Dr. Anderson (Dempsey Follies #2)

Chapter 1

One

Addie

The sand is still warm as I move toward the fire, toes digging in for balance.

Driftwood burns in a crooked ring at the annual bonfire, and Black Bear Lake spreads out behind it, dark and glass-smooth, the moon floating on the surface, bright and steady.

The air smells like smoke and sunscreen and wine that came straight out of a bottle without touching a glass.

I breathe it in, the night swirling around me.

This is my favorite part of summer, the one that still belongs to us, the people who live here, before it gets packaged and sold.

The start of summer in Black Bear Valley isn’t just a party. It’s a marker.

Next week, the tourists will start showing up in earnest around town in Paradise.

The early ones are already here, but soon, things will tip from quiet to crowded.

Traffic slows. Tasting rooms fill. Questions get repetitive.

At the same time, the vineyards hit the stretch where everything matters.

Growth turns serious. Long days stack up.

But tonight is the breath before all of that, before everything turns watched and weighted again, —including me.

Most of the town has turned out for the occasion.

Conversations overlap without effort, and nobody bothers with introductions.

Music drifts from a speaker that’s seen better days, and laughter carries down the beach.

Someone closer to the water is already dancing, shoes abandoned in a heap, body loose like tomorrow can wait.

“Look at that man,” Emma orders, shoving my shoulder as I come to stand next to her. “The one over there at the edge of the fire. Holy guacamole, he’s sex on a stick and hot, hot, hot.”

I shove back against my best friend, Emma Patel, and follow her line of sight.

The man she’s looking at is indeed something to behold.

He has dark, messy hair that contrasts with his pale skin and brooding blue eyes.

And his body… I fan myself. His T-shirt is stretched over his arms and chest, and his shorts highlight a massive package.

I push a stray curl behind my ear. My hair’s slipping loose from the braid I put in this afternoon, and my favorite bohemian skirt dusts the sand every time I move. My smile is wide and unguarded. This is me when I’m not trying to manage anything. Barefoot. A little chaotic. Fully present.

I lean over. “How much you want to bet he stuffed a sock in his shorts?”

She looks him up and down with a nod. “No way is he that big.”

Just then he turns our way and smiles. When he makes eye contact with me, I smile back.

It seems to encourage him. He makes his way closer. “Hello, ladies.”

“Hi,” Emma offers.

“What brings you here?” he asks.

“We’re celebrating the start of summer,” she says.

“I like that. May I celebrate with you?”

“If you can keep up.” Emma grabs my hand and tugs me closer to the fire, toward the noise and all the people who know my name. I go willingly, laughing as I stumble, shoulders loose, chest light.

I may have been born a Dempsey, a name that comes with a lot of baggage in this town, but I walked away from the family business and drama.

Or I’ve tried to, at least. I hear whispers of my grandmother’s name as I cross the sand, because she’s suddenly back in the news.

Evie doesn’t do anything quietly, and her long-running rivalry with the Paradise family is always a source of conversation.

It’s history—land, legacy, and a grudge that never cooled.

News articles like to dress it up as “competing visions” or “old vineyard disputes,” but that’s polite fiction.

This is about two families who’ve been circling each other for generations, each convinced the valley would be better if the other would just back off.

Evie never does. Neither do the Paradises.

And I want nothing to do with any of it.

“Looks like you found something interesting,” I say, nodding toward the guy’s glass of wine. “How do you like it?”

One corner of his mouth lifts. “It’s quite nice, actually. Worth savoring. And besides, someone has to make sure the fire behaves.”

“Bold assumption that it needs to be you,” I say. “We’re very responsible.”

His eyes move over my body. “I can tell.”

I shift closer to the fire. “You don’t seem like you’re from around here.”

“And you are?”

“Painfully,” I confirm. “Which means I know this party is the calm before everything goes crazy.”

“Tourists,” he says, without missing a beat.

“And vines,” I add.

With that, his attention sharpens, focused in a way that feels intentional rather than reactive. “Do you work for one of the vineyards?”

“No. But I’ve lived here my whole life. I know how this town works.”

“How lucky for me.”

I laugh. And he lets the sound carry instead of rushing the conversation forward, like he’s in no hurry to move past the moment.

“Are you always this serious at parties?” I ask.

“Only when I’m paying attention.”

I tilt my head. “And right now?”

His smile comes easier this time. “I definitely am.”

Something tightens between us, not a spark so much as a steady pull. I register it, name it, and decide it doesn’t get to affect anything unless I want it to.

The fire pops behind us. Music swells, and then fades. He just holds my gaze.

How can I refuse that kind of interest?

Emma picks up her almost-empty glass of wine and takes a big swig. “My name is Simran, and this is Maryanne.”

I chuckle that she’s using our fake bar names. She’s out to tease this poor guy. I almost feel sorry for him. Maybe.

“Nice to meet you both. My name’s Anderson.” He leans toward my ear and whispers, “It’s not a sock. Care to feel for yourself?”

I’m shocked that he heard us earlier, but I manage to keep myself upright. “Thanks,” I tell him. “But I typically keep my hands to myself until I’ve had at least a few drinks.”

“Let’s get you both another glass,” he suggests.

I roll my eyes. “Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you?”

“Trust me, nothing is little, and you did say that’s what you need to verify that I don’t stuff my shorts with socks.”

I shake my head and smile. He puts his arm around me, and his hand rests against my back. I feel the electric charge shoot right to my core. While his forwardness should have me throwing what’s left of my drink in his face, instead I’m quite turned on.

“So, what do you both do for work?” he asks.

This is where Emma shines. Watching her spin a web of deceit is quite something. “I teach fourth grade at Our Lady of the Vines Catholic School,” she says. “And Maryanne is a nurse.”

He grins. “So it’s either hot for teacher or naughty nurse?”

Damn, he’s good. That’s our joke. I might actually like this guy.

Emma swears that men don’t like smart women, so in situations like this, we downplay our brains.

In fact, Emma has her PhD in aeronautical engineering and recently received several million dollars in funding so she and her team can build rockets.

I also have a degree in engineering, but these days I’m a watercolor artist.

Anderson leads the way, and we wander over to the makeshift bar that Mikey’s has set up for the occasion.

Terry Lawrence, the regular bartender at Mikey’s who has transported himself to the sand for the evening, shakes his head when he sees me.

He always calls Emma Trouble One and me Trouble Two.

Anderson orders a red wine for himself, Emma indicates that she’ll have the same, and I step up to the bar and order a Sex on the Beach.

Terry pours two glasses of Black Bear—my family’s vineyard—and then makes me my drink. As he hands it to me, he mouths, “Be careful.”

“Thanks for the drink.” I wink at him.

“Do you know him?” Anderson asks as we walk back toward the fire.

“It’s a small town. We know almost everyone here,” Emma replies.

I raise my glass. “To an evening of fun.”

His eyes lock with mine. “I’ll drink to that.”

Emma clears her throat. “Well, I heard someone mention s’mores. I’m off to find out if I can snag one or three of them.”

Emma doesn’t eat many sweets, so I know what she’s doing. She gives me a look that’s equal parts permission and promise of interrogation later and then drifts toward the far side of the bonfire, already disappearing into the crowd.

Just like that, it’s only us.

I take a deep pull of my Sex on the Beach. I need to cool off.

“Tell me more about you.” Anderson’s voice in my ear makes my nipples pebble.

Damn. I shrug. “There’s not much to tell. I work at the hospital as a surgical nurse. What about you? What brings you to Paradise?”

“I suppose…” He doesn’t look at me. “I’d never been here, and I wanted to check it out.”

That seems plausible. New faces don’t slip past the locals unnoticed, not when your life intersects with the same people over and over again in different places. Anderson doesn’t connect to anything familiar. No shared history. No stories trailing him. Which means he’s temporary.

An early tourist, I decide. He’s here to enjoy the lake while it’s still quiet and the wine before the tasting rooms fill up.

Paddleboard in the mornings. Drink well in the afternoons.

Then leave before the crowd turns relentless.

That narrative settles easily. Safe. Contained. A beginning with a built-in end.

He doesn’t step closer right away. He lets the heat from the fire do the work as we sip our drinks. He lets the space between us tighten until I’m the one who shifts.

When he does move, it’s unhurried. His hand settles at my waist, warm through the thin fabric of my skirt. His mouth finds mine without warning and without hesitation, open and intent, tongue sliding in like he already knows I won’t stop him.

I don’t.