Page 38 of Faking It with the Off-Limits Doctor

Surgeries have been keeping me busy. But unlike before, when I would have stayed over at the apartment after a late surgery, I’m taking the long journey back to Riverdale, knowing that Dara will be there to greet me.

This whole fake relationship seemed to be a good idea at the time, and I’m not knocking what we’ve managed to do so far. But I am finding more and more reasons to spend time with Dara.

I don’t have any surgeries today, and I already have a plan worked out that will give me a chance to spend time with her. This morning, after my run and shower, I put on a t-shirt and shorts, and dig out some of the paint that was left from the contractors.

When Dara arrives, I’m painting the woodwork in the kitchen. It’s a long job, and quite likely, is going to take me the entire day.

How awful for you.

I know, right?

“Don’t you have someone who can do that for you?” she says, as she dumps her gear on the counter. “I know you’re all about altruism and so on, but surely you’re busy enough?”

“I don’t have surgeries today,” I reply, as though that ought to be enough of an explanation.

“Right,” she says, looking a little confused.

I glance over at her. “Don’t you trust me? Do you think because I’m a surgeon that I can’t paint a door?”

“Hey,” she says, raising her hands, “your house, your rules. I will admit, however, having never seen you lift a finger to do any other repairs since my arrival, that it is slightly surprising. What do you want for breakfast?”

“Eggs, bacon, and avocado toast.” I reply. “And there’s probably a few things about me that would surprise you, Dara Gilbert,” I say playfully.

“Oh, yes. Like what?” she says, putting the groceries she’s brought with her away in the fridge. “Come on, blow me away.”

“Okay, well. When I was a child, I used to build model trains.”

She spins to look at me, her eyebrows high on her forehead, which is exactly the reaction I expected. I’m also pretty sure, she’s trying not to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” I look at her with my paintbrush poised.

She shrugs. “I don’t know, I just can’t imagine you building trains.”

“Why not?” I smirk back.

“I don’t know.” She shrugs again. “I just can’t see it.”

“Maybe it’s because you have a preconceived idea of who I am,” I challenge, raising my eyebrows knowingly.

“Or maybe it’s because I don’t know you at all,” she counters. “I mean we have only been engaged for five minutes.”

I place the paintbrush in the tray and turn to look at her. She’s now got eggs and bacon ready beside the gas hob, and she’s chopping the avocado.

“What do you want to know?”

She tilts her head and eyes me carefully. “I don’t know. I mean, do you have brothers or sisters? What about your family? Where are your parents? Did you always want to be a surgeon?”

I raise my hands to slow her down.

“Okay, one question at a time. Yes, I have one brother, Mike. He’s younger than me, married to a lovely woman named Cathy, and they have three children. Three crazy, maniac children. My parents still live in Cherryville in the house I where I was raised. And no, when I first started my training as a doctor, I didn’t know I wanted to be a surgeon. That came later.”

“But you always wanted to be a doctor?” she adds.

“From about the age of nine, when my father had to have a leg amputated because of his diabetes.” I say.

Dara’s eyes fly wide in shock. “Oh no.”

I shrug. “He kind of brought it on himself. The doctors told him to cut down on his sugar intake, and he didn’t. So, he paid a price.”

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