“This is so rude. I shouldn’t have asked you here. Like this. I thought maybe you didn’t get my number I left at the last appointment, and didn’t want to leave anything to chance.”
I make the mistake of meeting his eyes. My stomach drops, spins, tilts, and lands back where it’s supposed to be.
“That’s fine. It’s fine.” Typical chick response when things are not fine at all. “I have your number, could I get back to you at the end of the workday?” Buy time, Maeve. Even though you know you’re going to decline. Even though you want him so badly, it scares you. The electricity came back the second he did. This time it was worse, the pull to him felt as if it was a visceral attachment. More than a string—a short chain pulling me to him.
He narrows his eyes, trying to get a read on me, no doubt. Lincoln flicks his gaze to Turner then back to me. “Are you hesitating because of our situation with him being your patient or something else?”
I don’t owe him any sort of explanation, but I find myself looking for words. “I don’t date, really. Or, I should say, I haven’t for a long time.”
He shakes his head. “It wouldn’t be a date. More of me getting to know the person who my son is so fond of. We can talk about his case the entire dinner if that makes you more comfortable.”
It’s my turn to be confused. “We could do that here, though.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” His smile raises more on one side than the other. My stomach flips again. That response is super annoying.
“Fun and case discussion don’t go hand in hand, Mr. Wild. In fact, I’d argue the opposite is true. Which is it then, a date or case discussion?” I’m proud I got out something that resembles an intellectual response. Lincoln crosses his arms, and I try my best not to watch his tan muscles bunch and stretch in minuscule fractions. I swallow hard and cross my legs at the ankle.
He smiles a dangerous, sly grin. “Funny thing is, I don’t date either.” Oddly, I believe him.
I peek over my shoulder to make sure Aspen is still entertaining Turner. Not that the conversation is nowhere near work-related, I feel a sheen of sweat break across my skin. “Okay, then it sounds like case discussion. Do you want to schedule office time to go over the plan again?”
His thick neck works as he swallows and I try not to focus on it. “I’m pretty up to date on the plan, Maeve.” His top teeth linger on his bottom lip as he finishes speaking my name. “What I’m curious about is why I can’t seem to stop thinking about you.”
I stagger back, letting my free hand find the wall behind me. I’m not shocked. He’s saying out loud what I feel. “Me?” Oh, nice. What a time to lose my vocabulary. Lincoln slides his hands in his jeans pockets and shrugs. I have to close my eyes against the onslaught of emotions a simple gesture causes. Rexy did the same thing. “Sorry, I’m having déjà vu,” I explain, one hand waving.
“People tell you frequently that they can’t stop thinking about you?” He grins. “Not that I’m surprised by that, just that you’d admit it.” Lincoln is trying to joke, but the damage is done.
“I’m not ignoring that compliment, but I have to ask. What is it that you do again? For work?”
He narrows his eyes. “Will that determine if you agree to go to dinner with me?”
I look down at my feet in the red-soled flats and take in a deep breath. Yes. “No, of course not. It’s just that you remind me of someone. A few different people, if I’m being honest.” For the first time, I let my eyes scan the rest of him for clues. Once again, I recall his paperwork and how little information was on there. I know the signs, or lack thereof, if I am being honest. They are there and I am trying to tell myself they aren’t.
“Lucky dog,” he replies. “We can talk all about boring stuff like my job at dinner. What do you say?”
There is really only one answer right now, and I hate that I have to say it. It goes against the grain. Against everything I thought was true about myself. It’s terrifying and exhilarating. “What time and where?” I lower my voice at the end. Aspen knows full well we aren’t having a work conversation right now. It’s why she’s dutifully making airplane noises and flying a pamphlet across the lobby to the little boy.
Lincoln smirks. “Well, Dr. Ahern, you’ve made my day. Fixed up Turner and then some.” We both turn to look at the boy, and then back at each other. “How about tonight? The Rough Rose?” He cocks his head to the side. “You pick the time.”
I clear my throat. “I have some work to finish,” I say, thinking of how I haven’t been this ahead with my work in a long time. There isn’t anything for me to finish, today. It’s Friday and Turner is my last patient. “Six.” It gives me time to go home and talk myself into canceling.
Lincoln winks. In viewing that subtle, cocky gesture, I’m almost positive Lincoln Wilds is a man I shouldn’t give the time of day. My thoughts are broken when Ramona bustles through the entrance, covered in paint, a canvas tucked under her arm. A green smear washes over her left cheek.
“Maeve, I have to show you something,”
