Believe: Not Until You, Part 7. Roni Loren

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       Chapter 33

      One month later

      “Marcela!” My father’s voice boomed from the other room, echoing through the hall.

      “Coming.” I sighed heavily as I scrubbed my hands. I was so not in the mood for that tone. I’d already had two emergencies this morning, plus had been faced with a devastated family when I’d had to put down their beloved fifteen-year-old tabby. The only thing I wanted right now was to take a lunch break and get a MexiCoke from the store next door to drown away my stress with cane sugar.

      But I dutifully headed to my father’s office. I leaned against the doorjamb. “Yes, Papá?”

      “What is this crap?” he asked with a scowl. “I told you what to order for the Whitcombs’ Rottweiler.”

      I nodded at the little tube of ointment he was holding in his hand. “That’s a better treatment. It works faster and he’ll only need a few doses instead of two weeks of applications to clear up the rash.”

      “Just because it’s the newest, fanciest cream doesn’t mean it’s better,” he said, tossing it onto the desk like it had dirtied his fingers.

      “I realize that,” I said, trying to keep my patience. “But in this case, it is better. Plus, he’s my patient now. I make the call.”

      My father looked up, his glare holding warning. “Order what I told you to order. I still make the final call in this practice. And I don’t need my clients spending more just to get a brand name when something else works.”

      In the past, that quelling look alone would’ve sent me cowering. But the more I worked with him, the more I was realizing how much of a bully he could be. And when we were here, I was supposed to be his co-worker first, daughter second. Not the other way around. I crossed my arms over my chest. “Would you bark an order like that at me if I were some other doctor you hired?”

      One bushy eyebrow lifted. “Yes, Marcela, I would. I am training you how I want this practice to be handled. Our clients expect a certain kind of service and when I retire, I want to insure that we continue to do that. And I appreciate that you learned some different techniques in school, but you need to remember who has the decades of experience here.”

      Like I could ever forget. “Yes, Dr. Medina.”

      He frowned. “Don’t be smart, Marcela.”

      “Sorry. I’ve been told I have a problem with that,” I said, remembering the playful way Foster used to call me smartass and the amused glint that would light his eyes when I’d spar with him. I turned on my heel, trying to tamp down the surge of loss that greeted me over the memory.

      Two, my mind silently made the hash mark.

      I was getting better. Already lunchtime, and it was only the second time he’d crossed my mind today.

      I grabbed my purse and headed out of the clinic to get some fresh air and food. There wasn’t much to do in Verde Pass for lunch, and I knew my mom would probably have something cooking since my dad went home daily for lunch. But a Mexican Coke and a chicken salad sandwich from the shop next door sounded way better than listening to my mother wax on about so-and-so’s son and how I should make a point to get to know him better.

      I stepped inside the Sip ’N Shop, the little bell announcing my arrival, and gave a quick wave to J.C., who covered the shop for his dad during the day. I bought what I needed, then took it outside to one of the picnic benches. The temperature was in the triple digits again today, but I couldn’t bear to be inside much longer. Plus, the shade trees arching over the tables and the faint breeze provided a sliver of relief.

      And apparently, I wasn’t the only one who’d had this plan for lunch today. Before I finished unwrapping my sandwich, a shadow crossed over the table. I glanced up and smiled. “Fancy meeting you here.”

      Michael Ruiz, now Dr. Ruiz the dentist, slid onto the other side of the picnic table. “Well, I’ve heard this is the hottest spot in town.”

      I took a sip of my Coke, the bottle sweating against my palm. “It definitely is hot.”

      Michael pulled a bottle of water from his bag. When we’d dated in high school, he’d had a Mountain Dew addiction, but apparently dental school had scared him off the hard stuff. “Hey, I’d be willing to take you to some place fancier, you know, with air conditioning and stuff, if you’d ever let me. I’ve heard the SUBWAY has an excellent charcuterie platter.”

      I smirked as I peeled the crust off my sandwich. Michael asked me out pretty much daily these days. I’d told him I was coming off a breakup and wasn’t ready to start dating again, which he’d respected. But he hadn’t stopped joining me for lunch to keep me company. I appreciated that he wasn’t putting pressure on me about it, just being a friend to me when I really needed one. But I knew that he would prefer it was more than that.

      Bailey had told me to give the guy a break—well, after I’d told her he was a doctor and had sent her a photo of him so she could verify he was of acceptable hotness. She was of the “get back on the horse” mindset, but the thought of going out with anyone held about as much appeal as watching a CSI marathon with my dad—which, incidentally, was what I’d done last weekend.

      “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, hoping it came across light and not like a jab.

      He pulled the butcher paper from around his sandwich, but his dark eyes stayed on me. “Want me to stop asking?”

      I sighed, elbows on the table, sandwich in hand. Michael had always been sweet to me. When we’d dated, we’d never gotten too serious, but I’d always known he was an inherently good guy. He’d be the type to take it slow, to be polite no matter what, and to yield to my preferences on where to go and what to do. He was everything on paper I’d always thought I wanted—good-looking, hardworking, and a guy my parents would be happy to see me with.

      He was an obvious choice, and I already knew we got along and that I’d have fun with him. I’d said no over and over again in ten different subtle and polite ways. But as I peered at him there across the table, I started to question my reasons. The stuff that had been holding me back was beginning to look more and more ridiculous—silly, romantic notions that belonged in movies, not real life.

      Maybe I didn’t need that thing. Whatever that thing was that I used to feel when I looked at Foster. In the end, that intensity had only led me straight to a heartbreaking dead end anyway.

      Time to change gears. Reboot. Get with reality.

      I reached out and put my hand over Mike’s. “Don’t stop asking.”

      His mouth СКАЧАТЬ