Page 34 of The Doctor's Simple Life

I’ve had girlfriends before, plenty of them. I’ve showered them with all of the presents and affection they’re supposed to have, but in the end, the relationships all fizzled out to nothing because they weren’t really anything to begin with. Not like this anyway. None of them ever lit a match under my heart and stole it right from inside my chest.

Maybe it’s the madness of being in Silverbell, but this kiss with Sienna — it’s changed something inside me.

We say nothing for the first half of the walk, letting the blissful sounds of nature and the forest surge around us, but eventually I get curious. “What was it like growing up here?” I ask. “Were you happy?”

She nods slowly. “Yeah, I was. My gramma raised me after my parents passed away when I was little.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, and for a change, I mean it. I understand what the ache of missing parents can be like, and even then, mine are still alive.

She shakes her head, dismissing my pity. “But I couldn’t ask for anything more than Gramma’s ever given me. As you already know, she’s the best. I am so lucky that, in my whole life, I’ve wanted for nothing. I have friends here, family, friends who have become my family. I have a brilliant job, and I feel like I matter. I don’t think I could ask for anything more than that.”

“No,” I say quietly. “No, I don’t suppose you can.”

“So, yes. I had a good childhood. I enjoyed it here.”

“That sounds nice,” I say lamely, because I don’t really know what else there is to say.

Her life has been nothing like mine, and though I have all the wealth and success of being a surgeon, when I put our lives side by side, mine seems so much more hollow than hers. It’s so much emptier, shallow and vapid.

Sienna has a community, a life she loves, and people she can rely on. I’ve never had that. As much as I’ve wanted it, I’ve never had it.

All I have is money and the kind of work friends you have to try and impress; otherwise they drop you without a second of remorse.

We get into the car without a word, but when I hold out my hand, she takes it. The whole way home, our fingers twine together, only parting when she needs to take a turn.

It leaves my palm empty and cold every time.

When we roll up outside my house, Sienna gives me a small, sad smile. In that moment, it all makes sense to me. She doesn’t think she’s good enough for me.

She thinks there’s no way that I could like someone like her, someone who is stunningly beautiful and with such strong force of will, someone who’s making me better than I’ve ever been before. I don’t know how she can think like this.

Not a word of it is true.

“Come inside,” I say. “For a drink or something to eat.”

“I can’t drink,” she says. “I’m driving.”

“Then stay the night.” It’s more desperate than I wanted it to be, but I am desperate. If she doesn’t come home with me now, I’ll be awake all night thinking about her. “Or I’ll walk you back to your grandmother’s. Whatever. Just stay for a bit. Okay?”

She hesitates again, then softens and says, “Okay.”

With that, she turns the key and the engine shudders and falls silent.

We get out into the warm evening air, and I look at her again, really look. She’s tied her hair up now, a loose ponytail that breaks free in waves around her face, framing her soft cheeks, her pretty eyes. Her shirt is still kind of damp, but I can’t see her bra through it anymore — probably a relief for her. It’s probably not what she wants me looking at.

I step forward to unlock the front door, then hold it open for her. She dips her head and steps into my house, and a thrill of anticipation runs down my spine. This is really happening.

She wanders on into my kitchen, looking around like she’s trying to get any hints about the kind of person I am. It’s less sparse than she would have seen if she had come in that first day we’d met, though it still looks pretty bachelor.

I shouldn’t be so concerned by what she thinks, but I can’t help it. Everything I do now is under her scrutiny.

“What’s your poison?” I ask as I head over to the cupboard where I keep my liquor.

“What do you have?”

“Probably more than I should.” I decide at that moment that it’s probably not a good idea to let her look in here and in the fridge. It paints a really, really sad picture. “Cocktail?”

“You’re not going to make me a cocktail,” she scoffs.

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