by Brisa Starr
“Good morning, Dad,” I say as I walk into the kitchen.
“They all are, dear,” he responds, and I huff a laugh. He’s always got a funny quip.
“Drink your coffee and then take the vitamins labeled ‘TAKE WITH BREAKFAST.’”
“Yes, dear. Thank goodness I have you here to tell me everything I need to do. It means I don’t have to make any of my own decisions until 2:00 p.m.”
I ignore his joke. “And don’t sit in that chair all day! I’m checking your watch later to see if you’ve closed your ‘standing’ and ‘exercise’ rings.”
“Hmpf!” He thinks I’m tracking him all the time with his smartwatch, and he’s right. I am!
“I love you, Dad. I’m off to work.” I kiss his cheek and walk to the front door. “Call or text me if you need anything.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, trying to sound annoyed, but I know he appreciates it.
I get in my ten-year-old, red Volvo, named Cherry Berry, that I refuse to sell, and I pull out of my driveway. On my way to work, I visit my favorite café, Sally’s Café, to get my iced jasmine green tea, to-go.
“Hey, Sally! How are ya?” I call out over the bell that rings as I walk in. I smile seeing the place is busy, which means the summer crowds are filling Sally’s pockets.
“Super! How are you doing, beautiful?” she sings back. Sally’s in her late fifties, with graying brunette hair, a full figure, and a plus-sized smile and personality to match.
I blush because Sally has been telling me I’m beautiful every day for the past three years when I come in to get my regular order — my daily green tea. She’s exaggerating, but I blow her a kiss, anyway.
Her husband died years ago, so she started this café to stay busy and sell her famous cheesecakes. Everyone in our small town loves them, myself included, though I don’t indulge often. Her café is warm and one of my favorite places in town. I’ve been known to curl up in the green leather chair in the corner with my books for hours on end.
While she makes my iced tea, I admire her elegant, smooth skin. I hope I look as good as she does by the time I’m her age. She’s a spunky thing, too, and I’m glad she opened up her café across from the town square, one of my favorite spots in Prescott.
She proudly wears her shoulder-length, gray hair in a high, bouncy ponytail, taking ten years off her face with that style, and her dark, ocean-blue eyes are never without her trademark blue eyeliner. She says you won’t catch her dead without it, even sleeps in it so she wakes up with it on in the morning. She claims you never know if there will be a fire and a strapping young firefighter will have to rescue you.
Despite our age difference, we’ve become good friends, and she’s like a mom to me, which I’ve lacked all my life. Sally was there also for me through the Lance travesty, and she’s my library buddy, too.
“I’m doing well,” I say. “I’m in the middle of that military romance novel you lent me.” I smile and lean over the counter, putting my hand up to my mouth to whisper, “Talk about steamy!”
She laughs, “Oh yes, ma’am, that’s a sizzling one, especially when he did that thing to her!”
I giggle and grab my tea at the pickup end of the counter, and she hollers out to me, “I’ll put it on your tab, sugar! And tell your da... Oh wait, Ash!”
She reaches into the cooler and grabs a small to-go bag and walks over to me. “I cut your dad a piece of cheesecake. With xylitol!” Excitement bounces in her eyes.
“Oh! Cool! He’ll be so happy to try this, Sally. Thanks for making one without sugar. He really misses dessert.”
She hands me the bag and says, “When we were talking at the library last time, about how you’re cutting sugar out of his diet, I got to thinking it’d be a marvelous idea to make some of my cheesecakes without sugar. Tell him I want his honest opinion,” she says and winks. “He can be my official taste-tester.”
“Will do, he’ll love that job!” I laugh and turn to go. “Thanks, Sally. Have an outstanding day! I’ll see you tomorrow!” I call out and leave.
Excited for the day ahead, I bounce back to my car. I love my job. Being a physical therapist is rewarding. I love helping people get better, and the hands-on aspect means I’m active most of the day. Which reminds me, I need to call Dad later and remind him to walk around the block to get his steps in. I set an alert on my watch to remind myself to remind him.
I pull into my reserved parking spot — because I’m Employee of the Month — and grab my things. It was a sweet victory beating Kurt and Tracy for it, my friendly rivals in the clinic. I cut the engine and grab my things.
Our clinic is small, like our town, but between the three of us, we each get a fair chunk of the year in the designated parking spot. It’s nice to park so close to the building in the winter when there’s snow.
I go inside, giant iced tea in hand, and I’m ready for the day. “Hey Tracy,” I say when I pass the reception desk.
“Hey Ash! How’s it going?”
“Super! How are you?” I call over my shoulder as I turn into my office. I put the cheesecake in the tiny mini-refrigerator I keep there and have a seat at my desk. My office isn’t spectacular, but it’s nice. It has the usual anatomical posters and medical charts hanging on the walls in wooden frames, but I’ve added a few personal touches over the years, like paintings I bought to support local artists at the annual art fair here in town. I also have a groovy salt lamp on my desk for a relaxing ambiance.
Tracy comes into my office and says, “Hey Ash, your first patient is running late.”
“Oh, OK, thanks!”
For situations like this, I always have my book with me. Correction, my two books with me. I hold up my watch to my face, “Hey Siri, add a reminder to go to the library.”
Now that my first patient won’t arrive for almost an hour, I open one of my books, and pick up where I left off last night. I lean back in my chair and kick my feet up on my maple desk.
A few minutes later, there’s a knock on my door, and I look up to see Kurt pop his head in. “Hey, Kurt, what’s up?”
“Hey, good morning, Ash. I’ve got a new patient, and he’s out in the waiting room, but I’ve gotta take care of something in town for the house I’m trying to buy. Can you please take him for me? I’ll owe ya!”
Of course I’ll help him out, but I have to give him a hard time about it for fun. I hold my book up in front of my face. “Oh, gosh, I don’t know, Kurt. This is such a delightful scene in my book. Hmmm mmm mm.”
“Fine,” he says, overemphasizing the word, and then he sweetens the deal. “I’ll tell Sally to put your green tea on my tab for the next five days if you help me out.”
I lower my book just low enough for my eyes to show. “OK, fine,” I mumble, like it’s a hardship, and then I giggle. “Of course I’ll take your patient.” I turn my book over on the desk and add, “But I still want my iced tea!”
“You’ve got it. And thanks.” He leaves and closes the door behind him.
I stand up to stretch, and I realize he didn’t leave the patient’s file for me. Oh well. I put my book down and head to the waiting room to see my new patient. I open the door and look up.
Oh. My. God.
It’s him.
Luke Firestone.
2
Ash
He’s the only patient in the waiting room, so he must be Kurt’s next appointment. I swallow hard, and my pulse speeds up. I step into the waiting room, and, fuck my life, I trip on the rubber toe of my sneakers. The upper part of my body flies forward, waiting for the lower half to catch up. My heart leaps into my throat, and I damn near fall flat on my face, but thank god, I recover and steady myself.
I look up.
Phew. He didn’t notice.
Damn these shoes.
In fact, he doesn’t even see me. He’s scowling at his phone, and grim shadows darken his face. I note his bad posture, too, but he’s still gorgeous.
I clear my throat. “Mr. Firestone?
” As a professional, we keep things formal with our patients, even though I’ve known him forever.
He looks up, and I see those jade-green eyes I used to dream about every night. My heartbeat picks up, double-time, and those yellow butterflies flap their way back inside my stomach. Before my knees melt, I manage to blink some professionalism back into my face.
He says nothing, so I repeat myself, “Mr. Firestone?”
He still just looks at me. And, he’s frowning. What the hell?
Finally, he speaks. “No,” he says. And then, after he sees my confused expression, he adds, “Mr. Firestone is, I mean was, my dad. You can just call me Luke.”
Shit. That’s right, his dad just died.
Way to go, Ash.
“I’m sorry,” I say and nod my understanding. “Luke.”
He eyes me, like he might recognize me. But he doesn’t seem to. His eyes drop to my chest, and I take a deep breath. Oh my god, is he looking at my breasts? My face heats, but then I realize... oh. No. He’s not looking at my boobs. He’s looking at my name tag.
“Ash?” he asks.
“Yes. I’m Ash. Ash Markson. I’ll be your physical therapist today.”
He stands up to shake my hand, and I realize he really doesn’t recognize me. Geesh, I only lived across the street from him my entire life. My ego gets squashed to the size of an ant. I put my hand in his, and, my shattered ego already forgotten, my insides melt to goo from his good looks.
“Nice to meet you,” he says slowly. His strong grip is manly, and I don’t want to let go. Then, he wrinkles his eyebrows as he regards me, leaning his head closer. Still holding my hand, I note.
“You look familiar. Do we know each other?”
I enjoy the proximity of his tall and beautifully proportioned body, but it’s hard not to take offense that he doesn’t remember me. In fairness, the last time he saw me was ten years ago. I had brown, shoulder-length hair back then. I didn’t highlight it like I do now. I was also in high school, and had glasses, braces, and probably zits.
I take a breath and reluctantly pull my hand from his. If I’m not mistaken, he didn’t readily let it go. Nah, probably my imagination.
“Well, yes, actually. I’m your neighbor. Well, not your neighbor, but I’m neighbors with your mom, and you and me? We used to be neighbors.” I’m careful to avoid mentioning his dad this time. I’m a quick learner.
He still hasn’t made the connection. “Across the street from your mom. Like, literally. The brown and white house with red shutters?”
Recognition slowly dawns on his face like a bright sunrise. Where are my sunglasses when I need them? He remembers me!
“Oh!” he says, “You mean Ash…leigh? I remember you.” He cocks his head. “You look different.”
I’m hoping by “different” he means better. But he doesn’t say that.
“Yep. That’s me. People call me Ash now. Let’s head to the back and fix you up.”
I get his paperwork from the front desk, and we turn to leave the waiting room, when a waft of his manly scent hits my nose. Wow, he smells good. He smells like all things earthy and fresh. Like fresh snow. No, wait, that’s not it. Like pine trees on a mountain. Yes, he smells like pine trees on a mountain. With snow. And maybe stardust? I don’t know what stardust smells like, or snow, but it’d smell like this, I’m sure.
I make my legs move and lead him to one of the examination rooms. I put my physical therapist head back on straight, and say, in my most professional tone, “Luke, have a seat on the table, and tell me what brings you in today.” Unfortunately, it comes out more masculine than I intended, and he looks at me with furrowed brows.
I clear my throat like there’s a hairball in it, distracted by his gorgeous hair, and I try again. I sit on a black, round stool with wheels by the wall and roll toward him, only my push from the wall is aggressive, and I roll too fast, bumping into the table he’s sitting on.
“Whoops,” I mumble and distract myself with his chart, holding it up to block my face until the blush on my cheeks fades. “Mm hm,” I mutter, pretending to read his paperwork.
I put it down on my lap, and he’s saying something, but I don’t hear him because I’m thinking how no one’s hair should be that beautiful. Sandy blond and so damn full. And it’s his natural color, too. I get my hair to a similar color, but I’ve got to suffer highlighting the hell out of it every six weeks.
I put my fingernail in my mouth, thinking more about his hair, when he says, for the second time, I think, “Ash?”
“What?” I drop my hand into my lap and blink rapidly. Oh my god, how embarrassing. My finger in my mouth?
“Are you OK?” he asks, looking perplexed.
My cheeks get hot and must be turning the color of red maple leaves, but I rebound and say, “Um. Yes! I’m perfect. I mean, I’m great. Thanks. How are you?” Unfortunately, it comes out like I popped two Adderall pills this morning, and I wish I could hide under a rock.
He gives me a sidelong glance, not sure of what to make of me. Maybe even wary now, and definitely unhappy.
I take a breath to center myself, go wash my hands, and return to my stool. “What brings you in today?” I ask, hoping to smooth things over, now that I’ve pulled myself together a bit, and speaking normally isn’t such a monstrous effort. “I’m sorry, it’s been a long day,” I say, nodding confidently, but I glimpse at my watch and see it’s only 9:30 a.m. I swallow doubly hard.
I’m going to get fired.
My behavior is ridiculous.
Well, unless you consider the god sitting before me.
He starts talking again, and my physical therapist brain tracks. But his expression is grim. I’m definitely getting fired. And, no wonder... I’ve been all things unprofessional.
“I was out this morning climbing boulders, and when I jumped, I don’t think I warmed up enough. Shit. I don’t know, I might have pulled my groin. That’s why I’m here, for you to tell me,” he snaps.
I’ve upset him. His cold tone sends a frosty chill down my spine.
I perfect my already perfect posture and say, “No worries. OK, great! Well, wait. I don’t mean great you got hurt, but, oh… never mind. Lie back and I’ll do an examination. We’ll get to the bottom of you. I mean, it!”
I mentally slap myself in the face.
He narrows his eyes at me.
Shit. I’m totally losing my job.
3
Luke
Fuck! I can’t believe I injured myself. I grind my molars, pissed and annoyed.
But I had to go do it. I had to get out of the house first thing this morning. The pain in my mind was suffocating me. I needed to escape.
Being back here in Prescott will destroy me. I don’t know if I can stay, even for my dad’s funeral. It’s all too much.
Trying to cope, I woke early to scale the nearby boulders, craving that focus, the intensity of doing something mentally and physically challenging. Distraction. I needed my adrenaline rush. In this sleepy little town, that’s about the most adrenaline rush you can get.
If only I hadn’t come back down off the rock when I realized I didn’t have my ear buds. I needed loud music to drown out my thoughts, and I can’t believe I forgot them. They were back in my car. I jumped over a fallen tree, and that’s when I injured myself. Careless and stupid.
“Mr. Firestone?” a woman’s voice said, and a new pain stabbed me. Mr. Firestone was my father, not me. I haven’t processed the loss yet, and I don’t want to start now. I was never very close to my dad. He had this kind of aloofness about him. He was a good provider, but a kid needs more than food and a roof over his head from his dad. Whatever connection we had suffered when I stopped coming back to Prescott ten years ago, after that horrible accident.
But when the physical therapist said “Mr. Firestone,” my heart sank into the bottom of my gut.
That is, until I saw her.
I raised my eyes and connected her face to the voice, and a thin threa
d of peace bloomed in my heart. I don’t even know why, other than that she’s stunning.
I take a moment to study her.
Her long, lustrous hair is tied back in a ponytail. Its contrasting brown and light blond colors remind me of chocolate and caramel swirled ice cream. She has a beautiful face with ivory skin and hazel eyes, framed with long black lashes I could fan myself with.
I wish I’d recognized her. But I didn’t, and she’s offended. She’s definitely grown up from the Ashleigh I knew as a kid. No wonder I didn’t recognize her. I get a whiff of her scent... or is it her perfume? She smells like lavender and the moon. Like magic. I close my eyes for a moment.
She smells nice.
“What brings you in today?” she asks.
Oh, right. I rub my hand down my face and cringe at the memory. I tell her about jumping over the log. My tone is harsher than I’d intended, and she winces. But I’m not pissed at her, I’m pissed at myself.
She stumbles over her next words. Is she always like this?
“So that’s where you went this morning,” she says, and she must regret saying it, because her face flushes the color of her scrubs, bright pink.
My eyes dart back to hers. “What do you mean? Were you watching me?”
“No!” she says, too quickly. “I was on my porch, headed out for my morning run, and I saw you leave your house. It was early, and most people aren’t out at that time.”
“Yeah. I know. But I just... I just had to.” I look away, murkiness settling back inside me.
“OK. Anyway. Let’s get started. I’ll do a physical exam, and then we’ll put ice on it. After we diagnose the issue, I’ll review some therapy options. But most likely, you’re just gonna have to ice it for a couple days.”