Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Declan
At exactly noon, my little sister delivers lunch.
May sweeps in like the usual burst of sunbeams she is, two brown sacks of food and a tray of drinks in hand.
“Never fear, lunch is here!” She raises the bags high, and Maggie applauds.
The Khan kids and their mom bustle out after greeting her, and I intercept before anything gets distributed.
“Maggie, I believe this is yours—turkey breast on whole wheat with extra veggies?” May hands a nodding Maggie a bag and passes her a plastic cup of ice water and a straw. Maggie pops up and is already on the way out of the clinic doors before May can dole out the other food.
“And this is yours, Evie. Dec, yours is in there, too.” Her eyes hit mine.
She sees straight through me—or at least she thinks she does. She has no clue what’s happening here, but she knows I like Evie. I’m sure most people have some idea I think she’s lovely and I like Charlie.
They don’t know the half of it, though, and they don’t know what we’re about to discuss in the break room.
I tend to keep my emotions locked up tight.
It’s not a false sign of masculinity as the cultural idolization of men not expressing anything might tell us.
It’s simply easier to handle them. I don’t do well with a messy in-between.
That said, there is one person who makes it incredibly hard to practice this decades-old method I’ve put in place, and her name rhymes with Stevie.
“Thanks, May.”
“That’s so kind. What do I owe—”
“Lunch is on me today. Janet and Kyle already had plans.” The nurses tended to head out for lunch, whether to get a break from the office or meet family.
Ideal, considering this will give us a few moments of privacy in the little gazebo out back. For mid-August, it’s not nearly as hot as one might think if there’s shade, so we’ll eat outside. That way, she won’t feel trapped.
“Sure thing. I’ve got a few more deliveries so I’m out!” May pats the counter twice, then waves high above her head as she exits.
Lunch delivery is one of her many “side gigs” as she calls them, though she has at least one full-time job as it is.
Plus, she does this for free, so it isn’t exactly a gig.
It’s part of her endless list of duties she stays busy with, and I wonder when she’ll run out of energy.
More than once, I’ve wondered how much of her stubborn service to our town in big and small ways is rooted in the fact that she couldn’t serve in the military like the rest of our family did.
Or maybe it’s all to prove her surgery and condition don’t define her.
For now, she jogs down the sidewalk, so I turn the lock on the door. Maggie can get back in through the staff entrance, but she won’t be back for another half hour at least, nor will the nurses.
When I turn back, Evie is standing there staring at the bag set on the counter. Her brow is pinched with worry and her breathing is shallow.
It’s intolerable seeing her like this.
“I can unlock the door if you prefer.”
Her gaze snaps to meet mine. “What? No, that’s fine.”
“If you’re at all uncomfortable being here with me alone, I can—”
“No. Declan—Dr. Ryan. No. I’m not uncomfortable.”
Something I can’t decipher flickers over her face, then she adds, “At least, not with being alone with you.”
This is good news, though not a surprise. We interact regularly and she’s never seemed uncomfortable around me. I can’t imagine she’d let me hug her child, or even be his doctor for that matter, if she did. Still, I’m immensely happy to hear her say it.
There’s no time to appreciate her words, so I ignore the small starburst of warmth in my gut and mentally move on. I’m eager to learn the source of her discomfort because it is radiating off her. “Let’s go to the break room and eat while Mags is giving us a minute.”
She nods and grabs the food and drink tray.
I follow her, eyes directly ahead because I am a professional, respectful person who will not allow—damn.
Best laid plans fail in the literal wake of her perfection, as always inevitably happens where she is concerned.
I was a goner since the first time I saw her, that carefully packed container of emotions spilling out like a jack-in-the-box set loose.
Every curve and line of her calls to me, appeals to me.
No.
I wipe that clean. Respectful. Mind calm. I cannot predict how this will go, but I’m as anxious for this conversation as I have been for anything in recent memory.
We sit and I pass her a peach iced tea, then set my lemonade in front of me while she sets a sandwich in front of each of us.
By unspoken agreement, we both unwrap our lunches and take bites.
I’m glad she’s not trying to talk yet because she needs to eat.
I’ve observed Evie in many states over the last year of knowing her, and I can confirm she handles everything better when fed.
How very human of her.
If I’ve taken notice of what she prefers and how she looks when satisfied by something, it means only that I like to know such things. It’s not because I occasionally drop my mental guard enough to fantasize about being the very thing that might accomplish such a task.
Ahem.
As a doctor who often did long and back-to-back shifts in busy hospitals where breaks for meals were unpredictable, I’m used to eating when I can and handling it when I can’t.
As a soldier who deployed and worked in field hospitals under intense pressure and ate whatever was served, I’m always pleased to sit comfortably in an air-conditioned room and eat food I actually like.
This lunch, in itself, would be a simple joy. Sitting with Evie… It’s a pleasure, even with the discussion we need to have.
After a few minutes, the peaceful quiet evaporates and she’s climbing out of her skin, tugging at the sleeve of her cardigan and legs fidgeting under the table, but seems determined not to speak first.
I don’t mind. I’m the one who suggested this in the first place.
“Ready?” I set the last half of my sandwich down.
“Yes, please.”
God, she’s charming, even when stressed.
“Have you considered what I said?”
She makes an odd, almost strangled-sounding laugh. “A bit. And, I have to tell you, I don’t know why on earth you’d say such a thing.”
I blink. “I assumed that was obvious.”
She blinks. “Um, was it? Was it obvious that my boss slash friend-type office coworker person would offer to marry me because I have a crappy ex?”
I will tease through the boss slash friend-type office coworker person at another time. “It was obvious that I offered because I’m in a position to help you and Charlie, and I want to do so if you view that as a viable avenue.”
I am sounding more or less like a document written out in legalese and not like a human man.
So it’s going perfectly.
But she likely already thinks I’m fairly robotic and stale. Seems to be the trend for women I take interest in. So it tracks I’m living up to the image here.
“A viable…”
She’s evidently still absorbing my words. I have nothing to add that will help her. I need her to see the logic here.
She takes a drink of her tea, but when she lifts her gaze to meet mine, I finally register how exhausted she looks. My stomach lurches. I didn’t sleep much last night, but I see she likely hasn’t slept in days.
That’s unacceptable.
“Why?”
I would reach out and set a hand on her arm, or better yet, gather her to me. She needs holding. But we have a cordial, sometimes friendly, relationship. We don’t have a touching relationship.
This is logical. It is also a point of fact I find myself thinking about too often. Regretting it, maybe, though that is not particularly logical or helpful. There’s no point in thinking of wishes and desires when reality is tethered in the here and now. Not whimsy.
Not the tight grip in my chest when I see her every morning.
No, not that.
Reality means we don’t touch.
I get hugs from Charlie every day. I have never once hugged his mom.
That’s beside the point.
“Because I believe having a spouse would put you in a stronger position for keeping Charlie.” My tone is the one I use for frazzled parents and worried patients.
She straightens in her seat. “Right, I understand that. I agree, at least in theory. But why would you offer to marry me? I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but Declan—Dr. Ryan, you have to—”
“Declan, please. You should always call me Declan.” I hope she doesn’t hear it as the plea it is. I’ve never loved the sound of my name more than when she says it in her textured, earnest tone.
Her lips pinch for a moment before she nods. “You have to see why this seems completely incomprehensible to me. You are…” She waves a hand at me from head to toe.
That’s supposed to mean something?
“I am… what?”
Her eyes shut as she exhales. I suspect she’s praying for patience. I can’t blame her. I’ve never been someone who’s forthcoming. I don’t fill in the blank for people. I’m not doing that here, either, and I don’t know how to make that right.
“You are a handsome doctor with a stable job and a lovely family. You are about as appealing as someone can be. Why would you marry me when you could be with someone for real? You could probably have your pick of women.”
Because I’d pick you.
Any day.
In any timeline.
For any reason.
But I won’t tell her that. I can’t.
I will not make her feel anything but free to enter into this knowing it’ll help her.
If she feels the burden of my attraction to her, that’s unhelpful.
And it’s getting dangerously close to repeating an ugly history I’ve already lived where a woman seemed to be choosing me but in the end was doing everything but that.
I can help, and that’s all it is. Period.
“I’m not interested in my pick of women. I don’t date and I’m not sacrificing a social life in order to do this.”
Her lashes flutter. I’ve seen this look before. She’s blindsided by something, but I’m not sure what. Did she think I have a rampant social life? That I’m a man about town? Seems unlikely.
“I… I’m sorry, Declan. I don’t know what to say.”
Her eyes search mine as though she’s looking for an answer.
I desperately want to give it to her. But her method of decision-making is different from mine.
Of course it is. She’s a mother—she’s factoring in things I’ve not even dared dream about.
So instead of my usual logical approach, I try a different tack.
“Tell me one thing. Are you willing to do this if it would help?”
I’m tempted to ask if she has reasons she doesn’t want to. Someone she’s interested in, or plans this would ruin. But it’s already complicated enough.
Complicated, yes, but it is a solution.
“Yes. I am.”
Relief rushes through me. That’s all we need here.
“Good. I’m meeting with Davis later. If it’s acceptable to you, we’ll hash out the details tomorrow.”
If he says it would help, then there’s no reason not to, unless she’s dating someone else or sees this as a problem with work. I’ll make sure there’s plenty of documentation to ensure she’s got every right and safety available.
“Oh. Sure. Yeah. I could meet you tomorrow.” Her words are slow, but clear.
“Good.”
It’s not quite settled, but it will be soon.