Page 29 of Coming Home

“Don’t need one since I wear fun shoes.” She lifted her left foot and pointed to the fluorescent orange ballet flat.

Dad had his bow ties. She had a rainbow assortment of shoes. Fashion choices aside, they were both doctors. Whether it was her lack of bow tie, her gender, her age, or whateverelse individuals used to assess her as “not a doctor,” this conversation repeated far too often. And not just with the little Sallys of the world but with people like Jack Simmons and Mrs. Lewis.

“Oh, pretty,” Sally breathed. Her tiny face scrunched in thought. “Also, you have a white coat like a doctor, so you must be a doctor.” With a first place in the spelling bee smile, she beamed.

“You’re very smart.” Lips curled in a grin, she lifted Sally’s shirt and blew gently on the stethoscope before positioning the flat disc on the child’s back. “This may be cold.”

It was so simple that a five-year-old could see it. She was a doctor. She wore the white coat, damn it! Now, she just needed to figure out how to transplant Sally’s vision to the rest of the village.

“Natalie Joan Owens,” Mom tutted.

Nat’s head jerked up from the other side of the receptionist’s desk, where she tapped orders into her tablet after Sally and Emma left.Oh, shit.She was reduced to a recalcitrant child the second her mom two-named her. “Yes?”

Her mother’s use of her full name, in conjunction with that accusatory tone, conjured memories of getting caught eating peanut butter out of the jar with her fingers. In her defense, she was seven and all the spoons were in the dishwasher.

Mom stood, hands on hips, and one brow ticked up. “Someone got a delivery.” Mischief flooded her gray eyes as she gestured to a bouquet wrapped in rose-patterned paper.

For a moment, Nat’s breath faltered.Noah?Had he sent flowers because of her micro-meltdown at the park?

“Are you going to open them? I’mdyingto see. Janet was tight-lipped when she delivered them from the Village Rose. You’d think with us being almost family, she would loosen the vow of silence the ladies of the florist shop have taken. They never spill the tea.” A slight pout dragged Mom’s lips downward. Far too undignified for a woman in her sixties.

“Do you even know what spill the tea means?” Nat teased, pushing open the small half-door between the reception and patient check-in areas.

“Of course. I watch theReal Housewives.”

Rolling her eyes, Nat ripped the paper off the bouquet. Sweet perfume wafted off long stem red roses. While lovely, something told her Noah wouldn’t send roses. They somehow felt impersonal and sterile. The blood-red petals lacked the brightness of the yellow gardenias.

Tiny crinkles kissed the edges of Mom’s eyes. “Gorgeous.”

Plucking the card from the tiny plastic holder in the arrangement, Nat unsealed it and read.

Meet me at Tucker’s Boat Launch at seven. Dress for boating. ~Duncan

“Duncan?” Mom asked, reading over her shoulder. “As in Duncan Ellis?”

Nat folded the card in half and shoved it into her pocket. “You’re so nosey,” she grumbled.

“I’m a mom. It’s in the job description.” She twinkled. “So, you two are seeing each other again?”

Nat shrugged. Were they? They’d been on one date. There’d been only a promise of a kiss. Duncan’s intentions were as crystal clear as the vase the roses sat in. The only question that remained… What were Nat’s intentions with Duncan?

“We’re spending time together. Seeing what happens.”

That was a good enough answer for Mom and for herself. At least for now.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Be worthy of love and love will come.”~Louisa May Alcott, Little Women

The gravel in the parking lot for Tucker’s Boat Launch crunched beneath Nat’s white Converse sneakers. She strode toward the low, gray-roofed building tucked up against the Silver Lake shoreline. As she strolled down the sloped sidewalk toward the U-shaped dock, she tugged at her caramel-colored shorts, regretting their length. The air was warm but would be cool enough on the lake to need the pale pink Boston College hoodie she wore.

Apprehension snaked through her veins. The invitation from Duncan was more direct than he’d ever been. Well, besides his promise…or threat…of an earth-shattering kiss. Gone was the seventeen-year-old whose eyes remained cast down when he’d asked her to the Homecoming dance. Was she unnerved because of the starkness between that shy teenage boy and the directness of the confident man? Or was it the idea of Noah that slowed her steps? No clear answer occurred by the time she reached the junction where the sidewalk ended, and the dock began.

At the end of the floating metal dock, Duncan leaned against a pylon, an enormous smile sketched on his face. His hands were balled into the pockets of faded dark blue jeans, that hung low on his hips. A grayNYU T-shirt stretched over his sculpted chest and shoulders. Loose wavy blond strands that reminded her of the boy he’d been replaced the sleek, styled hair from the other night. With each step closer to this version of him, her tight muscles eased.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he drawled.

“Well, I was summoned,” she teased, dropping into a princess-worthy curtsy.

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