only a bit of fun and, you know, there are all those sexy young doctors for you to tango with...’ Male attention had always been Talia’s solution to any worries and Mollie had never corrected her when she assumed the one disastrous serious relationship she’d forayed into was the reason she preferred the single life. While it had contributed, her ex’s horrified reaction to seeing her naked body, pretattoos, had plunged the dagger into what little left there had been of her self-confidence. There was no way she was tangoing with anyone, fully clothed or otherwise.
‘If you’re so keen, why didn’t you volunteer?’ There hadn’t been any sign of a significant other, nor had Talia shown any interest in venturing into the dating pool herself lately, which was so unlike her. Mollie was sure there’d been some sort of heartbreak behind her sudden desire to come home, not that she’d admitted it so far except to say things hadn’t worked out the way she’d planned.
‘I’m still a newbie around here. I doubt I’d bring in the money a well-established, well-respected specialist nurse could raise for a good cause.’
Flattery didn’t work with Mollie—compliments of any kind always made her suspicious when she was so aware of her every flaw—but she could see Talia’s intentions had been honourable. If there was one thing Mollie would always prioritise over her own comfort it was her sister’s welfare. She was still a newbie and Mollie didn’t want her new start jeopardised because she’d unintentionally ticked off senior staff. It could be easily rectified and they both knew it was only a matter of time before she caved and did whatever her sister wanted anyway. Her part in this well-rehearsed dance was to at least make a half-hearted protest so she didn’t seem like a complete pushover.
‘Do not ever volunteer me for anything else again.’ She knew Talia was only trying to help in her own way and didn’t want to discourage her from future endeavours—as long as it didn’t include putting her forward for things without her express consent first—but it was going to take all the courage she could summon to face Ben Sheridan and tell him there’d been a mix-up and she would be taking part after all.
That conversation wasn’t the only issue liable to keep her awake at night. Dancing would leave her exposed in ways she’d avoided for over a decade.
* * *
Tracking down a surgeon was no mean feat in a busy hospital. Mollie couldn’t even be sure he was here when he was in such high demand around the country. She’d refrained from having someone page him, doubting she could justify this as an emergency even if it was to her. She wouldn’t be able to relax until she’d sorted this mess out. Although, confirming her participation in the competition was merely going to create another problem for her to obsess over and direct her anxiety down another path.
By the end of her shift and numerous phone calls to the relevant departments it eventually became apparent that he was no longer in the building.
‘Try The Shed,’ was the general advice forwarded by those staff members who took an interest in his private life.
She could’ve waited until the next day to ask him to reinstate her place in the competition but when further enquiries, and a quick internet search, revealed The Shed was only two stops away on the Tube she decided to rip the sticking plaster off as quick as possible.
Just because she’d taken time to change and refresh her make-up before leaving work it didn’t mean she was making an extra effort for a certain surgeon. She wanted the protection of her most effective armour before going into battle.
Her vintage style was an acquired taste for some, but it had never been intended for anyone else’s benefit other than her own. That fifties’ retro look had seemed so glamorous to a young girl who’d struggled to accept her disfigured body and, after the accident, she’d adopted it in an attempt to project that confident image she so envied. She was grateful her face hadn’t been left permanently scarred in the accident and she liked to make the most of her best asset to take the focus off those areas she constantly worried about. The moment she painted on that bright red lipstick and winged black eyeliner she at least looked as though she were ready to tackle the outside world even if she was quaking on the inside.
It was only when she turned the corner towards the slightly run-down row of commercial buildings that she wobbled ever so slightly in her navy-and-white polka-dot platform shoes. Far from the glorified outhouse she’d pictured in her mind, ‘The Shed’ was housed on glass-fronted shop premises with the man she’d come to see visible through the window, or at least the bottom half of him encased in paint-splattered tight denim standing at the top of a ladder. The sight made her question if she was doing the right thing by encroaching on his personal time when he was clearly no longer in professional doctor mode. When she stopped to think about it she wouldn’t have appreciated him turning up at her house unannounced.
He began to descend the ladder and her chance for escape vanished as he spotted her through the window and waved her in with one hand while balancing a paint tray and paintbrush in the other.
‘Mollie!’ The sounds of hammering and drilling ceased as he announced her entrance to the room full of volunteers.
‘Hi,’ she mumbled, trying to block out all the eyes trained on their exchange.
The sudden turnaround on her decision to take part might cause him even more inconvenience and she’d no idea how this news was going to be received. With any luck he’d already picked up another partner since they’d last spoken, all this worry was for nothing and they could go back to being members of staff whose paths occasionally crossed during the course of their mutual patients’ treatment.
‘What brings you here? The sudden urge to brush up on your carpentry skills or add your name to our list of volunteers?’ The friendly welcome was a far cry from the prickly atmosphere that had developed between them at work and took Mollie by surprise. If he was disturbed by her sudden appearance he hid it very well as he guided her away from the centre of attention towards the back of the room, leaving everyone else to go back to their woodwork and chat.
‘Er...maybe next time. Although I’m not entirely sure what I could do to help.’ Seeing him sacrifice what little time he probably had free on his busy schedule guilt-tripped her into suggesting she might be talked into a second visit. One that would see her rolling up her sleeves and getting dirty, no less.
‘Every little helps. I can’t say my own skills go beyond touching up the paintwork every now and again but I try. As you can see.’ He gave an apologetic nod towards his emulsion-covered attire, which drew Mollie’s attention to the faded grey T-shirt stretched tight across his broad chest. It left much less to the imagination than the loose cotton shirt he’d been wearing earlier. Probably for health and safety reasons when that small patch of smooth skin showing through the sizeable rip in the shoulder seam was so distracting.
She forced herself to maintain eye contact. ‘It looks great. Fresh.’
‘We’re expecting the dance competition to bring us a lot of interest in the local press so we’re trying to spruce the place up. We want any potential donors or sponsors to see the potential in keeping this going for the community.’
She could see that they were all working hard to make a good impression on those who held The Shed’s sustainability in the folds of their wallets, as there was as much cleaning going on around here as there was woodworking. That urge to offer her help became too great for her conscience to ignore.
‘Perhaps I could come back some time and paint a mural on the wall to brighten things up a bit?’ She was already thinking of how she could add trailing
