Chapter Three
Holly
Two weeks later, I’m in my most comfortable pajamas, completing my typical Sunday night routine of a mani and pedi, when my phone dings.
I let my eyes flick to the side, not wanting to remove the brush from the tip of my nail. Piper’s name pops up, and then my phone chimes again as her texts appear one by one.
Piper: Two weeks already, he’s such a stubborn mule.
Piper: A super sexy, stubborn mule, obviously.
Piper: Anyways, you should come take care of it. Harper invited you.
I quickly dip my brush back in the polish, letting the cap rest before I reach for my phone. Swiping once, I open up to see a slew of messages from her, and my eyes scan the texts so quickly I nearly go cross-eyed.
Piper: I’m at the Hart house for Sunday dinner. You told Grayson to get his stitches out in 10 days right?
Piper: Well he just walked in, all dusty and dirty with a bandage around his arm. When I asked him about it, he shrugged me off.
Piper: Harper said he “didn’t have time” to go to the doctors yet.
Piper: It’s been TWO WEEKS DOC!
Piper: Two weeks already…
I breeze over the rest of her messages and a slight frustration builds in my gut at the fact that he still has his stitches in.
At least he has it covered with a bandage, but leaving stitches in too long can lead to so many more complications.
The skin could grow over them, making removal a hell of a lot more painful than placement.
He might even get an infection, despite the antibiotics I prescribed, if no one has looked at them.
I flop back into the couch, staring up at the dim ceiling light. What am I even supposed to do about it? Call him and scold him like a child? Call his doctor to report him? Then Piper’s last message plays again in my mind. “You should come take care of it. Harper invited you.”
She invited me over to take out her brother's sutures?
Piper: She sure did. He’s cool with it. We’ll save you a seat.
There’s no way he’s cool with it.
The look he gave me when his gaze fell to my hand and saw my stupid engagement ring definitely didn’t scream ‘I’m cool with it.’ I almost told him the truth right then and there, that I wasn’t engaged, that the ring was a pitiful reminder of my old life. That I was wearing it because…
All the oh-so valid reasons I once gave Piper are lost now.
Why the hell was I still wearing it? Letting Grayson’s hopeful expression turn to judgement seemed like a less painful price to pay than telling him that I was a single woman still wearing an engagement ring from a man I didn’t care for.
A ring that I slipped off my finger that night and mailed back to Geoff the next morning.
But when I realized it was him, it was like everything snapped into place.
I couldn’t place it at first. His voice was familiar, a soothing comfort rolling over my skin.
The polite nature of his tone, and the deep rumble when he spoke.
It wasn’t until I let myself look into those crystal-blue eyes that it all came back to me.
The worst day of my life had bled into the worst evening. The people who were supposed to be there for me at my lowest were too busy to take my call. And then I ran—literally—into a handsome stranger who genuinely wanted to make me feel better.
I should have told him that once Geoff and I ended things for good, I went back to Madame Muffin. I sat at a corner table, the same one he suggested we sit at, and I held a cup of coffee in my trembling hands until it went cold, with my eyes plastered to the window in case he walked by.
I dared myself to ask the barista if they keep records of people who ordered cakes, but they wouldn’t share that with me. Privacy and all that.
Instead, I didn’t get to tell him any of that. I chickened out just like I always do, and sutured up his wound with awkward tension blanketing the room. He murmured a soft thank you when we were done, and then he was gone.
Sighing heavily, I pull up my phone and text Piper back.
Snag a removal kit next time you’re at the clinic, you can do it.
Piper: Normally I would. But it looks pretty red and angry. I don’t want to be the one to take out infected sutures and give him an abscess.
I’m up and padding toward my bedroom to change out of my pajamas when I text her back that I’m not coming.
He needs to follow up with his primary doctor.
I toss my phone on the bed, letting it fall into the down comforter before I spin to my closet. He really should just follow up with primary care. I’m not his doctor. I shouldn’t be making a house call. But the thought of something happening to Grayson has my throat tightening.
I could fix this for him. Take the sutures out and ensure he’s fine.
And I might not have had the balls to tell him the truth that night, or two weeks ago, but I have a chance to do it now, and I’m not going to waste it.
I slide my pajamas off and toss them to the floor. As I’m reaching for a casual, but professional, pair of dark slacks, Piper’s next message comes through.
Piper: Don’t be a putz. He’s waiting for you. I’ll send a pin for my location.
Not ten seconds later, a pin is dropped. I zoom in, fingers pinching and moving the screen on my phone until I make out the name of a tiny town more than an hour outside of the city.
I pull my bottom lip in between my teeth, worrying it back and forth as I debate this.
I’m already halfway dressed with my mind telling me to go, but my stomach churns as my anxiety tries to talk me out of it.
I’m going to feel like an absolute moron driving out to the country to crash a family dinner.
I know I wouldn’t do this for any patient.
But the man I met on the street that night didn’t have to spare me a second glance.
He certainly didn’t have to buy me a cup of coffee and delicately dry the slush from my scrubs.
He didn’t have to work to make me laugh or bring me one second of relief on that terrible day.
I blow out a heavy breath and reach for my short-sleeved silk button-up. I slip one arm in, and then the other, leaving it unbuttoned as I head to the bathroom to touch up my makeup.
If he’s waiting, I guess I’m on my way.
***
An hour and twenty minutes later, I’m creeping my car down a narrow gravel road.
The directions Piper sent had me taking the freeway out of town.
Six lanes eventually turned into four, which turned into two.
I took an exit for Copper Ridge and drove through a sleepy little town that’s already shut down for the night.
A few miles out of town, I turned onto Hart Road, which is adorable and nostalgic all on its own.
Soon after I left the main road, the blacktop turned to gravel, and I slowed my car to a snail’s pace, cursing every time I heard a ding hit the frame.
A few hundred yards down Hart Road, I notice a small driveway to my right.
After craning my neck to peer down, all I can see is overgrown grass where two single tracks once were.
The trees hang over like a canopy; some broken, discarded branches telling me no one has been down that road in quite some time.
I spot another driveway to my left, one that looks used, well taken care of.
As I pass, I can make out the frame of a log-style home peeking out between the thick pines.
With the sun low in the sky, the last trickle of golden rays weave their way through the branches.
They reflect off the burgundy roof, and I let out a low audible wow at how gorgeous the property looks.
But I keep moving on, heading toward the main house that should be at the very end of this road, according to Piper.
The red pin that had seemed so far away an hour and a half ago is now just a few hundred yards in front of me.
I toss my phone into the passenger seat, letting myself soak in the farmstead that stretches ahead.
Tall circular structures, silos, if I remember right, line the sides of the biggest barn I have ever seen. I follow the line of the fence as it stretches along the road, circling around in front of a forest filled with evergreens that lead away from the barn further than the eye can see.
Black spots are visible way out in the distance, hundreds of them, and through my squinted eyes I can make out that they must be cows.
I hold a hand over my brow as the sun’s orange rays nearly blind me, and when I turn back to the road in front of me, I blink away the sun’s aura and slam on the brakes, bringing my car to an obnoxious halt as I yelp.
The goat that’s standing in the middle of the road is oblivious to the fact that I almost just ran him right over.
Or her, maybe. Either way, a fluffy gray goat stands dead center in the road with its red, white, and blue patriotic bandana blowing in the soft breeze.
I honk my horn, and the lazy animal doesn’t even flinch as it continues to leisurely munch on a mouthful of grass.
I open my window, waving a hand in its direction.
“Shoo!” I whisper-shout as a blush flushes my face at how this must look.
I’m about to open my door to step out onto the gravel, but it’s then I realize that I don’t know how friendly goats are to strangers, and I don’t want to wobble into the Hart family home and have my first meeting with Grayson's family be an emergency hospital visit.
I let my car slowly roll forward, and when I’m within a few inches of the goat, I honk once again. It startles and its feet scatter along the rocks as it finally realizes that I’m there.
After the initial jump scare wears off, the goat finally ambles to the side of the road to meet the others, letting me pass on my way. My eyes spot the end of the road, and my mouth drops open.