Page 16 of Heal Me

“Hello, Dr. Cooper. I’m going to be shadowing you starting tomorrow,” I say when I run into him in the break room. He’s a good-looking man, and trust me, he’s well aware. In his late thirties, he’s around six feet tall, with short light-brown hair expertly styled, calculating brown eyes, and well-manicured facial hair.

“Lucky for you,” he says with an arrogant smile, glancing down at my badge, searching for my name, even though we’ve been introduced several times now. “Charlotte,” he says, but not after his eyes take a detour below my badge to check out my breasts. Lucky for me, indeed. “Ah, I remember now. You were scheduled to shadow me a few weeks back, but didn’t show.”

“I’m sorry, there was a personal matter that’s been sorted.” Please tell me he hasn’t heard the news.

“Kidnapped by a crazed accountant. It was all over the news.”

So much for wishful thinking. “I’d rather not discuss it.”

“This is going to be fun,” he says under his breath.

Fun, indeed. “Good evening, Dr. Cooper. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Exiting the break room, I scan my badge and wave goodbye to the ladies at the front desk. They’ve finally stopped whispering about me when I walk by. Or at least if they do whisper about me, they wait until I’m out of earshot. As Dr. Cooper just demonstrated, everyone here has heard the story of my kidnapping, although it’s probably filled with exaggerations and half-truths. Thank God I was taken to a different hospital after the abduction. If I had been brought to this one…well, I wouldn’t be able to finish my premed shadowing.

Stepping outside, I spot Gabe sitting on a bench. “Let me guess, you had a ‘meeting’ with a potential witness,” I say, crossing my arms. “Funny that all these potential witnesses like to hang out on campus or at the hospital. Oh, and they keep the exact same schedule as me.” The first time this week I “ran” into him was the worst—the embarrassment of my outburst at New Life Spiritual Center still fresh in my mind. Add to it the embarrassment of becoming turned on when Gabe tried to comfort me. I just pray he didn’t notice my nipples were hard while his arms were wrapped around me, or that he couldn’t feel the evidence of my arousal from my damp panties. Mortified doesn’t begin to cover it.

“You were kidnapped at night, alone. Yes?” he asks, neither looking at me with pity nor excitement in hearing the salacious details, but with empathy.

“Yes,” I whisper.

He nods. “I’m free tonight, and I don’t mind walking you to your car. That’s what friends do.”

“Are we friends?”

“Yes, we’re becoming friends.”

“Alright, then. Friends.” Of course he just wants to be friends. He looks like the epitome of style and sophistication in another tailor-made three-piece suit. And having seen and felt the man shirtless, I know underneath that suit lies a perfectly sculpted chest, strong shoulders, cut biceps, and washboard abs. Looking down to my frumpy scrubs and what I know lies underneath, I become self-conscious. I’ve put on a few pounds since the abduction, and on my short frame, there’s nowhere for the weight to hide. This angel’s so far out of my league, he’s in another realm. So yes, friends.

“Plus, I’m ready to cash in on my dinner rain check.”

“My friend, then you are in luck,” I say with a smile. One thing I can do is feed the man.

He escorts me to my car, and we make the short drive to my apartment. This time I don’t ask him whether he’s going to hurt me as I open the front door, as I’ve marked off skilled sociopath from the list.

I clear off all my books and notes from the kitchen table so we’ll have somewhere to sit. Mom always used to tell me to get my head out of the books and go out and have some fun. The one time I followed her advice, and look how that turned out.

Shaking away that thought, I heat up leftovers on the stove, stirring the pot clockwise seven times and adding my calming intention. I’ve never worked kitchen magic before, but now’s as good a time as any.

“Whatever you’re making smells amazing,” Gabe comments.

I grab a large spoon and portion out some in bowls, and then I grab the naan from the toaster oven. “Chicken makhani and naan,” I announce, handing him his bowl.

“Looks great. Where did you learn to cook Indian food?”

“The Internet,” I admit and he laughs. “My father is Indian, but he lives out of a takeout box.”

“Have you ever visited India?”

“My dad and I visited one summer when I was in high school. I met his family and my grandmother who makes out-of-this-world naan. It’s amazing. Maybe one day I’ll go back and spend more time with her and she can teach me her secrets.”

He waits for me to have a seat with my food before he takes a bite of his naan. Of course he has perfect manners. I’m still trying to figure out what isn’t perfect about Gabe Jennings. “Well, I can’t comment on your grandmother’s naan, but yours is the best I’ve ever tasted.” He then takes a bite of the chicken makhani and closes his eyes. “And this is the best butter chicken in the world.”

“I’m not sure I’d go that far, but thank you,” I say, smiling. Glad to see he’s not afraid of my food. That leaves true gentleman, but from the little time we’ve spent together, I already knew that. I take a bite, and my nerves do seem to have calmed down. “Tell me something about yourself. Besides work, what’s something you love to do?”

“I love to fish. My mama and her human husband have a place in Biloxi. I keep my boat there.”

“But you live in Jackson?”

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