Page 6 of Beginnings By the Sea

Turning on my heel, I went back inside to my office and found my phone on the desk. The sound of shuffling papers caught my attention, so I went to the front desk to find Gina straightening things up. She was supposed to have left ten minutes ago.

“Don’t you have a dinner date with your husband tonight?” I called out, making her jump with a hand to her chest.

She let out a gasp and laughed but then quickly pushed her chair under the desk. “I do. That’s why I’m trying to hurry. You know I can’t leave a messy desk.” That was one of the things I loved about her; she was organized.

I chuckled. “Yeah, I know. But at least you look gorgeous. That should help with you showing up late.”

She had on a bright yellow sundress and her makeup was spot on.

Gina snorted and stopped at the front door. “It better. I spent an extra thirty minutes getting ready this morning.”

I motioned toward the door. “Get out of here before it gets even later. I’ll lock up behind you and leave through the back.”

Gina quickly pulled out her car keys. “Thanks, Dr. Clark. I’ll see you in the morning.”

As soon as she opened the door, a familiar face greeted us and I smiled as the man walked up the stairs, only it quickly vanished when I noticed the bloody towel pressed to his left side.

“Cohen, what happened?” I asked, pushing the door open wider.

His eyes widened with recognition when he saw me. When I met him at the restaurant the other day, I never told him I was a doctor. Cohen winced when he moved the towel away, but then a dashing grin took over. He looked different today, not as polished in fancy clothes. This time, he was dressed in jeans and a gray T-shirt that was blood-stained and ripped. I could see the gash on his side.

Cohen pressed the towel back to his body. “Nyla. What are you doing here?”

I nodded to my right where the wooden sign with mine and Everleigh’s name was nailed to the building.

Cohen’s gaze shifted to it and he laughed. “Ah, I see. You’re the doctor.”

Gina placed a gentle hand on my arm. “He looks like he’s really hurt, Dr. Clark. What do you want to do?”

“You,” I said, ushering her out the door, “are leaving. Go and enjoy your night. I can handle everything from here.”

Gina’s lips pursed. “Are you sure?”

Nodding, I motioned for her to leave. “I’m positive.” She was hesitant to go but eventually walked down to her car parked out front. I stepped out of the way so Cohen could go inside. “Come on. Tell me what happened.”

Cohen sighed and walked in, and I locked the door behind us. He moved the towel away and lifted his shirt so I could see the wound. The gash wasn’t too deep, but it was long enough that he’d need a few stitches.

“It was clumsiness, really,” Cohen confessed, lowering his tattered shirt. “I was on the roof of my house and slipped. There must’ve been a nail sticking out that got me when I tumbled down.”

My mouth gaped as I stared right into his green eyes. “Did you actually fall off the roof, or were you able to stop yourself?”

Cohen chuckled. “I was able to stop, thank God.” He peered around the room. “I remembered seeing this office when I drove through town the other day. I thought I could get here before you closed.” With a heavy sigh, he met my eyes again. “I’m sorry for coming in like this. I can come back tomorrow during working hours.”

I flourished a hand toward the door that led past the front desk and to the exam rooms beyond. “No. You’re getting help now. I want you to go down the hallway to the first door on the left. I’ll be there in a minute; I have to grab a few things.”

He did as I said, and I walked past the room to the lab where most of our supplies were. Once I had everything I needed loaded onto my tray, I went back to Cohen and tried my best not to stare at him as he sat on the exam table. He’d taken off his shirt, revealing his perfectly chiseled chest.

I cleared my throat and tried to focus on the task at hand. “Okay, let’s get you cleaned up.” I dabbed the wound with antiseptic and watched as Cohen winced. “Sorry about that,” I said, trying to keep my hands steady.

“It’s fine,” he replied, his voice low and husky. “You’re doing a great job.”

I tried to ignore the heat rising to my cheeks and focused on stitching up the wound. Cohen winced a few more times, but he was tough and insisted on me not using an anesthetic. I was shocked, especially since he was a city boy from New York. But, I had to say, he reminded me of Patrick Swayze in Road House when his character, Dalton, was slashed with a knife in a bar fight and he refused anesthetic when the main female lead, who was a doctor, tried to stitch him up. The whole scenario reminded me of that scene. I never thought I’d ever have a patient that would live up to Dalton’s standards. It turned out Cohen didn’t disappoint.

As I finished placing the bandage over the wound, I couldn’t help but admire his physique. He was tall, with broad shoulders and defined biceps. Once I removed my gloves, Cohen’s hand was on mine, interrupting my thoughts.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice soft.

“You’re welcome,” I replied, feeling a little breathless.

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