Page 91 of Doctorshipped
I follow Fiona downstairs. Grant must hear us coming down the steps because he meets us at the bottom.
“She did great,” I tell him, assuming he’s there for a progress update.
He nods. “Thank you.”
His eyes catch mine.
Fiona runs through toward the family room presumably to find her grandpa.
Grant’s still looking at me intently, but it’s not exactly disarming. He gestures toward the front door. I step past him and he walks with me. He never does that. There’s something in the way he’s looking at me—his whole posture has a more protective and inviting energy to it. He’s not keeping his distance, but he’s not crowding me either.
Grant’s often neutral, and usually challenging. Right now, it feels like we’re sitting on top of a volcano, but having a lovely picnic and enjoying the scenery together. The look we exchange holds weight and warmth.
I’m not sure if my confusion shows on my face. Normally I’d break this kind of tension with silliness—a taunting statement or other deflection tactic.
I don’t know what this is lingering between us, but obviously neither of us is taking it lightly.
Grant holds the door and I slip past him, confirming I’ll see him and Fiona at the little league game tomorrow. He nearly grins and says, “I’ll see you there.”
“Not if I see you first,” I tease.
“Oh you won’t see me first.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I’ll see you.”
30
GRANT
Little league.
You’d think I’d be all for youth sports, having spent half Fiona’s childhood at an ice rink. But, that was different. I attended all those practices and games for her. No gathering of children in uniforms, equipped to play a mediocre game of ball should garner this much attention and excitement. You’d think the president were rolling in for a visit the way the small sets of metal bleachers are filled, and the sidelines crowded with folding chairs and coolers.
Duke is coaching our team and Brooks is the assistant coach. Duke and Shannon got back from their honeymoon during the middle of this week, or so rumor has it. I avoid all gossip, but it filters in anyway when patients visit, or while standing in line at the grocery.
I scan the bleachers for Jayme. I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d see her first. I’m finished with pretending I’m not feeling something for her. I’m not sure what I’ll do about this change of heart, but I’m not a man who sits idly by when a situation has clarity and purpose.
Jayme’s sitting in the front row of the far bleachers, closest to the dugout. Shannon sits next to her. Brooks and Duke are on the other side of the half-wall separating the bleachers from the field, charming the two women. All four of them are laughing freely.
“Daddy! There’s Miss Jayme! Can we sit by her? Come on, Grandpappers.”
Fiona takes off at a brisk near-jog, aiming for the bench on the bleachers directly behind Jayme, which happens to hold almost the only empty seats in the whole park. The two coaches and Jayme and Shannon are so focused on whatever they’re discussing, Jayme entirely misses our arrival.
We settle in and I reach forward to place my palm on Jayme’s shoulder. She jumps and places a hand over her heart.
“Oh! Grant! You scared me!”
I grin. “I saw you first.”
Like a first grader, I blurt out this fact. I’m so lost when it comes to how to approach her. Besides, my dad and Fiona and half the town are here, watching everything that goes on between everyone.
Jayme softly pats my hand, which is still resting on her shoulder, and a frisson of tingles erupts. My neurotransmitters must be firing off enough dopamine to drug a large farm animal. In layman’s terms, I want her, and I want her with a fierce longing I’ve never experienced before for any other woman.
“You saw me first, Doctor Buttercup.”
Her voice is gentle, and private, and the whole world slips away in that moment. It’s only me and Jayme with her hand on mine. And then it’s not.
