Page 74 of Love Me Fearless

My empty stomach gives an eager twist. “I like where this is going.”

With a grin, he rolls up his sleeves. “Would you like dinner now or a glass of wine and an appetizer?”

I lean sideways against the counter. “Let’s cook. I’m pretty hungry.”

“Sounds good.” He turns on the oven and tucks away the grocery bag while I bring out two wine glasses.

He rummages in the kitchen drawers for an opener. “It’s in here,” I say, cocking my hip at the drawer in front of me. Before I can step out of the way, he comes in behind me and pulls the drawer open, trapping me between his arms. He gives a soft exhale against my neck, sending prickles down my spine.

I lean back against him and he wraps one arm around me.

“Hi,” he says, nuzzling the back of my ear.

I laugh. “You already said that.”

“I know, but now that I’m holding you, it feels right to stay it again.”

A flutter works its way up my chest. “Hi to you, too.”

“You smell so good. Like Mom’s sweet peas but kinda spicy too, like…ginger. I used to sniff your letters, hoping to catch some of it.”

The flutters spread through my shoulders and turn to tingles on the back of my neck. This sounds genuine, but why has he never told me this? “Did you?”

“No, but imagining it was nice,” he says.

“I still have your letters.” After that night in Wolf Creek, it took me a while to write to him again, but when he didn’t write back, I stopped.

“I have every one of yours.”

I practically melt into him.

With me trapped between his chest and the counter, he peels the wrapper from the bottle and with a few quick twists of his wrist, has the cork free.

“You pour wine, I’ll get chopping,” he says, like he knows I need a lifeline right now. Because if these things are true, what’s happening between us is beginning to feel a lot less casual. I don’t know if my poor heart can take it.

“Can I help?”

He releases me, but in pulling away, his fingertips graze my bare lower back. The contact sends a hot buzz over my skin.

“You can tell me about your day.” He slides out the cast-iron skillet from the cupboard and sets it on a burner. My kitchen is small or maybe it’s just that Hutch takes up so much space. His woodsy lemony scent and the swift, athletic way he moves and the rich timbre of his voice. It’s like he’s everywhere at once.

“Pretty normal Monday.” I set his glass of wine closer to him and take a small sip of mine. It’s crisp and almost buttery. “Ear infections and immunizations and well-child visits. Though Vivian asked if she could fill in at the middle school because their nurse called in sick, so Sepp and I were running nonstop. But at least there were no life-threatening emergencies today, so that’s a plus.”

“Does that happen a lot?” He slides out a cutting board and the chef’s knife from the block and cracks two garlic cloves from the bulb.

“Maybe once a week.”

“Good thing you’re so level-headed.” He unpacks the chicken breasts and places them in the hot pan, making them sizzle. “How did you end up taking over for Dr. Boone? Did you know he was retiring?”

“He reached out to me, actually. I guess he and my mom are on the same pickleball team or something, and she mentioned I intended to return to Finn River to start my practice. We met for lunch when he was in San Francisco visiting his daughter, and he pitched his idea. I was about to start my first year of residency, so the timing was perfect.”

Hutch glances up from the garlic he’s mincing. “Sounds like a great fit.”

“So far it’s working out really well. A few patients have left, but?—”

He cuts me off with a scowl. “Why would they leave?”

I shrug. “Being a young woman can make it harder for some people to trust me.”

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