was a tradition thing. I think you did it because you wanted Hannah there with you and that was the closest you could come,” he said, and her stomach did a little flip of uncertainty, because the guy was nailing it. “But clearly wedding talk isn’t wowing you as much as it’s upsetting you.”
“I’m not upset,” she lied, refusing to show him how hard it still was to talk about her grandmother. “I’m tired.”
“Then I’ll speed this up. You prefer baths but take showers to save on time. You have an appreciation for unexpected pairings, like pepperoni and green olives, dipping chocolate in jelly, oversized T-shirts and tiny panties. You’re a neat freak, but I bet you have one place where you say screw it and throw order and tidiness out the door.”
Her expression must have given away her surprise, because he laughed. “Is it the inside of your purse? Or maybe it’s your car, littered with wrappers, empty water bottles, and probably even a few of those madeleine cookies floating around in case of emergency. Wherever it is, I bet it’s a complete disaster. You are as much a romantic as a pleaser. You think nothing of sacrificing what you want in order to make things easier for other people, which is why you’re okay with being called Annie when you prefer Anh.”
A raw and familiar vulnerability swept through her, filling her heart before spilling over and burning like acid on metal everywhere it touched. Either he was incredibly intuitive or everyone else in her life was blind. And she wasn’t sure which upset her the most.
“You’re staring,” he said roughly.
“Just trying to figure you out is all, but since that would likely take longer than a PhD, and I have an early morning, I say we call it a night.”
“I guess even bleeding hearts need their sleep.”
“I guess they do.” And before she did something stupid, like climb onto his lap and ask him to tell her a fairy tale, Annie flipped the switch, plunging the room into darkness.
Oh boy, was that ever a bad move.
She should have made Emmitt turn off the light after she locked the bedroom—with her safely on the other side. Then she wouldn’t have noticed the way his Calvin Kleins seemed to grow brighter—and bigger—by the second. Perhaps her eyes were merely adjusting, still fully dilated to take in as much light as possible.
Or maybe her luck had finally hit rock bottom, because his undies were, without a doubt, glowing. The more her eyes became accustomed to the dark, the more confused she became, until she could hold back her laughter no longer. Emmitt of the “superior intuitiveness” Bradley wore a pair of glow-in-the-dark boxers.
She laughed as the shapes took form. “Are you serious? Kittens and rainbows.”
His grin grew two sizes that day. “Tell me, Goldilocks. Is it too big or just right?”
Annie went through all the options she’d laid out before and decided on option five. A full, humiliating retreat.
She turned and ran, as if hellhounds were nipping at her butt, and made it to her room in two leaps, slamming the door before jumping into bed. Still feeling ridiculously embarrassed, she pulled the covers over her head and closed her eyes for extra protection.
“Was it the kittens?” he called through the door.
Chapter 6
Her mom often called her stubborn. Whereas Annie liked to think of herself as determined. But as determined as she was not to lose another second of sleep over the man in the glow-in-the-dark boxers, when the first hint of sun peeked through her window, she found herself wide awake.
Every time she’d closed her eyes, her breathing would become ridiculously erratic, her heart nearing stroke level.
“He’s not all that,” she said while she lay there until the combination of the comforter and her hot breath turned her bed into a sauna and she felt as if she’d suffocate.
“Damn him.” She threw the covers back.
There was no way she could face him. She’d never be able to unsee all of... that. She’d never be able to look at a Calvin Klein ad and not have some kind of visceral experience. And she sure as hell couldn’t, under any circumstances, let him know that he’d gotten to her.
Nope, no man had the power to derail her life. And the one outside her bedroom door was not going to steal another moment’s peace from her.
She climbed out of bed and walked to the bathroom.
Feeling like a zombie, she took her time in the shower—letting the hot water run until she’d emptied the water heater. It didn’t help much. Her eyes were still gritty, her brain sluggish, and she ended up washing her hair with shaving cream. Which meant that every time she caught a whiff of her hair her nipples tightened.
Annie didn’t know how she did it, but somehow she managed to talk herself out of crawling back into bed with trusty old B.O.B. Instead, she changed into jeans and a T-shirt, then, afraid he was still parked outside her door as he had been when she’d checked earlier, she did what any mature woman in her situation would do.
She quietly climbed out the window and ran for her car, sure to rev the engine a few times and wish him a long and loud good morning honk just in case he was still asleep. But as she peeled out of the driveway, an irritating thought jumped into her head.
Had she outsmarted him, or played right into his hand?
* * *
It was a new experience to go unrecognized at her place of work, and Annie relished her anonymity at Rome General. With her scrubs in her bag and a bouquet of wildflowers in hand, she wasn’t dressed the part of physician’s assistant.
In Connecticut, that wouldn’t have mattered. She would have been spotted, and approached, by a dozen colleagues and patients before she’d even cleared the lobby. There would be questions—so many questions—about the wedding, her feelings, Clark, until eventually the inquisitors would arrive at the questions everyone wanted to ask: Why did she think Clark had called it quits?
If Annie knew the answer to that, then she wouldn’t have had to relocate for perspective.
Here in Rome, Annie was an unknown. A fresh face, able to walk the halls of the ICU undetected. Able to focus on providing the kind of unconditional nurturing that had drawn Annie to medicine in the first place. She wanted to spend her days proving that every person deserved to be cared for.
Today, that person was Gloria, a retired school bus driver who needed a little extra in the care department. Could benefit in some support to help her overcome her fear of hospitals long enough to have her gallbladder removed. Annie wasn’t there to read Gloria’s chart or take her pulse. She had come to the hospital hours before her shift began simply to hold the older woman’s hand.
No one deserved to feel alone.
The ICU was uncharacteristically quiet as Annie made her way to Gloria’s room. She lay in the bed closest to the window, her eyes closed, still coming out of the anesthesia. Annie silently walked over to the window.
Outside, the sun was radiant, shining through fluffy white clouds and blue skies. A slight breeze swayed the crape myrtles that lined Main Street, resembling dual
