Page 40 of Sugar Coated Secrets

I reach the small house turned into an office building three blocks from my old high school. There is a white Toyota Camry parked in the doctor’s space.

I walk inside and write my name down on the walk-in sheet and have a seat until the receptionist slides the glass window open and calls me inside.

The door slides open after ten minutes, and a soft, professional voice calls out my name. “Mr. Keller.”

I stand and meet green eyes I haven’t seen in a while, belonging to Mrs. Forester. “Hello, Ford. It’s been a while.”

“It has. How’s Bob?” I ask pleasantly.

The skin on the corner of her eyes crinkles when she smiles. “Still a pain in the ass,” she says, wasting no time in opening the office door.

She knows I’m here because it’s an emergency. Just like old times. “She will see you now.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Forester,” I say before walking inside the familiar office.

The same old plant and blue couch are against the far wall, but different board games are on the coffee table. The same painting of four irregular black-and-white shapes hangs right above it.

The brown wood desk belonging to Dr. Alice Bregman is on the opposite side of the room. She sits behind her desk, her black hair in an elegant chignon with the same white pearls at her throat. She wears a collared white blouse with blue slacks and a professional smile she reserves for all her patients.

“Long time no see, Ford. I was hoping this was a friendly visit, but I see that it’s for an appointment.”

I take a seat on the right side of the blue couch and stretch out my legs like old times. “It is.”

She takes out my chart, which is about an inch thick. It was where she wrote all her notes from every session we had throughout my high school years. “I see you’re back in town. How is everything?”

“I am,” I say, looking directly at her.

“Is this about her?” she asks, writing something down.

“Yes.”

“Same feelings,” she asks, “like before?”

I snort. “They never went away, Dr. Bregman. I did. Like you recommended.”

She nods like she understands, but she doesn’t. She hasn’t been obsessed with one girl for years.

“And now that you’re back, these feelings for Dulce are magnified.”

I scratch my neck. “You could say that, but I’m not here to cope without her. I’m here to ask you how I can safely channel my thoughts and feelings while I pursue her?”

She places an elbow on her desk and rests her chin on the palm of her hands, listening intently. “And do you think that is a good idea? How does she feel about you?”

“I think it’s a great idea. I always have, despite what my parents think. At this point, I don’t care what anyone thinks; I just care about what Dulce thinks and how it will affect her. I think she is attracted to me, but she doesn’t trust me.”

“Then earn her trust. Form a healthy relationship and work on that. Don’t let obsession bend your positive thoughts. Attraction is healthy. So is sex but not when it’s abused. Anything in excess is not healthy, Ford. It is why I was on board when you told me your plans to pursue your dreams of racing. Why I agreed that the best thing to do about your obsession with Dulce was to find yourself. Build a healthy relationship with yourself. See the world. Meet new people.”

“I did,” I quip.

“And?”

“She is still the one thing missing, Dr. Bregman. I crave her. I want her, and I’m not going to stop until I have Dulce Webster.”

13

DULCE

On Monday, I place the cakes in the display case and turn the temperature to the right setting to stay fresh.

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