.
He straightens in his chair, though his face looks guarded. "You'd… really want to see them?"
"Of course,” I nod eagerly.
Teddy just stares at me for a while, checking to see if I mean it.
I hold his steady gaze. I don’t tell him that I’ve practically been dying to see them.
Asking felt too personal. I want to see the landscapes he talks about, the shading he said he stayed up late watching artists on YouTube to perfect.
Secretly, I have this dream of watching old Bob Ross The Joy of Painting episodes with him and listening to him describe the different techniques.
Teddy hesitates before he quietly murmurs, "Okay."
He guides us outside to his big truck in the parking lot. The café we’re at is popular with my coworkers, only a block down the road from the hospital.
Today, Teddy met me outside after my shift—much to the amusement of Phoebe on her smoke break—and we both walked down here to grab dinner for our fourteenth not-date.
Though I've been secretly counting them all as dates. Teddy has slipped past being a friend for me and nose-dived into full-blown feelings.
In the backseat of his truck, he reaches into a blue duffel bag, and with shaky hands, he pulls out a sketchbook. He flips through it before finding the page and moving to stand next to me.
"So, this is that lake outside my condo I was talking about,” he says, holding out the book for me to take.
I suck in a short breath.
It's beautiful.
Like a black-and-white photograph of a lake and lush greenery in the background. I hover my fingers over it, knowing I can't touch it because it will smear the charcoal and ruin the shading he did so perfectly. But I almost don't believe it's real.
"It's not finished," he says, quickly, misreading my silence. "It was just my third draft. My first two were even worse, if you can believe. I'm not a professional—"
"Teddy," I say, my voice soft, but it cuts right through his nervous rambling. "This is beautiful."
He blinks. "...really?"
"Are you kidding?” I gape. “This looks like a photograph. I knew you were talented, but holy shit. You're amazing!"
Teddy looks like he’s fighting a smile, before he quietly asks, "You're being serious?"
I send him a dry look. “I’m not the type to stroke someone’s ego. You are an artist, Teddy.”
I smile, before flipping to the next page to see what else he's drawn.
Teddy blanches.
"Wait, Indie—"
I freeze.
Because I'm staring at myself.
Well, it's my profile, mid-laugh.
My hair is pulled back with a claw clip, and I'm dressed in my scrubs. It has to be drawn from memory, because it's the same side Teddy always sits on when he sits with Ellie at her chemo appointments—to my left.
The attention to detail is incredible. He got the little moles—benign, thank you very much—I have on my neck and the bump I have in the center of my nose down perfectly.
He could have only drawn this if he had been looking at me for a while, intentionally making sure to pay attention to the little details.
Oh...
My gaze drifts up to Teddy. The skin above his beard is bright red, his eyes are wide, and he opens and closes his mouth a few times, like he wants to explain but doesn't know how to start.
"I was... practicing portraits, and they always say to draw what you know..." Teddy shifts on his feet awkwardly, "I'm sorry if it's creepy or any—"
Teddy can't talk anymore because I'm kissing him.
My one hand cups his bearded cheek, the other holding on gently to the sketchbook like it's precious.
Teddy's body goes still for a moment before his arms bind around my waist and pull me closer. He makes this rumbling bear noise from his chest that makes me giggle against his lips, and I feel his own tilt in response.
The need to breathe becomes too much, and the joy running through my veins has me feeling dizzy and drunk.
"I have a confession," I gasp when I pull back. Teddy's face looks equally dazed, but he blinks and nods for me to continue. "I've been counting every not-date we've been on as dates."
Teddy stares at me for a long moment before he barks a laugh.
"Thank God," he rumbles, pressing another soft kiss to my lips. "I've been doing the same. I've never... I've never felt like this about anyone, Indie. Only you…"
His words strike me hard.
"I've never felt like this before, either," I admit. His grin widens, and he tightens his arms around me. "I really, really like you, Teddy… can we keep kissing?"
Teddy responds with his lips on mine. And we stand in the parking lot, making out, unable to stop kissing now that we've started. The heat builds inside of me, having nothing to do with the humidity, summer trying to hold on in this early fall night.
And my body responds. He tastes so good, he smells so good, I'm surrounded by Teddy and I want to drown in him.
He seems to be in the same shape, big hands on my waist, squeezing and yanking me closer to him. I'm plastered to his front, feeling his strong, broad chest, his solid torso, and—oh—he's hard in his jeans.
I pull back, because I'm going out of my mind. He takes a second to open his eyes, and when he does, they're hooded, glazed, and there's a wonder-filled smile on his lips wet with my saliva.
"So," I say, breathless. "What do you think about sex on the fourteenth date, then?"
Teddy's eyes widen before a sexy grin curves at his lips.
"I say… your place or mine?"
"Mine," I peck his lips once more, hurrying around to the passenger side. "I'm closer. You drive."
Teddy practically launches himself into the driver's seat and starts the truck.
"Yes, honey."