Don’t Fall for the Doctor by Lacey Bolt

Chapter 22

Ashley’s doorbell buzzed promptly at 7 p.m. Ashley froze in front of the bathroom mirror, mascara wand hovering millimeters from her eyelashes, and looked at Emily’s reflection.

“I told you he’d show up for the date.” Emily’s smug expression pulled Ashley out of her thoughts.

She stuck her tongue out at Emily. Immature, but completely appropriate.

Emily rolled her eyes in return. “I’m going to let him in. I’ll give you five minutes to finish getting ready. After that, I’m bringing out your baby pictures and telling him all about the time you were two years old, stripped naked and —”

“Emily!” Ashley dropped the mascara wand and gave her cousin a shove.

“You’ve been warned. Hurry.” With one last glance, Emily left to let in Ashley’s date.

Butterflies took up residency in her stomach. He actually showed up. Unless it was just a coincidence and the person at her apartment door was delivering a package? Her front door creaked in protest as it opened and Emily’s voice, louder than usual, greeted the visitor. Michael was here.

Here, inside her apartment. She knew the moment was coming, but her stomach twisted. She should have met him at the restaurant. She should have borrowed a car or walked there instead of letting him inside her place. He probably had nice, designer furniture. Even his office had better furniture than her apartment. Her old orange couch belonged in a 1980’s house of horror, and her mismatched end tables were no better. She found them on the curb, waiting for the garbage truck one morning as she drove to work. The coat of white paint didn’t make them look rustic or shabby chic, as promised by the blogger who posted hundreds of furniture makeovers. But they did look better than her coffee table, which was another curbside rescue and made of laminate. The blogger didn’t give any warnings about painting laminate furniture. Maybe she needed to drive through the wealthier side of town on garbage day.

She frowned at her reflection. As Emily had not-so-gently reminded her barely an hour ago when she showed up with a dress for Ashley to wear, he was interested in her and not what she owned. There was no reason to be embarrassed about her apartment. It was clean and comfortable.

She took a deep breath and checked the time on her phone. Somehow, three minutes had already sped by. She gave her hair one last pat, finished putting on her mascara, and then stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror. Emily’s dress was amazing. Dark purple, tight in all the right spots, and showed a decent amount of leg. Much better than the old, faded dress in her closet. She looked like she might even belong in a restaurant with Michael.

Except her earrings. She touched the earring dangling from her right earlobe. They weren’t right. She rushed into her bedroom closet. What had she and Emily been thinking when Emily pulled out that set of earrings and gushed over how perfect they would be? They were too shiny, too large, and—

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud voice in the next room. “So Michael, did you know that Ashley and I are cousins? I know everything about her, even where she keeps her photo albums. Give me a minute and I’ll show you some pictures of her while we wait.”

No, no, no. Ashley flung open the flimsy door separating her bedroom and living room. Emily had her hand on a photo album, and Michael sat on the other end of the couch. He stared at her as she stepped into the room. He slowly stood up, glancing up and down her body.

Ashley stood, speechless. Did he just check her out? Chills spread over her body. She bit her lip to stop the giddy smile that threatened to take over her face.

Emily frowned. “Ashley, I was just about to show him your baby photos!”

Ashley walked over to her, grabbed the album, and dropped it on the end table. “Another time, I guess.” She paused, feeling awkward. “Um, Michael, you know Emily.”

“I do. Thanks again for your help at work today, Emily.”

“Anytime.” Emily stood and picked up her jacket. “I’m leaving. You two have fun tonight. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” She waved her fingers at Michael, then pulled Ashley in tight for a hug. She whispered quietly enough that only Ashley could hear. “Relax and have fun. You deserve it. He’s a lucky man to have you for a date.”

“It’s a meeting,” she whispered back.

Emily released her and left, closing the door behind her.

The living room felt smaller than ever.

She looked at Michael, only to see that he’d picked up something while her attention had been on Emily. Flowers. He held them out to her and cleared his throat. “You look amazing. I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

“Thanks.” Ashley’s face grew warm. The bouquet was a beautiful arrangement of daisies, her favorite. She took them from his hands and lifted them to her nose, taking a deep inhale. No man had ever given her flowers before. “I’ll go put these in water, and then I’ll be ready to go.”

She walked across the living room in five steps and stood in front of the kitchen sink. She didn’t own a vase. There was no need for a vase when she had no money to buy flowers and had no one to buy flowers for her. There must be something she could put her flowers in, though. An old milk bottle? No, the opening would be too small. Maybe one of her saucepans? That wouldn’t work either. She glanced at the corner of her kitchen, where she kept her recycling bin. A glass bottle that had previously contained peanut butter lay in the otherwise empty bin, but the jar was too small for this bouquet. She opened and closed one cabinet door, then turned to the other cabinet. Her childhood cookie jar sat on the top shelf, above the mismatched plates. It would be the perfect size. Except she couldn’t reach it.

“Michael, can you come here and give me a hand?” She offered him a smile. He hadn’t run away last night when her car broke, and he hadn’t run away at the sight of her apartment. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad.

He glanced around the room as he walked up next to her and held up his hand. “My hand is yours. Where do you want it?”

“What?” She replayed his words in her head.

“You asked me to come in and give you a hand. Here’s the hand.” He chuckled at his own joke.

“I, um . . . well, I don’t have a vase, so I was going to grab an old cookie jar, but it’s too high for me to reach.” She pointed to the cabinet next to her. “Can you get it? Top shelf.” She held her breath.

He turned and placed his hand on her waist while easily reaching up with his other hand to bring down the cookie jar. Then he moved his hand away from her waist and turned on the faucet. A stream of water gurgled out, and he carefully filled the jar, like people in his world regularly filled their mansions with flowers placed in cookie jars.

Some water sloshed onto the counter as he turned off the water.

“Be careful, it’s special.” She reached out to steady the jar on the counter. Her hand touched his, and it might have been her imagination, but it almost looked like he moved his hand over hers on purpose.

“Looks old. Was it yours when you were a kid?” He picked up the flowers from the counter and removed the wrapping around the bouquet.

“Yes. My mom used to keep it full of cookies for my friends and me.”

“What’s your favorite kind of cookie?” Michael’s voice was calm, comforting. No wonder his patients fawned over him.

The memory of mint teased her tongue. “When I was a kid, I loved these special chocolate peppermint cookies my mom made. She always let me add the chocolate chips to the batter and pretended not to see me eat half the bag. I still can’t make those cookies without thinking of her.”

“Sounds delicious. Do you still make them when you get together with her?” He placed the bouquet in the water, then turned to her with a satisfied grin on his face.

She frowned and grabbed a towel to wipe a drop of water on the counter. “We haven’t made them together in a long time. Things are, well . . . different now.” She looked at him again. She didn’t want to lie. Not to him. She leaned over the flowers and took a deep breath. “She and my dad died a few years ago. Car accident.”

“I’m sorry.”

She looked back at him. He hovered above her, tall and strong. Those words didn’t sound empty when he said them. “It’s ok. It happened a few years ago, and, well . . .” she trailed off and shook her head. She needed to change the subject. “You know my favorite cookie. What’s yours?”

He hesitated for a second before opening his mouth. “Promise you won’t make fun of me?”

She laughed. “Make fun of what?”

“My favorite cookie is oatmeal raisin.”

She shook her finger at him. “You’re teasing me.”

He shook his head. “I love oatmeal raisin cookies.”

“That’s the kind of cookie that grandmas make kids to give them something that sounds healthy. No one under the age of eighty could possibly say that’s their favorite cookie.”

He shrugged. “It’s my favorite. What can I say?” He flashed her a grin.

“Well, it’s only your favorite because you haven’t had any cookies that I baked.”

“I have had your cookies. I still love oatmeal raisin.”

She gasped. “Liar.”

“Nope.” He stepped closer to her and put his hands on her shoulders. He leaned his head in close and said, in almost a whisper, “Kelly sneaks me some of the treats you bring in to work. I’ve had your cookies, your brownies, your cake, everything. I still love oatmeal raisin.”

She placed her hand on his chest and gave him a slight push. He didn’t move an inch. “I don’t think I can go on a date with someone who loves oatmeal raisin cookies.” She tried to keep a straight face while talking.

“Fine. I’ll give you one more chance to convince me that there’s a cookie out there that’s better than oatmeal raisin.”

“If you have any good taste at all, it won’t be hard to do that.”

“When will you make them for me?”

She thought for a second. “Tomorrow afternoon. I’ll bring them to work on Monday.”

“Won’t they taste better fresh out of the oven?”

“Absolutely, but—”

He interrupted her. “Then I’ll be here tomorrow afternoon, and we’ll make them together. One o’clock work for you?”

She looked at his eyes closely. He looked serious. “Ok . . .”

“Ok?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Let’s make cookies tomorrow.” Was this actually happening? She had to call Emily and tell her all about it. He wanted to see her again, and their date hadn’t even started. Well, business meeting. But he wouldn’t bring flowers for a business meeting or look at her like that if this wasn’t a date. She definitely needed to call Emily and tell her about their plans to make cookies. Unless making cookies was code for something else . . . a chill ran through her.

“Look, Michael . . .” She lowered her gaze from his eyes before she got lost in their depths and forgot what she was going to say. “Thanks again for arranging this meeting with Chef Houghton. But I think we should cancel.” She should never have agreed to date him. He was out of her league. Theresa knew it. She knew it. And she needed to focus on graduate school. To make her parents proud by becoming a social worker, not spending her time dating.

“Does this have anything to do with what Theresa said to you in the cafeteria today?” His voice came out strained.

She shrugged. “Yes. No.” She shook her head. “It’s more than that. But how did you know—”

“Theresa was wrong. Her opinion doesn’t matter. It’s just you and me tonight.”

Ashley shook her head. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“Ashley.” He placed his hand under her chin and gently raised it so that her eyes were staring straight into his. “Say it one more time, and we’ll cancel tonight. I hope you don’t, but I’ll respect your choice. We can go on this date, or go as friends, and I’ll introduce you to Chef Jeff. Nothing more than that.”

Ashley considered his words. He sounded convincing, and she believed him when he said he’d leave if she wanted to cancel the date. But, her heart sank at the thought of turning her back on him. She didn’t want to cancel. Not really. She wanted to be close to him. Her legs had never felt like they’d give out from just one look before. She swallowed and nodded her head.

He let go of her chin and clasped her hand, then turned, pulling her gently. “Let’s leave before the restaurant closes.”