Page 10 of Careless Hope

“Anytime, Doc,” I replied, the nickname rolling off my tongue easier than I expected. The diner hummed around us, but in our booth, it felt like we were the only two people in the world. And it had been a hell of a long time since I’d had that kind of connection.

“Guess we both have something to prove, huh?” I said as we wrapped up, the words hanging between us like a promise or a challenge.

“Seems like it,” she agreed, her eyes holding mine with an intensity that suggested she felt the weight of that unspoken pact too.

“Then let’s prove ‘em wrong together,” I said, surprising myself with the suggestion. It was bold, presumptuous even, but it felt right—like the beginning of a secret alliance.

Caroline laughed, a sound that filled the space with lightness and I hated that it did that thing to my chest again. What the hell?

“I’d like that,” she said, and the simple agreement sent a thrillof anticipation down my spine. I dropped some cash on the table to cover the bill and a hefty tip.

“We’ll see what happens next,” I offered, standing up and tipping my hat in a gesture that was equal parts courtesy and flirtation. I might not be interested in Caroline, but I was a damn good flirt and everyone knew it.

“Thanks again for the coffee,” she said, hesitating. A moment later, she turned to go, but I wasn’t about to let that be the end of it. Caroline was a friend now and I’d show her what that meant.

I grabbed her hand and spun her back around until she was right in front of me. The top of her head came up to my chin and she had to tilt it back to see my face. Before she could question me, I wrapped my arms around her shoulders, pulling her against my chest.

“I’m glad you’re back,” I said against her hair. It smelled like peaches and I breathed in deeper.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I am, too.”

4

Caroline

The scentof pot roast unlocked years of memories as I stepped into my childhood home, a large ranch-style place that had always been synonymous with comfort and expectations. It was the kind of house that seemed to stand still in time, filled with memories of scraped knees and science fair trophies.

Mom’s collection of ceramic roosters watched from their perch on the windowsill as Dad carved another slice of meat with practiced ease.

“Caroline, you’ve hardly touched your food,” Mom chimed in, her voice laced with concern and a dollop of motherly critique.

I pushed around the roasted carrots on my plate, trying to find the right words. “Just got a lot on my mind, I guess.”

Dad looked up from his plate, his eyes crinkling at the corners—a telltale sign of impending wisdom. “You’re doing important work, taking over the practice.”

“I know. But I also know your patients want you back. I don’t think Whittier Falls was ready for you to retire.”

“Well I sure as heck was,” he said with a twinge of humor.

“I know. They’re just used to you is all. And used to thinking of me as your little girl.”

“These things take time. You’re a talented physician and I wanted you to take over for a reason. I could have sold the place. Could have just closed up shop. But you, Care Bare, are creating a legacy. You’ll win them over.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I couldn’t help but smile at this childhood nickname he used. His encouragement felt like a sturdy fence post in a storm, something I could lean on when the wind howled too fiercely. Even if, at times, that encouragement came with a big heaping scoop of expectations.

Mom spooned another helping of mashed potatoes onto her plate, the silverware clinking softly against the china. “It’s lovely that you’re following in your father’s footsteps, dear. But don’t forget about your personal life. A smart girl like you should have no trouble finding a man.”

The familiar tug-of-war between their expectations began anew. On one side, there were the years I’d spent learning the intricacies of the human body and mastering the art of healing. On the other, the loud ticking of my biological clock combined with the unspoken rulebook of small-town life, complete with a deadline for getting hitched.

I wanted to throw up.

“Mom, I’m really trying to focus on the practice right now,” I said, hoping she’d understand without me having to spell it out.

“Of course, but a good relationship is just as important,” she countered, her gaze soft but insistent.

I sighed inwardly, feeling the weight of the white picket fences pressing down on me. It wasn’t that I didn’t want someone special; it was just that my love story had always been on pause while I chased a different dream—one withstethoscopes and patient charts. And now, here I was, unsure of what I wanted.

Or rather, wanting both, and clueless on how to focus on both at the same time.

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