Chapter 23
HANNA
What was I thinking telling him I’d go with him today?
Have I lost my ever-loving mind? Never. Never are you supposed to go and hangout with your patients outside of the office.
Doing so is a clear break in the professional boundary you’re supposed to have with your patients as a psychiatrist. Yet here I am, dismantling my closet one piece of clothing at a time trying to figure out what to wear.
I know he said it isn’t a date but it’s very much feeling like a date.
Lunch and a shared activity is usually what people consider a date.
Not that I would know on a personal level.
I haven’t been on a real date in…I can’t even remember. How embarrassing is that?
My heart is pounding in my chest and I have panic sweat running down my back. Why am I so panicked? It’s only Miles.
But that’s the thing, isn’t it?
It’s Miles.
The man who came to my apartment before Thanksgiving and took care of me when I was sick.
Miles, who calls me ‘doc’ even though I know he knows my name.
The only person other than my dad I’ve played checkers with since I was a kid because everyone else I asked told me it was childish.
The only man who makes my skin feel hot when he gets too close and my glasses fog up when I think about him for too long.
The sound of my phone buzzing on my bed pulls me out of my thoughts. Scrambling to find it in the sea of clothes I tossed on it, I read the message waiting for me.
1 New Message: Miles Adler
I’m about twenty minutes out. I’ll see you soon doc :)
I find the simple smiley face far more attractive than I should. Like it’s his way of telling me he’s happy to see me again. He’s happy that we’re going wherever it is he’s taking us. The thought of making him happy makes me happy. I can’t help but smile at my phone as I type a reply.
“Okay, you need to decide what to wear. Hurry up and pick something before he gets here,” I say to myself.
My hands run through my hair, clutching my scalp as if this is a life or death situation.
He’s seen me in my pajamas before, what I wear now shouldn’t be as big of a deal as I’m making it out to be.
You know why you’re so flustered, don’t you?
the clinical side of my brain asks as I grab my favorite pair of brown and camel plaid trousers I thrifted awhile back.
They’re slightly too big for me and hit just below my ribcage.
I love wearing them because they’re comfy and soft and remind me of someone’s grandfather.
Trying to dress for any occasion, I pair the pants with a basic brown button down sweater.
Its V-neck cut with white buttons up the front make the pants seem more casual.
The more I pull the pieces together, the more I like the outfit I’m constructing.
I check the time and realize he’s going to be here in ten minutes.
Quickly, I grab a brown belt to tie the outfit together, throw on some camel colored socks and my favorite brown loafers.
To finish it off, I tie an old bandana around my head, pulling some pieces of hair out to frame my face and slip my glasses back on.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I smile because I feel like me.
Slightly polished, a little old school, with a dash of carefreeness mixed in.
Just as I’m grabbing my favorite vintage knapsack out of my closet, a solid knock comes from my front door.
I sling one of the shoulder straps over my shoulder and toss my keys and wallet inside as I walk to open it.
When I do, I’m met with a very handsome looking man standing at my doorway.
His brown hair looks darker than normal and by the way his aftershave tickles my nose, I can assume he’s recently showered.
Clean shaven, his sharp jawline is on full display as he smiles at me.
He’s got on a pair of loose fitted jeans and a dark gray T-shirt that hugs his body in a way that would make the Southern spirits blush.
I watch as he takes me in and chuckles when his eyes land on my feet.
“I like your socks.”
Looking down, I kick a foot out and look. The socks I’d picked out are a warm camel color to match my pants but have frills on the top of them like the socks you see little girls wearing. I have them scrunched down around my ankles, poking out above my loafers.
“Thank you for noticing them. They’re my favorite pair.” When I look back at him, his smile has grown. He shakes his head at me like he can’t believe this is what I’m wearing but doesn’t question it.
“You ready to go?”
“Yep, let me finish grabbing my stuff,” I respond, flicking my thumb over my shoulder. I take a few steps inside and he follows me in. “So, where are we going after lunch?”
“It’s a surprise,” he says slowly, glancing into my bedroom as he passes it. “Did a bomb go off in your closet?”
I feel my cheeks start to warm and awkwardly laugh. “Uhh, let’s go with yes. I couldn’t figure out what to wear since I don’t know where we’re going. Putting together the perfect outfit becomes infinitely more challenging for a girl when they aren’t sure where they’re being taken, you know?”
“Doc, I’ve seen you curled up on the floor in your pajamas,” he comments, taking a few steps closer to me. Of course he brings that up right now. “Unless you were so concerned about what you were going to wear because you’re hanging out with me for the day?”
He rests a hand on the edge of the kitchen counter, peering down at me with a half smirk and raised brow.
When he leans into his hand, he gets even further inside my personal space.
I feel my brain starting to feel all fuzzy like it gets when he’s too close so I take a protective step back.
The last thing I need is to get caught up and do something stupid. Like touch him. Or kiss him.
That second one is definitely out of the question.
“No,” I lean into the word and adjust my bag so it’s fully on my back. I press my glasses back up onto my face since they’ve slid down my nose and clear my throat. “I just didn’t know where we were going today and that made the dressing process unusually cruel.”
“Well, I can promise you you’ve hit the mark.” He clears the space I’ve created between us and rests a hand on my waist. “And you look beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I speak shyly into his chest, unable to lift my eyes to his.
“Come on, we have places to be.” He tips his head to the side to encourage me to follow him.
Once we’re out of my apartment, he waits for me to lock my door and we walk next to each other the entire way to the elevator.
When we reach where he parked his truck, he walks to the passenger door and opens it for me.
Then, he offers me his hand and helps me in, waiting for me to buckle myself in before closing it behind me.
Finally in the seat next to me, he turns and speaks.
“How do you feel about food trucks?”
“I mean, who wouldn’t love a million food options all in one place and getting to eat food someone made in a truck.”
This pleases him and I get another one of his oversized smiles. “I knew I liked you.”
Smiling back at him, I settle into my seat and wait anxiously to see where he takes us.
The ride out of the city is nothing short of breathtaking.
I’ve lived in Charleston my whole life and even now, I’m still not over how pretty it is.
Tall, old oak trees line the streets blanketed in Spanish moss and the sun is doing what it can to break through.
When it does, the shadows the trees paint across the road seem to dance and chase one another as we drive.
Eventually, we pull down a side street and then take another right into the driveway of an older looking home.
Ivy crawls up the wrought iron gate at the end of it.
Beyond it, several food trucks are parked closer to the front of the house.
I’m about to ask where we’re going when we pass a sign that answers my question.
FRESH START: THE LOWCOUNTRY’S ONLY GROUP HOME FOR KIDS IN NEED
My brows push together as we make our way closer to the end of the driveway.
I didn’t know such a place existed in Charleston.
Maybe Rae knows about it and hasn’t mentioned it?
I feel like a place like this would be somewhere she knows about seeing as how she works directly with family services.
I’ll have to ask her about it next time I see her.
When we get further up the driveway, I realize we aren’t the only cars here.
There’s probably twenty or thirty other cars with lines of people waiting at the various food trucks.
I’m surprised by the crowds, seeing as how I didn’t even know this place existed.
But that’s how the city goes sometimes, there’s so much going on it’s almost impossible for you to know about it all.
“Welcome to Fresh Start,” Miles says after pulling into a parking spot.
“What is this place?” I ask, not wanting to assume just based on the sign.
“It’s a group home for foster kids,” he starts to explain, looking out the window of his truck. “The kids here, they’re at the end of the line. After this, they either age out or get sent to juvenile detention.”
Shock and rage mix in the back of my throat and I suddenly feel sick to my stomach. The thought of a child being sent to a place that’s essentially a prison is sickening.
“What got them landed here?” I look around and the more I take in the scene outside his truck, the more I notice all of the kids running around and playing.
Some are sitting at picnic tables and others are playing on the playground out in the yard.
A group of older looking boys play touch football in the field across the parking lot.