Page 14 of Healing You
Yvonne nodded. “His lymph nodes are almost entirely down.”
“I see that.” With a final loving pat to the butt, Steve stood back up and pulled over a chair from one of the neighboring tables. “So... what's this that I'd let you do?”
He leaned a chin into his hands, his stare penetrating her. Good God, he was magnificent. Yvonne's entire body heated at the sight of him, and she kind of hated herself for that. He wore gray pinstriped dress pants and an electric blue shirt beneath that matched the hue of his eyes almost perfectly. A shiver tumbled down her spine and she shook it away. Clearing her throat, she launched into their idea for the 10K to raise money.
Steve listened carefully, and Carrie jumped in, interjecting as needed. When they each finished, he grinned. “I think that's a brilliant idea. Count me in. Molly and I could run a 10K in our sleep.”
Yvonne rolled her eyes. “Brag much?”
“And”— he leaned closer, nudging her arm with an elbow—“of course you can use my clinic.”
“Thanks,” she said reluctantly. She returned his smile as the front door swung open and Dawn walked up to them in the same clothes as the night before.
Just friends. They seemed more than just friendly to Yvonne.
Carrie's eyes widened, lips pursed together as her gaze darted back and forth between the three.
“Hey, Dawn.” Yvonne offered her a smile.
Steve cleared his throat and pushed the chair back to the table where it belonged. “Dawn crashed in my guest room last night.” His gaze was plastered to Yvonne. “We finished so late and we were so hungry that I felt bad making her drive all the way home.”
Dawn laughed, tossing her glossy hair behind her shoulder. “I was honestly okay to drive, but he insisted.”
God, that hurt. Why the hell did this hurt so damn much? She had moved on from Steve years ago. Back in that day in the coffee shop when he walked out on her, she was done. Who cared that he was getting his jollies with another woman? It shouldn't matter. It shouldn't hurt. And yet, it did.
“Anyway, I should be going.” She grinned and her perfectly straight row of sparkling, white teeth glistened in the sunlight as she flipped her glossy hair behind a shoulder. Yvonne looked down at her own worn jeans. Holes had formed around her knees and they were covered in dirty paw prints. She inwardly sighed. Oh, well. This was who she was. She'd never be the girl who could wear white and not spill on herself. And she was okay with that. Most of her childhood under her parents’ thumbs had been dedicated to pretty, frilly dresses and makeup and coming out parties. She had nothing against that kind of life for people who enjoyed it. It just wasn't her anymore. It hadn't been her in a long time. Since Steve. When they started dating, she finally had the courage and an outlet to allow herself that freedom, and the spark to stand up to her parents for what she really wanted.
Yvonne looked up just in time to see Dawn give Steve a quick peck on the cheek and rush down to the street where she was parked.
“Well, I should probably be going too,” Steve said.
As Yvonne opened her mouth to respond, her cell phone rang out, disturbing the quiet morning. She fumbled to grab it, nearly dropping it on Gatsby's head in the process. Her heart sank as she saw the name on the screen.
“Your fiancé?” Steve asked.
“Fiancé?” Carrie interjected.
“Worse.” Yvonne cut Carrie off. “My mother.”
8
O h, Jesus. Steve didn't even know the guy she was marrying, but Mrs. Sarzacki was a terrifying woman, that was for damn sure. He studied Carrie as Yvonne answered the phone. She had said fiancé as though it was a question. As one of Yvonne's closest friends, shouldn't she have known about Yvonne's engagement? Unless... Steve dropped his gaze to her hand once more. Still nothing. No diamond. No ring. Nada. There went his theory about her forgetting to put the ring on yesterday.
“Hi, Mom.” Yvonne sighed with the greeting. Hell, if her own daughter was exhausted with her, then there was no hope for the rest of them. “I know, I know, I'm sorry. I know it's been a while.”
“Yvonne, I don't know what I'm going to do with you. You don't ever return my calls. Can you make it to dinner tonight or not?” The woman's shrill voice cut through the receiver, and damn near every person eating outside Elsa's could hear her.
Yvonne rolled those hazel eyes until they were nearly looking at her brain and shook her head. Carrie gave a compassionate smile in return, but Steve merely stood there, watching. Waiting. God. Mrs. Sarzacki could make his balls retreat back into his body faster than the Sox could steal second.
“Yes, Mom. I can do tonight. As long as Gatsby's not too sick or anything, I should be able to make it.”
“Gatsby's sick? Is it something you can catch? Like bird flu or swine flu or—”
Steve covered his laugh at that question.
“No. I'm fine. For the millionth time, there's not much I can catch from my dog—”
“Don't lie to me, Yvonne. You can catch rabies, giardia, parasites—”
