Chapter 10
TEN
Frankie couldn’t believe Waylon had brought her roses.
She smiled, surprised, before a split-second later she realized that the man holding them wasn’t Waylon.
It was Dr. Derek Sloane.
She froze.
He didn’t pick up on her reaction, or if he did, he didn’t care. Instead, he smiled back, looking like a shy little boy behind his glasses. His dishwater-blond hair, normally slicked back, was tousled. He was wearing jeans that looked like they’d been pressed, and a quarter-zip sweater. He looked harmless, even charming with the roses.
Yet, he still creeped her the hell out.
“Dr. Sloane. It’s…I… What a surprise,” she stammered, having no idea what else to say and hating how she automatically smiled.
How does he know where I live?
“Derek,” he said in an ‘aw, shucks’ tone of voice that was ever so slightly nasal. “Call me Derek. And I’ll call you Francesca.” His voice broke a little on her name. He looked at the roses as if he just remembered he was holding them. “These are for you. You’re far enough out from chemo, you can have real ones now.” He held them out expectantly.
Frankie watched her hand lift to take them. Her fingers brushed against his, cold and clammy. Her stomach churned. “Thank you. They’re lovely.”
Why did you do that? Give them back to him and tell him to leave, you aren’t interested .
Instead, she clutched the roses like a shield.
Derek smiled as color rose in his cheeks. “I wasn’t sure if roses were your thing after last time, but I thought I’d take a chance again.”
Her breath hitched. Last time? Did he mean the silk bouquet he tried to give her at the cancer center?
He cleared his throat, and the aw-shucks voice came out full force. “You didn’t have to throw the last bouquet away, you know. If you didn’t like them,” he added with a small laugh, “I would’ve kept them and gotten you different ones.”
Frankie’s eyes widened as her chest tightened. Oh, God, he did mean the silk roses . What did he do, go through the trash can outside the hospital?
“I… Bea was the one who threw them away.” Great, now she was ratting out Bea, though she was still safely away in Puerto Rico, or at least that’s what Frankie supposed. She wasn’t coming back to work at the cancer center at any rate, thank goodness.
Derek’s eyes went frosty even though his smile remained. “She was always overprotective. It’s good she’s moved on.” He tilted his head slightly. “You…aren’t still in contact with her, are you?”
“N-no. She hasn’t… we haven’t…”
“Good.” The frost left his eyes and the little boy act returned. “So, hey, I was hoping I could take you to breakfast this morning.” He gestured to a Corvette parked in front of the house. “I’ll let you pick where, but I have some suggestions. We could even go all the way down to Denver. How does that sound?”
Horrifying . Trapped in a car with Dr. Sloane—Derek—for an hour, then breakfast, then God knew what. He’d have her miles away from home, in a city she didn’t know well.
He’s a doctor! She could practically hear her mother’s voice in her head. He’s interested in you. What are you waiting for? You won’t get another chance so stop being a little fool .
Ugh! Shut up!
Derek’s smile faded at the edges. Was her face giving away her loathing? She schooled it back into something passing for pleasant. “Well, actually,” she lifted her shoulder, indicating the backpack strap, “I made plans this morning.”
“Really?”
Isn’t it obvious, or are you just ignoring me? she wanted to shout. Now get off my lawn! I mean, porch .
“You…could change your plans.” He looked down, fake-bashful. “I’m sure whoever you’re meeting wouldn’t mind waiting a little while. Just an hour for breakfast?”
He’s ignoring me.
“I really can’t,” she countered, then regretted it, apprehensive of how he might react. Her mother’s voice in her head reiterated she was being a fool, it was broad daylight, and they were on her front porch in front of God and everybody for heaven’s sakes, and may I remind you— doctor .
The sound of an approaching truck trickled in under her mother’s berating.
Please be Waylon . She smirked at the words that a week ago, she never thought she’d say.
Derek glanced back up and caught the smirk. He frowned.
Shit, he thinks I’m what? Making fun of him?
A truck turned the corner and pulled smoothly to the curb behind Derek’s Corvette. Behind the windshield, Frankie made eye contact with Waylon, wearing his usual scowl. No, not his usual one—this one put the others to shame. Still, her shoulders sagged with relief .
Derek clocked her reaction. Curious, he looked over his shoulder at what caused it. He froze.
Shit .
Derek looked back at her, features blank.
“That’s my ride,” Frankie chirped, a defensive smile on her face. “I’ve gotta go.” She tucked her phone under her opposite armpit and stepped out onto the porch, doorknob in hand. She turned, reached around the doorframe, and punched in the away code on the burglar alarm at the last second—as a disturbing image of Derek inside her house while she was gone flashed across her brain—and slammed the door.
Derek didn’t move. He stood like a stone between her and Waylon’s truck, his gaze practically gripping her, holding her in place. She slid her phone out from under her arm and held it in a death grip.
Frankie heard the truck door open, then Waylon stepped out of his truck. Derek looked over his shoulder at him. When he looked back at Frankie, his smile returned, along with the frost in his eyes. “Seems I came at a bad time.”
“Seems you did.”
Derek took a step backward. “Maybe later, Francesca.” It wasn’t a question.
Maybe never .
Before she could tell him no way, he turned and walked briskly back to his car. He stared at Waylon all the way back to the Corvette. Frankie waited until Derek started the engine and pulled away—more like peeled out like an asshole with something to prove—before sprinting to Waylon’s truck.
Roses still in hand, dammit.