Chapter 3 #2
Heat floods my cheeks as a knowing smile spreads across the woman’s face. Lucky for me, she doesn’t know what she thinks she knows. “Well, I’m sorry, dear. Dr. Rhodes is fully booked today. Nor does he take walk-ins.” She peers at me over the obnoxiously tall desk.
“Actually, my next appointment was just cancelled.” A deep, silky voice travels from around the corner, and a man whose face matches the photo from Aaron’s phone comes into view.
The photo did not do him justice.
Holding up a smartphone, he waves it at the woman. “Texted the automated system. Told you it’d make your life easier, Mrs. Lanahan.” The man who can only be Oliver Rhodes smirks at her.
Mrs. Lanahan humphs, plopping into the fanciest swivel chair I’ve ever seen.
“So”—Dr. Rhodes slides the phone into his pocket, looking between the annoyed receptionist and myself—“what can I help you with?” Bright, sky blue eyes land on my warm cheeks.
“Oh, well, um … ” A brilliant start, Callie. Really. Top notch.
Each unintelligible syllable that comes out of my mouth causes Dr. Rhodes’ welcoming smile to drop bit by bit.
Thankfully, Mrs. Lanahan comes to the rescue. “I was about to help this young woman make an appointment to see you.” The receptionist casts a sly grin my way.
I look between her and the handsome therapist casually leaning onto the desk with wide eyes.
That megawatt smile returns, stretching his closely trimmed beard to its absolute limit. “Well, I have time now, if that still works for you?”
Any self-preservation left kicks in right then. “You know, I can just make an appointment.” Nervously, I readjust my scarf. Which is way more difficult now, thanks to the stupid water still in my hand.
Dr. Rhodes’ thick brows pull together. “I really don’t mind. Why don’t you give Mrs. Lanahan your insurance card and she can work on getting that squared away while we chat?” The annoyingly handsome doctor rotates to motion in the direction of what I can only assume is his office.
Somewhere in the background, a gust of freezing air brushes the back of my neck. Shoes scooting across the floor signal that I’m no longer alone with the handsome doctor and the ornery receptionist.
“Mr., um, Dr. Rhodes, I appreciate your willingness to bend your schedule to accommodate me,” I offer. My voice comes out higher than normal thanks to my elevated blood pressure.
One of those deep golden brows quirks, giving away the good doctor’s piqued interest.
Breaking eye contact, I unzip my purse to toss in the empty bottle. Right in time for whoever just walked in to bump into me on their way to Mrs. Lanahan.
Sputtering apologies from them fill the air as the contents of my purse spill all over the hardwood floor.
“Here, let me help you.” Dr. Rhodes rushes forward, catching a lipstick tube mid-roll.
“That’s really okay,” I squawk. As is evidenced by Dr. Rhodes flinching from the closeness. Dropping to my knees, I begin shoving the runaway belongings back into my bag.
Inches away, Dr. Rhodes grabs a pen and notebook. Pieces of his long, slicked-back honey hair fall forward, which he effortlessly wipes away.
I roll my eyes as loudly as I can, knowing full well I would accidentally smack myself in the face if I tried to look that smooth.
A smirk pulls into the corner of his sculpted lips and that award-winning five o’clock shadow.
Frantically, I search for the most important item—the flyer that brought me here.
Too bad the good doctor finds it first.
Leaning back onto his heels, Dr. Rhodes picks up the once-folded paper, shocked eyes never leaving the advertisement in his hand. “Where did you get this?” he breathes.
Pulling in my lips, I glance back to the front desk, where Mrs. Lanahan is knee-deep in an insurance discussion.
That must be her favorite pastime, right after making snap judgments about why people come to visit Dr. Rhodes.
Looking back to the doctor, I find those intense eyes already staring back at me.
With his gaze never leaving mine, he stands to his full height. Waiting. When I don’t immediately follow suit, a large, calloused hand reaches out. “I think we’d better go have that chat, now. Miss … ?”
“Rutherford.” Quickly, I shove the last errant chapstick into my purse before pushing myself up from the ground. Upright once again, I readjust my green wool skirt, working up the courage to look this man in the eye.
“Ms. Rutherford?” His low, deep voice pulls my attention back to his stupidly handsome face.
Squaring my shoulders, I pretend he’s one of my students. Mainly so I won’t run away from embarrassment. “Which way was it to your office again, Dr. Rhodes?”
Those sculpted lips tip down ever so slightly, dark blond brows furrowing. But without another word, he turns on his heel and heads back toward the hallway from whence he came.
After one more look at the occupied receptionist, I take off down the hall after him. Thanks to his ultra-long legs, I have to take about three steps to every one of his.
Despite this being a small practice of only three professionals, the converted house gives the feeling of endless space.
Revived hardwood floors follow the length of the hall, as does the deep olive paint with gold filigree covering each closed door.
Mauve and cream wallpaper covers every wall, with various pictures layered in a gallery style hung up along them.
Moments in time of who can only be a younger Dr. Rhodes and the two Dr. McNalleys.
Our footsteps echo through the hall, barely covering the sounds of a crying woman behind a passing door.
“In here.” Dr. Rhodes opens a seemingly random door on the left, motioning for me to go inside.
“Thank you,” I mutter, politeness kicking in before I can help myself. Brushing past him, cozy hints of cinnamon and apple lingers in the air.
Given the size, the room was probably a closet at some point.
Or a bedroom for the guests you hope don’t stay long.
A simple, dark chestnut desk sits pushed up against the nearest wall, while a mustard loveseat takes up most of the far wall.
Next to it, a bronze floor lamp glows, giving the space an intimate feeling.
“Nice office,” I say, taking in the tiny space.
Behind me, the door clicks into place right as the leather rolling desk chair protests its master. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
“I’m not here for a session.”
“I gathered as much,” he says dryly. Turning back toward him, I find an unamused Dr. Rhodes holding up the flyer. “Where did you get this?”
Before he can say anything, I snatch the paper from his grasp as nicely as possible. Opting for the only other open seat, I unceremoniously plop down onto the loveseat and let out an unnecessarily large sigh.
Across the small abyss, Dr. Rhodes waits with a patient mask in place. Ever the professional.
But how badly he wants an answer to his question is palpable.
Taking a moment to gather my thoughts, I carefully refold the paper in question. Meanwhile, the self-preservational instinct gnawing at my insides shouts to make him wait.
Too bad I need his help.
Clearing my throat, I start at the beginning. “My best friend found it in a bar.”
“In a bar?”
“Yep.”
“On a bar?”
“In it. The bar. On a bulletin board to be exact.”
“Your friend found a flyer with my information on it, on a bulletin board in a bar.”
“Theo’s Place, to be exact.” Rolling my eyes, I rub at my temples. “I feel like I’m talking to a kindergartener with the amount of comprehension happening right now.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Despite the sarcastic comment, I can hear the grin in his voice across the tiny space before I even dare look up. “I just mean, um, never mind. Look, the point is, are you serious? About this?” Narrowing my eyes, I don’t back down from the blue storms staring right back.
Dr. Rhodes’ calculating eyes flit down to my lap.
My nervous hands twist themselves into a permanent knot above the piece of paper that may as well be on fire.
His gaze finally returns to my face, which has decided to match my hair once again. Wordlessly, he swivels to retrieve a brown leather satchel from the floor. Several moments pass as the man rifles through it, pulling out paper after paper.
All while a frown etches itself deeper into his face.
Deciding to make myself comfortable, I allow myself the smallest moment to lean back into the plush loveseat. The sparse decor doesn’t do much to hold my attention. If anything, the glitter embedded in my skirt from my class’ craft today may brighten the space up a bit.
Thankfully, Dr. Rhodes decides to give up a clearly fruitless search. Letting out a sigh the size of an upset kindergartner, the obnoxiously tall man wipes a hand slowly down his face. “Okay. Okay,” he says, more to himself than to me. “Clearly, this was meant as some kind of joke. Dammit, John.”
“The flyer was a joke?” My question seems to remind him of my presence.
Taking a moment to compose himself, Dr. Rhodes folds his abnormally large hands together, placing them carefully in his lap. “I’m sorry. Ms. … ?”
“Rutherford.”
“Right. Ms. Rutherford.”—the man’s tanned cheeks tint a slight pink—“a friend and I were joking around after a particularly annoying family dinner and we came up with, er, what you have there.” He nods to the refolded paper in my lap.
“It was nothing more than some bullet points on a spare napkin when I last saw it.”
“A napkin?”
“Yes, which has obviously been stolen from my bag. Clearly, he felt the need to tease me.”
Unsure what to make of that, I pull my lip inward to assault it with my teeth.
I think of the tiniest hope I felt when Ian and Aaron waved the flyer in my face.
How my family might have taken me seriously for once in my life.
Calloway Rutherford both in a serious relationship and in a profession which is finally validated to her family?
Absolutely unheard of. And apparently, the trend shall continue.
“Is your family really that bad?” Dr. Rhodes interrupts my mini spiral and I reward him with an honest to God flinch.
“Uh,” is my brilliant answer.
The man across the way changes positions, crossing his legs and getting comfortable as attention finally shifts away from his strange predicament.
“What makes you think they’re so bad?” I try to sound defensive, but it comes out more like a timid chihuahua. The couch protests as I move to cross my arms. Which is no small feat since I still have my favorite white peacoat on.
A smirk threatens at his lips, ultimately winning out. “Come on, Ms. Rutherford. They’d have to be quite the unique family for you to be where you are now.”
Sniffing, I gain exactly one millisecond to come up with an answer. “They … they come with their challenges.”
Dr. Rhodes snorts.
“Excuse me, but that’s very rude,” I protest. “I sure hope you’re not like that with all your patients.”
“You’re not a patient,” he points out.
Annoyed, I snap my mouth shut before pursing my lips. His amused eyes track my every movement for exactly five seconds before I’ve had enough. “You know what, I don’t know why I came here.”
“You came here looking for help.”
“Yes. And apparently from the world’s rudest therapist.” Standing, I look him straight in the eye and brush excess glitter from today’s art project from my skirt, the asbestos of the crafting world. Serves him right. He’ll be finding it for years to come.
The doctor’s chair groans as the man stands, possibly to throw himself down at my mercy for unleashing glitter upon his office. “Could you please—”
“Thank you very much for your time, Dr. Rhodes. I’ll see myself out.” Scooping up my bag, I try to exude any amount of confidence I can and scurry out the door.
“If you could please just wait—”
I don’t stop for anything. Especially not the strong hand that brushes mine, sending shockwaves through my nervous system as I pass its handsome owner on the way out.