Page 7 of Faking It with the Off-Limits Doctor

My hours were long, and she hated that she was always alone in the small apartment we struggled to afford. She had a part-time job in a shoe store, which she tolerated, but I tried to encourage her to get out and make some friends.

She did do that eventually, and then things were good for a while. I finished my degree, but my love was for more than just medicine. Cindy wasn’t happy when instead of taking a job with great pay, I went on to train in my specialist field of surgery.

“I’m tired of having to live in this tiny apartment,” she had said one night when I came home exhausted after a fourteen-hour shift.

“It’s just for a little bit longer,” I had promised.

“You keep saying that, Alex, but we’ve been here for three years. I’m getting claustrophobic.”

It had ended in a big argument. We made up later, of course, but the following months only got worse. Until one day, she announced she was pregnant. That should have been our happily ever after, I suppose. But it didn’t turn out that way.

I look around this huge house, wondering what it might look like filled with children, but now, it’ll never happen, and I’ve come to terms with that. I think.

An hour later, and there’s a knock at the door.

“Dr. Bennett?” the guy says. He’s stocky and dressed in overalls of a dreadful mustard color. Behind him, two other guys are clambering out of the truck.

“Yes,” I say.

“We’re here to fit your new kitchen.”

“Excellent.” I open the door wider. “Come on in.”

Once the men have entered, the stocky guy says, “We’re going to have to turn your water off to fit the appliances. Is that Okay?”

“Sure,” I say, waving a hand that tells them they can do whatever they want. “Do you need me for anything else?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

“All right. Then I’ll let you get on with it.”

I walk away and leave them to it, making my way to the room I’ve allocated as my study. Thankfully, it’s on the other side of the house, so the racket they’re about to make shouldn’t disturb me too much.

Closing the door behind me, I move around my desk and drop into my chair. Lifting my phone, I call Barbara.

“Well, how is it?” she asks after we’ve got the greetings out of the way.

“It’s exactly what we need,” I reply, “though it needs some work. Work men have just arrived to put in a new kitchen.”

“What’s wrong with the old one?” Barbara asks. I can hear her typing on the keyboard as she speaks to me. She’s a great multitasker and an asset to the clinic.

“It looks like something out of Little House on the Prairie,” I quip back.

She giggles down the phone. “And we can’t have that now, can we?” she says teasingly.

“I need a family home, not a relic, Barbara.”

“If you say so. You have two surgeries booked in for tomorrow,” she continues. “One at 11:30 a.m. and another at three in the afternoon. I had Mrs. Crawford on the phone earlier, wanting to speak to you. I told her you were out of the office and that I would pass on the message.”

“Thanks, Barbara. I’ll give her a call. I also need you to set up a dinner party for Tom Burgess and the rest of his team. I managed to snag myself a chef who’s willing to work. What’s my schedule like for next week?”

“Let me see,” Barbara says, clicking at the keyboard again. A few seconds pass, and then she says, “Okay. Well, Friday might suit you better. It’s the only day of the week that you don’t have any surgeries. I can rearrange the consultations for the week after.”

“All right. Email Tom and see if that works. If it does, send him the address, and then come back to me with how many are going to attend.”

“What about Jack Norton?” she asks.

“I’m not ready to meet the Spire team yet.” I reply. “This will be a test run, then we’ll go forward from there.”

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