Chapter 5
Thunder with a reminder that vibrators are a suitable alternative
I’m always early. Never late. Never on time.
Early.
The doctor my parents forced me to see as a teenager labeled my need for punctuality as pathological, but the doctors at the clinic call me reliable and dependable. I gobble up every last crumb of their praise like an ice cream sandwich.
So, of course, when I unlock the doors to the clinic, it’s desolate. Not a wasteland, just…quiet. No one else has arrived yet.
Perfect.
I open the diary on the reception desk and run my finger down my morning checklist.
Before the clinic opens
Restock pamphlets
Tidy magazines
Check appointments and pull patient charts
Critical—do not forget to turn on the coffee machine this time!
My schedule is different from when I worked at the university.
No journal articles to review. No papers to grade or messages from students inventing wild excuses for not submitting their assignments on time.
My favorite was the breathless, “Miss! Miss! I was attacked by magpies when I was riding my bike to campus! They destroyed my paper! It was a frenzy! I’m lucky to be alive!
” before the message cut out with a beep.
These days, I still have messages to check on the answering machine, but they are less…imaginative. Except for the poor woman who runs the motel. She’s always experiencing a crisis. Honestly, I think she just needs a vacation.
The clinic door creaks open.
Oh God. This is a disaster! Flustered and with absolutely nothing ticked off my checklist, I scoop up a handful of pamphlets—
“Hello there.”
I yelp. Photos of women looking far too cheerful to be waiting for a pap smear soar into the air and scatter over the reception desk. My eyes narrow to a razor-thin line as I turn my head.
Sure enough, Luke stands in the doorway, his hands behind his back.
“You,” I say.
He fights to hold back a smile. “Is that how you greet all the patients?”
I ignore his attempt to lighten the mood. If he wants to be sexy with all that ridiculous smirking, there are plenty of tourists heading to the beach for him to charm.
I cock my chin. “Do you have an appointment?”
“You know I don’t.”
I will when I tick off the rest of my to-do list—but wasting more time on Luke is certainly not on there. “Well, then…” I march to the door. My hand is steady on the knob when I yank it open. “Don’t let me keep you.”
“Elsie.”
I wave my hand in the gap leading outside. “Thanks for stopping by.”
He doesn’t budge.
“Out,” I insist.
“Not before I apologize,” he says. “Properly this time.”
His “proper” apology appears from behind his back. An oversized bouquet of white rosebuds is the last thing I need.
I snatch the flowers out of his hand. “Apology accepted.” I butt my shoulder into his in a further attempt to push him out the door.
Luke still doesn’t budge. His feet plant in the beige carpet, and he chuckles because isn’t this hilarious?
“I don’t think you’ve really accepted my apology,” he says.
“You’re smarter than you look. Thanks for stopping in.” I put all my weight into my shoulder and give another push. “Bye.”
“You’re adorable even when you’re justifiably angry with me.”
“This isn’t the time to be cute.”
“Because you’re still mad?”
“Of course I am. Do you honestly think that this”—I stick the bunch of flowers in his face—“changes anything that happened last night? Or that it in any way makes up for any other times you talked garbage about me to anyone who’d listen?”
Luke’s hand curls around mine, but only long enough to lower the bouquet.
Blue eyes and a sad smile wait underneath.
“Firstly, no, I don’t think it will change anything.
You’re furious at me. Deservedly. I will put in the necessary hard work to regain your trust. Secondly, I only diverted attention if someone put me on the spot. ”
“Like who?”
He pauses. “Sawyer.”
“But…he…” My eyebrows knit together. Why did I think that conversation went differently? Why would Sawyer put him on the spot?
“He’s seen us together,” Luke says. “You know that. He asked me if we’re dating.”
“And you said?”
“No.”
“Just…no?”
“I, ah…” Luke rubs the back of his neck. “I may have added a little more color to my denial.”
I bet. If insults about my looks were colors, he could paint a rainbow. “Heaven forbid a local fisherman knows you’re sleeping with the receptionist at the clinic.”
“Sawyer has a lot of friends, Els. Gossip spreads quickly in a small town.”
I point out the front window to where Luke’s car is sprawled across two parking spots. “Are you sure that’s safe, then? What if someone sees you here?”
“Who?”
“Mrs…” My lips flatten. I haven’t checked the appointments yet, and I’m not creative enough to blurt out a name on the spot. “The journalist. Hmm? How about that? What if she’s wandering past and recognizes your car?”
“It’s hardly newsworthy to be at the doctor’s.”
“But what if she thinks you have”—I lean closer and whisper—“an infection?”
“I’m the picture of perfect health.”
“What about in a place no one can see? Like your penis?”
“What?” His olive skin pales. “I’ve never had—”
“Who knows how these rumors get started? I don’t gossip, but someone might suggest it. It’s a small town, and all that.” I flutter my eyelashes. “And there have been some cases of pubic lice these past few months. She might think you’re infested.”
He smothers a smile. “Els, I love that you’re putting on a brave face—”
“Don’t.”
“—but I know you’d never do that.”
“I might.” I hug my lumpy knit close. Lying is easier that way.
“You’re a sweetheart. My little gem.” Why does he have to hit me with that crooked smile? It always lands like a thud on my chest and snatches my breath away. “Els, I promise I’ll make it up to you. Nothing needs to change between us.”
My eyebrows pop up. “Excuse me?” Everything has changed.
“I like our arrangement,” he adds.
I roll my eyes. “Of course you do.” What man wouldn’t? No strings attached means low effort, no emotional investment, and a huge payoff…for him.
“Even you have to admit our nights together have been out of this world,” he says.
I snort a laugh. “They were okay.”
“Okay?”
That flippant comment dented his pride. Finally. Progress. “I mean, they were…fine.”
“Fine?”
“No offense.”
Luke pinches the bridge of his nose as he draws in a slow breath. “I think you might have meant a little offense. Our nights together were better than just fine or okay.” He tries to play off his bruised ego with a smile.
“Well…”
His eyes bulge.
“You see…”
“Els.”
“You’re hardly the only man in town. Plus, if I get in a tight spot…” I shuffle closer. “A patient—it’s a secret who—said she’d invite me to one of her…parties.”
His lips press into a thin line. “What kind of party?”
“Like a Tupperware party but for ladies in need of a personal pleasure er…companion.”
Luke’s jaw drops. I guess this is the first time he’s been rejected for a vibrator. Unfortunately, the shock doesn’t last.
“You’re telling me that you, Elsie Hoskins, are comfortable enough in a room full of women you don’t know to put your hand up and ask for a vibrator?”
“Shh! Of course not!” I swat his shoulder to shut him up. “This person assured me I can order from a catalog. Discreetly. I live above the post office, you know. Anything I buy is delivered right to my door. You can’t get an easier arrangement than that.”
“Good God.”
“And I guarantee that will get me off every single time—”
“I helped you come every time.”
“—and not make mean comments about me behind my back.”
“Ah.” Luke has no comeback or joke to bat that away.
Instead, his eyes fix on his shoes for a beat while he drags in a deep breath.
“The things I said… Els, I am sorry. I was only trying to protect you from the shitshow that my personal life becomes once the tabloids get involved. I learned the hard way that I need to be more careful. Back on the mainland, a decent woman got hurt…and a couple of not-so-nice women made a lot of money.”
Which one does he think I am? He called me a gem—if his compliments can even be trusted. Does that make me the island version of the decent woman? Or…?
“You’re worried I’ll blab about the night in the hot tub?” I ask.
“If you do, I hope any comments on the record describe me as better than okay.” He grins. “That was a fun night.”
“It was.”
“We can have more. Me coming this morning… This apology… It’s not just about nights like that. I’ve loved getting to know you. And I think I do. Maybe better than anyone.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Really?” Sure thing, ding-a-ling.
He nods.
“What’s my favorite topic?”
“Uh… topic?”
“Books. Documentaries. To wax lyrical about over a glass of wine. Go on. What’s my favorite topic?”
Conversation was never high on our list of priorities.
Not early on, anyway. But something shifted around the time Luke invited me over for dinner.
Some topics are always off limits—more to protect myself than anyone else—but this answer is a no-brainer for anyone unfortunate enough to spend fifteen minutes with me. History is everything.
Not that Luke has any clue.
He scratches the back of his neck and stalls for time. “Uh…”
“My favorite book?”
“That’s, um…”
“My favorite food?”
“You complimented my chicken.”
I roll my eyes. The roast was delicious, but even the most glorious chicken in the world can’t beat a Moroccan tagine. “That’s a fail for all three. Now we’re both a zero.”
Luke winces.
“Look,” I say, “we don’t need to pretend we had more than we did. You said it yourself. We had an arrangement. It suited us…and now that I know what you think about me—”
“That isn’t what I think about you.”
“—the arrangement doesn’t suit me anymore.”
“You’re still upset.”
“I’m upset with myself. You…” I pause to muddle through the fading lust and fresh anger. There isn’t much else underneath those feelings. “I’m indifferent about you.”
“I didn’t think there could be a word worse than fine. But indifferent?” He grimaces. “Ouch.”
“Zero. Ouch.”
Luke sighs. “Els…”
“I need to get the clinic ready. Patients will start arriving soon. It’s probably best that you…” I nod at the door.
He darts a panicked look over his shoulder. He doesn’t want to run into any patients. Or…maybe…he doesn’t want to leave?
“What if I take you out to dinner?” he says. “I’m supposed to be working tonight, but I could ask my sous chef to cover—”
“No.” Without hesitating, with no tears, I said it. No. Sawyer will be proud of me. “But thank you for the roses.”
Luke drags his hand through his hair. He’s stalling for time again. “I can’t convince you to give me another chance?”
I shake my head.
His steps are slow to the door, and he pauses, his hand bracing the frame as he glances back at me.
“Your favorite book is Little Women,” he says. “But no matter how many times you read it, you still cry when… Bloody hell, what’s her name again? You cry when the sister dies.” His eyes flit along the ceiling, searching for an answer. “Beth.”
I step forward, my hand outstretched, but he’s already gone.
Luke listened to me after all.