Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 67492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
“Thank you, Kathy. I promise I won’t hold him up.”
She nods and glances down at the container in my hands. “Looks like you come bearing gifts too.” She smiles kindly.
“I did, actually. I had a flat tire last night, and Dr. Thompson found me in the parking lot cursing my tire. He helped me out and wouldn’t let me pay him, so this is just a thank-you gift.”
Her eyes widen. “He helped you with your tire?” she asks, as if she isn’t sure she heard me correctly.
“He did. It was so nice of him. Otherwise, I would have had to wait around for an hour for my roommate to get home.” I could have called my dad, but I didn’t want him to know I took my spare out for extra shopping room that I didn’t even need. It was stupid, but I was excited, and Isla and I were both shopping for our offices for this holiday season. Isla works for a small marketing firm based out of Atlanta, but her office is in Harris, which is the next town over from Willow River.
“Interesting,” she comments as we reach his office door. “You can have a seat. He should be here any moment.”
“Thank you, Kathy.” I want to ask her what’s so interesting about Dr. Thompson helping me, but I swallow back the question and take a seat in his office as she instructed.
I look around, taking everything in. Medical degrees hang on the wall, along with some certifications. There’s a picture of Dr. Thompson and an older couple, who must be his parents, and that’s it. No other personal touches. It’s hard to get to know the man when you have limited facts to work with. Just as I’m about to pull out my phone and consult the internet, he steps into his office.
“Good morning.”
He stops and turns to face me. “Ms. Kincaid. I wasn’t expecting you.”
The way he says it tells me that he’s not thrilled that I’m waiting for him in his personal space, not that it’s overly personal, but you know what I mean.
“I wanted to thank you again, so I made you some cookies.”
He remains standing, staring at me, so I stand as well and hand him the container. When he doesn’t make a move to take it, I step a little closer and pull back the lid. The smell of fresh sugar cookies fills the area between us.
He stares down at the container, his face void of emotion. When his eyes finally find mine, he says, “I don’t like Christmas cookies.”
Wait.
What?
“Sweet baby Jesus in a manger. How do you not like Christmas cookies? It’s a cookie with icing and sprinkles. What’s not to love?” I don’t understand this man. “Besides, they’re blue and white icing with darker blue sprinkles. That’s not a Christmas cookie. That’s just a damn good sugar cookie you’re missing out on.”
“I’m sure they’re great. Just not for me.”
“Try one.” I lift the container close to his face. “Come on. Just one.”
“No.”
“I’m not leaving until you try one.”
“I have patients to see,” he grumbles.
“And I have my own work to take care of, but I’m not leaving this office until you eat my cookie.”
His eyes snap to mine, and I replay over in my mind what I just said. Oh shit. I can feel my face flame with embarrassment. “My cookies. You have to eat one of my cookies,” I amend.
“Blakely.”
His voice is all growly and, I gotta be honest, sexy. He holds my stare for several seconds before his eyes go back to the container and then back to me.
“Please?” I ask, keeping my voice soft.
“Fine. I’ll eat the damn cookies. Will you please leave after that?”
“Yes.” I smile proudly. “Thank you for helping me yesterday.”
He reaches into the container and grabs a cookie, taking a big bite.
“Happy now?” he asks after he swallows.
“Almost.” I nod toward the remaining cookie in his hand. He rolls his eyes but pops the rest into his mouth. “See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Placing the lid back on the container, I set it on his desk. “There’s plenty in case you wanted to share them with the staff,” I say before turning back to face him. “Do you like my cookie? Cookies,” I correct quickly. Dammit, what is wrong with me today?
“Delicious,” he deadpans, but there is something in his eyes, a heat that wasn’t there before. Then again, I could just be imagining it as my embarrassment washes over me.
It’s not like I’ve made the best impression. Yesterday's meeting was a shit show. He doesn’t want to help me at all, and then last night, he had to. At least that tells me somewhere inside that sexy, grumpy exterior is a good man, one who’s willing to make good choices and do the right thing. Maybe he just needs a little encouragement, just like with the cookie.