Page 11 of The Potter

I grin. “Now who’s lying?”

Grabbing the other sheet, I start folding with ideas of how to get back on Dr. Potter’s schedule racing through my head.

“Are you sick?”

Raising my eyes slowly, I meet the gaze of the nicest person I’ve met during this trip, even if he won’t tell me his name. “Not anymore.”

“Then why do you need to see this Dr. Potter guy?”

I grin. “How much is the information worth to you?”

The boy is immediately on alert, his body coiling tight before my eyes. “It’s not worth anything. I was just making small talk.”

Lies. This little hero in the making is actually concerned about me. Shrugging, I offer him a playful grin. “Tell me your name, and I’ll tell you what business I have with Dr. Potter.”

He’s quick to respond. “No.”

“Suit yourself.” Foregoing the rest of the folding, I wrap my arms around the clean sheets and blankets. “Thanks for the help, neighbor. See you around.”

His glare tracks me as I bump the glass doors with my hip and head back to the motel, where I finish putting on the sheets and making a list of everything I think I can fit into the mini fridge. Staying here and waiting for Dr. Potter’s mood to improve will require money, and that’s something that’s currently dwindling as each day passes.

First order of business is groceries, and the second is a job.

And third, is planning Operation Beg Dr. Potter for a Second Chance.

Halle

“When you’re finished scanning all the groceries, you hit this tender button right here and give them the total.”

I found a job.

It’s minimum wage and requires me to be on my feet eight hours a day, enduring training from a five-year-old. Okay, she’s more like sixteen, but still, I never thought, at twenty-three years old, I would be working at the local supermarket with a supervisor who just got her driver’s license.

“You think you got it?”

I flash the sweet, gum-chewing girl a smile. “I think I can manage.”

She bounces on the balls of her feet. “Okay, cool. If you need me, just holler. I’ll be over there, helping Evan stock produce.”

With one quick look at Evan, I can tell you the only thing he’ll be stocking is his supply of condoms for tonight.

“No problem. Thanks for the help, Brit.”

Apparently, Bloomfield, Texas, home of the famous Dr. Potter, isn’t short on vacant job openings. My neighbor, who still won’t give me his name, caught me with a newspaper out on my front deck a few days ago. And by front deck, I mean front stoop, where he likes to smoke and leave his butts on the ground. He suggested I come here to Whole Grains and ask for Sammy. I didn’t ask how he knew Sammy or who Sammy was. I desperately needed a job if I wanted to stay in my not-so-lavish motel room while I figured out a way to get on Dr. Potter’s good side.

A girl can’t be picky when she’s desperate. And I’ve never been more desperate to fulfill my goal of being one of Dr. Potter’s patients.

“Hi. Welcome to Whole Grains!” I chirp to the man who saunters through my line, his phone pressed to his ear.

He tips his chin at me,and mouthshelloas I begin unloading and scanning the groceries in his basket.

I’m halfway through his items when he ends the call and pockets his phone, flashing me a charming smile that seems familiar. “You new here?”

“Yeah,” I nod, trying not to stare at the outline of muscles he has crammed into that white button-down. “I just started a couple of days ago.”

“Next time, you’re going back for the fucking wine. What man drinks wine, anyway?”

A bottle of pinot slams down on the counter just as the voice that sounds eerily familiar, too, adds, “Well, look what we have here.” Dr. Duke, grinning wider than a football field, slaps the man’s chest with the back of his hand, making me edgy. “This is the girl I was telling you about.”

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