Page 52 of Lovetown, USA
“So, listening then.”
“Yeah, but listening to learn and understand, not to say, ‘I heard you.’ Also, little things. Random flowers. Play my favorite slow song and dance to it. Cute little love note in my purse sometimes. A surprise weekend away. Or even just one night.Just…putting a fucking smile on my face.Effort, Trey. That’s romance.”
Her words land like stones. I scratch the back of my neck, fighting the urge to remind her I was busy becoming the doctor she was so proud to tell people I was. And that half of that time, she was fucking the male best friend from college she told me I didn’t need to worry about.
“I hear you,” I say instead. “Thanks.”
“Mm hm. Did you reach Cam?”
“Not yet, Desiree. I’m still—“
“Trying. Of course.”
“Aight, then. Have a good one.”
I disconnect before we get to arguing, her words echoing in my head. Flowers. Notes. Listening. Effort.
Things I’ve never been good at.
The listening part, maybe. But I’ve always listened for only two reasons; to diagnose, and to fix. Even before I was a doctor, that was my thing. I suppose Des wanted me to listen to her heart or some shit. Which is just as much of a skill, in my mind. But like anything else I’ve learned, I can do that. It will probably just take practice.
Lane is worth it.
Well, my clinic is worth it.
17
Lane
Deacon meets me infront of my hotel, and he’s right on time.
He looks good. Clean-cut. Broad shoulders. Tall. Fro perfectly sponged. He’s not as fine as Trey, or as tall, but he’ll do for tonight.
He opens the door and I slide in, already making mental notes for my next column.
The restaurant is cozy, but heavily curated to match the town, which means I have the ick before we order our drinks. Once again, hearts everywhere, pink fairy lights, neon signs on the walls that say “Love Wins” and “True Love.” Even the hanging Edison bulbs have hearts etched on them. I’m so, so sick of this shit.
But my mind is open.
They must have known we were the winning bingo couple, because our table is the only one with red rose petals strewn all over the tablecloth and tall taper candles in gold candleholders.
Our waitress, Julie, greets us with a thousand-watt smile and hands us our menus with a flourish.
I glance down and stifle a laugh.
Appetizers of Affection.
Entrees of Endearment.
Desserts of Deep Devotion.
“This fucking place,” I mutter under my breath.
“What’s that?” Deacon asks.
I look up at him. “Nothing. Just…you see this, right? This town is so committed to the bit. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
He beams like I’ve paid him a personal compliment. “It’s cool, right?”
