Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Evie
After work, I brace for Dr. Ryan to approach me as I pack up. I might even be moving slowly in anticipation of it.
But he’s wrapping up patient notes in his office and doesn’t emerge while I’m there. Yes, I’m relieved, but I’m also… I don’t know. I can’t tell. If there’s no anticipation to talk to me, does this mean he regrets what he said?
All my thoughts are muted, or blurred, like looking through someone else’s glasses.
It’s a good thing my job is scheduling appointments and answering basic questions for the most part.
Today, it’s a relief my responsibilities are straightforward and simple enough that I can’t do much to mess them up.
Honestly, scrubbing showers and sinks and wiping mirrors would be perfect for a day like this, though I don’t miss my old life enough to wish I was at my old job. In that case, I wouldn’t know Dr. Ryan, so I wouldn’t be facing the rest of the conversation. Good.
But I wouldn’t know Dr. Ryan, and even though I should want that for my own sake, none of me does. I’m glad I know him in whatever way I can. I’m grateful for these small things even more now, after being stuck in a life where it felt like I had nothing.
Good grief, I appreciate my foggy-brained thoughts are trying to shield me from doom-spiraling about the custody case, but they are so annoying.
I drive out to the big grocery store a little outside of downtown Juniper View and do my big shop in a daze.
I’m normally energized by grocery shopping now that I’m not quite so bedraggled by single mom life.
Not that I have it all down, but Charlie’s amazing, I have a great babysitter who’s decently available, and I have excellent daytime childcare.
One day a week, Charlie stays an hour later than usual so I can run this errand without his sweet, drooly-faced help.
There’s no joy in the process today, but I get most everything on my list including the essential items—diapers, milk, chocolate ice cream. I will absolutely be requiring some time to binge my favorite show and eat my feelings tonight.
After the store, I get back to the preschool and collect my sweet boy, and we’re both dragging.
His dark hair curls up around his ears but I’m not about to cut it—he was a little baldy when he was born and it’s just too cute now.
His bright eyes are fringed with dark lashes and they’re the prettiest I’ve ever seen, I swear.
I’m fully biased, but he’s just adorable.
And other than the dark hair, he looks just like me.
Maybe as he grows he’ll get more of Trevor, who I can admit is a good-looking guy, but for now, I’m thrilled he’s my mini-me.
It’s only Tuesday and the week has felt long. It’s August in Juniper View which means my favorite season is almost here, the weather will cool, and life will feel a bit cozier.
Charlie asks for more using his baby sign language and his precious little voice. “Mo.”
I’m loving the way he’s adding words and communicating more by the day.
He’s walking steadily and so curious. At fifteen months, he’s more toddler than baby, and that kills me.
In some ways, time has moved in slow motion since he was born—the days, as they say, have indeed been long.
But looking back, I can’t believe how big he is.
I love every attempt at talking he makes, the new ways he plays, and his expanding horizons.
Still, part of me wants to swaddle him up and rock him to sleep for the rest of his life. It won’t be weird to hold my teenaged boy on my lap and rock him, will it? Right? Totally normal? Asking for a friend.
By the time I slump onto the couch with my pint of chocolate chocolate chip and pull up Stranger Things, I don’t have any more thoughts in my head. I’m just static and angst.
When I slide into bed forty minutes later, all the wild mental energy I managed to shut down this morning returns with a vengeance.
Did Declan Ryan actually propose to me today?
I mean, ha. Obviously not. But did he really offer to marry me?
It’s not as preposterous as it would sound if he were anyone else. I’ve gotten to know Dr. Ryan decently well since we met a little over a year ago and one thing I am certain of is that he is a good man. He means well, and he might even actually mean the words, but he’s not thinking clearly.
Granted, if ever a man was a think before you speak type, it’s Dr. Ryan.
He is slow to speak, quick to listen, and extremely thoughtful and logical.
He’s made a huge impact on families at the clinic by being a wonderful addition to Dr. Martinez’s practice now that the latter’s wife has retired.
And as reluctant to talk as he can seem in regular conversation, he’s got an excellent bedside manner.
He’s not so logical he can’t be empathetic, and though I haven’t seen all that many doctors in my time, I can recognize this is one of his superpowers.
He’s seen Charlie for all of his regular checkups since his four-month well baby, and he’s, well, let’s just say seeing him in action didn’t help the crush I had.
Not that I have one. I don’t. Because I can’t.
Because it’d be the height of stupidity to have a crush on a man who is essentially my boss, especially after what I’ve been through.
Men in positions of authority don’t scare me, but it is something they can wield, something they can hold over me.
Declan Ryan is a good man, but it’s laughable to imagine forgetting my position as his employee.
It’d be utterly foolish to feel a visceral ache when I think about him lately. So I don’t.
It’s early morning hours by the time I’m through running by every inane thought I’ve ever had about Declan Ryan.
When that mental vacation ends, I veer back into the darker worries about losing my baby to a man who hurt me.
I have zero faith he wouldn’t hurt Charlie.
I also question why he wants to have custody anyway.
He never seemed to want to be shackled to me, despite not wanting me to leave him, and he certainly had mixed feelings about the pregnancy right up until I left.
But I got out, and I’m not about to let the little boy who holds my heart end up with an abuser. Not a chance.
By the time my alarm goes off, and I have slept no more than twenty minutes, I’ve circled around from dreading the thought that Declan might reiterate his suggestion to hoping he will.
Yes, it’ll ruin any chance at something real between us in the future, but if I’m honest, I should admit there wasn’t any anyway.
I have more of a chance of ending up with Jack McKean than I do him, and that’s saying something, considering I see Jack as a brother.
Declan is a doctor from a prestigious, well-loved family.
I’m a former maid who got knocked up by her abusive ex-fiancé and had her baby on the side of the road.
And oh, by the way, Dr. Ryan’s brother is the sheriff who delivered Charlie that day.
It just wouldn’t work. He can aim higher, and he’d be a fool not to. But for me?
The most important thing is Charlie.
I keep this front and center as I greet the boy himself and melt at his giant grin when he sees me. He is so happy and chatty in the mornings, even though I can only understand his handful of actual words.
“Mama, mo.”
He’s hungry, and to hear him express it is one of my favorite things. Forty-five minutes later, he’s fed, cleaned up, changed for school, and we walk out the front door.
I love my little apartment, and I owe Jack a lot—he got me out of the jam I found myself in, almost eight months pregnant and desperate for a new start after leaving the man who abused me—but foremost is his generosity, since he insisted on buying this apartment for me and putting it in my name.
He wanted to buy an entire house, but I refused that outright.
I insisted on paying him back, so he’s technically my lender and I pay him monthly rather than a bank.
He was deeply unhappy about this, but once we hashed it out, he understood I couldn’t handle him just giving me a home.
But I love my little second-story apartment. It’s the top half of a small home nestled right downtown in Juniper View. We walk to school every day, and as Charlie gets bigger, that’s more and more valuable.
“Mama, go. We go school!” Charlie stomps his little feet, his tiny backpack slung over his shoulders, mini-Chuck Taylors on his feet.
“Alright, buddy. We’re going.” I haul my bag over my shoulder and take his hand. We walk three blocks, and right on time, I see him.
Dr. Declan Ryan.
Because even though we hardly exchange words in a given day, I start every workday like this.
A tall, dark, gorgeous man meets me on the corner of 4th and Emerald Street.
First, he’ll bend to catch Charlie, who pulls from my grasp and launches at him.
Charlie beams and hugs Declan, wiggling with excitement to see the man.
Boy, same.
And Declan might be just as happy to see Charlie.
He presses him close. I make a point to watch his face and if he’s turned toward me, then I try to stay upright when his eyes flutter shut as he accepts Charlie’s hug.
Inevitably, the moment will break when Charlie squeals or begins chanting D-d-d-d because he can’t quite figure out Dec.
Sometimes, Charlie will pat Declan’s cheek and my stomach will clench with a desire so potent it nearly makes my knees knock.
“Hey, Charlie. Did you have a good morning?”
Charlie spouts off a litany of words and Declan stays rapt, giving him all of his attention.
Honestly, it’s kind of rude. Like, how am I supposed to resist this? My friend Sam witnessed this exchange once last spring, and she made it clear such a thing is impossible. I felt a little better after that, especially since he doesn’t seem like he’s going to stop.
After another few seconds of chatting, Declan sets Charlie down and guides him back to me, then tugs the strap of my bag off my shoulder. Just like always.
Just like always, I find his stunning eyes and my heart trips.
“I’ll take this.”
His voice is graveled this morning.
I wonder if he slept as well as I did. He probably spent the night planning a graceful exit from this mess. I can’t blame him for it.
“Thank you.” Best I stay in the present.
One more lingering moment of connection, then a smile hits his eyes when he drops down and accepts one more hug from Charlie.
Of course, the smile is meant for my boy. It makes sense because he’s adorable, and we don’t look at each other like that.
“Bye-bye, D-d-d-dack! Bye!” Charlie waves his chubby little hand and grins as we walk.
Declan waves back.
It is enough to make me want to cry, especially after no sleep.
I should be used to this, considering it happens every day, but my defenses are down.
Yes, I frequently obsess about this particular moment in my workday when the gorgeous local-hero doctor greets my child with endless affection, carries my heavy workbag filled with coffee mug and water bottle and packed lunch to work while I drop off my boy. Yes, I’ve wondered what it means.
I tried to let him off the hook a few days after it became clear he was going to keep showing up.
I said, “You don’t have to keep doing this,” but he simply said, “I know I don’t,” and that was that.
He’s been here every day since, minus a handful of instances where he notified me in advance he’d be traveling or had other obligations the day before at work.
After a while, I’ve accepted it’s not anything other than that sharp, logical mind deciding helping me, the single mom he sees every day on his way to work, is the right thing.
Dr. Declan Ryan is a person who helps. He’s a helper.
He, in every way I’ve had the privilege to observe, does what’s helpful.
So if he isn’t backing out, it’s only because of this.
It’s because he wants to help the single mom whose kid he finds adorable.
And I can’t blame myself for both appreciating and hating this kind of logic in equal measure.
I drop Charlie at the school and leave him in the capable hands of Miss Hazel and Miss Clementine, with whom I’m fairly certain Charlie is completely in love as she’s also his sometimes babysitter, and pull in deep breaths as I walk back to work.
Toward Declan. A man I’ve—no. We’re not going there. Thinking about my endless crush right now is the wrong move.
Yet again, my mind has shut down from the overload.
The good feelings of seeing Charlie and Declan together which feel a little bit like heartbreak, and the ache when I say goodbye to my son even while I also feel relief, and the…
whatever it is I feel as I approach Juniper View Clinic…
They all pile up on me and it’s an internal whiteout.
Inside the building, Dr. Ryan is thumbing through a folder. Maggie’s bustling around in the staff break room across the hallway. My bag is placed on the counter next to my computer, as usual.
So maybe I’ll just talk to him later. Maybe he won’t—
Our gazes snag when I round the counter and he looks up from the papers in his hand. “We’ll talk later.”
I only nod. Looks like we’re still doing this. He’s not giving anything away. Guess it means I have to wait.
And instantly start counting down to whenever later will be.