I nod in agreement. “Thank God for air conditioning. I recently moved down from New York and I’m still getting used to the heat here.”
“I did my residency in New York. It’s a great city.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I say, amazed that we’re sitting here shooting the breeze.
Dr. Escobar’s attention is diverted by the arrival of a tow truck. “Oh, good, he’s finally here.”
Nooo, don’t leave, not when we’re getting along so well. “I’ll be happy to give you a ride to your office, if you like,” I offer with a cheery smile, hoping he’ll agree.
He flashes another megawatt smile. “I’ll take you up on that. It’s a short drive from here.”
“I know, I was just there.” Oops.
“Oh? I’ll let the receptionist know I’m on my way.” He calls his office. “Monique, I’ll be there shortly.”
Dr. Escobar starts speaking to Monique in Spanish and I love the sound of it, so exotic and romantic. I’ve been listening to Spanish CDs in my car ever since I moved down to Miami, trying to learn the pronunciation and not sound like a gringa. When she hired me, Antoinette told me to learn it because most of Miami’s social scene is bilingual. Good thing I listened to her. Gazing at Dr. Escobar, I decide my new goal is to be fluent in Spanish. I need to learn everything I can about the Cuban culture too.
We enter the office through a side door and I notice that Dr. Escobar’s staff looks like a model’s runway for clinical attire. They’re all such gorgeous model types, I have to wonder if it’s a pre-requisite for employment in his office.
Dr. Escobar greets them with, “Hola, chicas. We’ll just be a few minutes.”
“Come, Frrrancesca.” Frrrancesca. I love the way the r’s roll off his tongue as he says my name in his Cuban accent.
He puts a hand on the small of my back as he turns to the receptionist. “Hold my calls, Monique. I’ll let you know when to send in the first patient.”
Monique’s perfect, waxed eyebrows shoot up and I can see she’s less than thrilled to see me again, especially with him.
“Yes, Dr. E,” she replies with an adoring smile.
I smile sweetly at Monique and sail past her, relishing the curious looks from the rest of his staff. Figuring it doesn’t hurt to flirt with him a little, I add some boom cheeky boom to my walk before I enter his office. Unfortunately, I end up tripping over a wastebasket beside his desk and collapsing into a chair, my arms and legs akimbo.
Dr. Escobar laughs. “Are you okay? You seem a little jumpy.”
“Maybe a tad. It’s the setting, I have white coat syndrome. I get nervous when I go to the doctor.”
“You do?” He looks surprised.
Okay, that was way more information than I needed to divulge about myself. “Pretty lame for a medical reporter,” I admit with a self-deprecating chuckle. “But don’t worry—I’m a seasoned TV interviewer. I won’t let you down.”
He smiles. “I’m sure you won’t.”
What a nice vote of confidence. I look around his office and notice the impressive diplomas and awards. My gaze settles on a mounted photograph of Dr. Escobar flanked by an older woman and two young ones, all of them dark haired, beautiful and glamorous.
“Is that your family?” I ask.
“Yes, my mom and my sisters. We’re pretty close, like most Cuban families.”
“I’m close to my mom too. When she recently had a heart attack, I…”
Dr. Escobar glances at his sporty Rolex. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, Francesca, but I only have a moment to chat with you about the interview. There’s a room full of patients waiting to see me.”
“Oh, right, sorry.” Gosh, that was awkward. I wish he hadn’t cut me off like that, but I’m sure his afternoon is jam-packed with patients. “Well, I don’t want to take up your valuable time. Can we set up an appointment to talk about the heart campaign?”
“Sure.”
I decide to go for it. “How about lunch tomorrow? Are you free?” I ask boldly, holding my breath.
“I can probably join you around noon after my rounds at the hospital. But it has to be close by. Where do you want to meet?”
A light bulb goes off in my head. “How about Samantha’s Salads?”
“I have a better idea.” Dr. Escobar grabs the prescription pad from his desk and scribbles something on it. He hands me the prescription sheet.
“We can work on your white coat syndrome,” he says with a wink.
“Okay,” I agree, not knowing what he means, but the way he says it gives me a naughty thrill. I glance down to hide the tell-tale blush on my face. I read the paper and see he’s written, “Ortanique tomorrow night at 8”.
My questioning gaze shoots up to meet his steady one. “Drinks?” I ask, trying to control my excitement.
“And dinner,” he promises, flashing his movie star smile.
I smile back and wrack my brain for the word in Spanish that means delighted. “Empanada!” I say triumphantly.
He gives me an indulgent smile. “I’m not sure if they serve empanadas,” he replies.
“Huh?” What does he mean by that?
When I get back in my car, I check my pocket Spanish/English dictionary. Oh, no! Empanada means “filled pastry” in Spanish. Sigh. I should have said encantada which means “delighted”.
How embarrassing.
Back at the station, Antoinette summons me to her office and it’s all I can do not to cringe at her latest getup. Perched on high-heeled yellow patent leather Mary Janes, she’s wearing a black mini jumper dress with a silky black-and-white-striped blouse with short puffed sleeves and a flouncy yellow bow. I feel as if I’m talking to a bumble bee and wonder if I might have to reach for my EpiPen.
“Dr. Hamme was a hit. Everyone is clamoring to bring him back—especially the women,” Antoinette says.
“That’s great.” I try to make my expression look enthusiastic.
“Since your interview with him, we’ve gotten tons of emails from women asking if he’s single. And many want to know if he does private therapy.”
Yep, Devon would love to give private therapy, all right.
“Probably,” I reply.
“He was here earlier. So charming and brilliant. He’s a real lady killer.” Antoinette studies me as if seeing me for the first time. “You know he’s quite taken with you.” Her voice holds a hint of cynicism.
“He is?” I ask, feigning ignorance.
Antoinette nods. “He’s very impressed with your reporting skills. In fact…” She peers at me through shrewd eyes. “He wants to do a weekly segment on human sexuality with you.”
I’ll just bet he does. I try to hide my dismay. “What did you tell him?”
“I’m considering it, but only for the late night segment. Might pick up the ratings. You know how sex sells.”
“Yes.” I try to keep my wits about me. Why, God? Why does Dr. Hamme keep entering my life? The idea of appearing with him on a weekly sex segment gives me hives. Mom would probably have another heart attack. I don’t even want to think about Dad’s reaction if he saw Devon in action, dancing pecs and all.
“Who do you have lined up for your next interview?” Antoinette asks.
“Dr. Alex Escobar,” I say, with a surge of excitement. “If we do an in-depth interview featuring him as South Florida’s pre-eminent cardiologist, there’s a good chance he’ll agree to chair the Bowled Over event.”
“Good idea.”
“Thanks,” I say, beaming.
Not one for social chitchat, Antoinette turns to her computer screen and dismisses me from her office with a flutter of her sharp red talons.
“That’s all. You can get back to work now.”
As I close the door, Vinny intercepts me in the hall.
“Thought you might need this,” he says handing me a Starbucks cup. “Iced skim latte with a double shot of espresso.”
“Ooh, thanks, Vinny. You sure know how to spoil a girl.”
I take a sip of the creamy coffee, flavored with cinnamon and chocolate. “Yum. I’ll reimburse you as soon as I get my purse.”
“My treat, cherie.”
“Thanks, but I insist.”
With a shrug, Vinny follows me to my cubicle. The kid has a crush on me that is so endearing. “What did Antoinette say about Dr. Deviled Ham?” he asks. He leans forward and confides in a low voice, “Entrez-nous, I think boss lady may have the hots for him. He was in her office a looong time.”
“Now Vinny, I’m sure it was a professional meeting,” I chide him, even though his comments amuse me.
He cocks an eyebrow. “More like a rendezvous.”
I roll my eyes. “Let’s change the subject. I want to enjoy this latte.”
He makes a face of defeat and laughs.
“There’s a new club opening tonight called Rain. It’s decorated like a rain forest, with girls in skimpy Tarzan costumes swinging from trees.”
“Wow!” Vinny’s chocolate eyes bug out with excitement.
“I can’t make it there tonight. Will you cover for me?”
“Bien sur. Good thing I turned twenty-one last month.”
“Yeah, you sure have taken advantage of it,” I say, chuckling. I think Vinny has hit all the clubs in South Beach since his birthday. “We got a tip that supermodel Valentina will be there tonight with her “Dancing with the Stars” partner. Be sure to get some good coverage.”
“Mmm…Valentina? My pleasure.” Vinny gives me a high-five and leaves.
On the drive home, it starts to sprinkle outside. I’m glad I was able to leave by six today and still get a lot accomplished. It had to be the adrenaline rush I got from scoring a date with Dr. Escobar, my own “Dr. Heart”. I’m smiling to myself thinking about the amazing Dr. Heart when I turn on Alton Road and see Harrison jogging. Scout is running alongside him with a nice, easy gait.
I pull my Jetta up beside them and roll down the window.
“Hi!” I smile at Harrison and glance down at his dog. “Hey, Scout, need a ride?”
“Woof, woof, if you can put up with us. I’m all wet and my master smells like a dish rag,” Harrison jokes.
“No worries. I have a big beach towel in the back. Climb in,” I say feeling fabulous. This is my second rescue today.
“Who gets to ride in the front?” Harrison asks with a grin.
“Scout does,” I say, keeping a straight face.
I pull up on the swale and Harrison lets Scout in the back door.
“I’m pulling rank on him.” He gives me a warm smile. I love the way Harrison’s green eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles.
I lean toward him, pick up my purse from the floor and put it beside me to make room for his long legs. When I come close, I notice Harrison’s clean masculine scent mixed with the rain. He smells delicious—it’s Scout who smells like a wet dishrag.
“I got your message about jogging this morning, but I’d already left for the office,” Harrison says. “How about tomorrow morning?”
“Sure, what time do you want to meet up?”
“Seven. We can meet in the lobby.”
“That works for me.” I flick the windshield wiper switch to a higher level as the rain comes down faster.
“I was thinking we could…”
Harrison doesn’t finish his sentence, but instead grows silent for a moment. “What’s this?” He pulls the prescription Dr. Escobar gave me off from the dashboard where I had taped it. “Are you sick?”
“It’s nothing.” I reach for the paper, but Harrison has already read it.
“Ortanique tomorrow night at eight? Sounds like a date.”
And you sound like a detective. I hold my breath, hoping that Chloe hasn’t told him about my plan to marry a doctor. My face heats up and I hope that Harrison doesn’t notice my face turn pink.
“That should make you happy,” he observes in a wry tone.
“What?”
“A date with a real doctor.” He makes quotation signs with his fingers around the words, real doctor.
Great, Chloe blabbed…
Romeo: Shlurp, I’m still licking my chops after Doggy Gourmet. Francesca came home early today with Harrison and Scout’s scent all over her. Grrrrr, I feel like chewing up all her shoes. I’m stuck inside while she gallivants with my new friends.
Now she’s yakking on the phone with Chloe, telling her that she and Harrison are going jogging tomorrow morning. Lady, I have news for you—I’m going too. You’re not leaving me behind again.
Chapter Nine
“You okay?” Harrison peers into my flushed face as he jogs beside me. It’s early morning at Flamingo Park and we’ve just slowed down from jogging.
No, I’m not okay. I need to catch my breath. Thank God Harrison suggested that we leave Scout and Romeo to play in the doggy pen at Flamingo Park, aka the “bark park”, while we jog. No way could Romeo’s short legs have kept up with Harrison’s long strides. I’m having a hard time myself.
“I’m a little out of breath,” I say in between pants. Harrison, of course, looks great. He has barely broken a sweat and here I am on the verge of collapse. If I hadn’t had a recent check-up, I would wonder if my heart was in peril.
He smiles. “You’ll survive.”
“I have a sharp stitch in my side. Isn’t that a sign of appendicitis?” Truth is, I know it is and I can’t help feeling a little worried.
“Your appendix is on the other side,” he says in a dry tone. “That’s your spleen you’re pointing at.”
“My spleen? Can’t it rupture from over-exertion? I mean athletes seem to drop dead like flies all the time.”
Harrison looks skyward and then back to me. “You are not going to drop dead.” His brows draw together reproachfully as he shakes his head. “Why do you always go for the worst-case scenario?”
“I can’t help it. I’m a bit of a basket case when it comes to medical stuff. I guess you could say I’m a hypochondriac.”
“No kidding. I would have never guessed,” he says, deadpan.
My fist playfully connects with Harrison’s solid shoulder.
“Seriously, though. What kind of life is that? Save the worries for when there’s something to worry about.” His green eyes connect with mine briefly and then his gaze moves down to the tips of my Nikes and back up to my glowing face. “From where I’m standing, you look pretty fit to me, Frankie.”
The way he looks at me makes me feel fluttery all over and my heart begins to pound. My lips part and I’m breathing heavily through my mouth, practically panting, as I gaze back at him.
Oh, no—Harrison and I have chemistry! This time I can’t blame it on the aphrodisiacs from Tantra. Come to think of it, whenever I’m near him I get the same quivery flip-flop sensation in my tummy.
I try not to notice how green and thick-lashed his eyes are. Or how his lips look like they were made for long, slow kisses. Or how his strong, tanned neck beckons me to wrap my arms around it. Stop! I berate myself. He’s not the right doctor, dummy. I blink as my senses duel with my head and my head is rapidly losing this battle.
Harrison tilts his head and studies me. “What’s wrong?”
You are too appealing and…and it’s Dr. Escobar I’m interested in.
“Er, um, I’m having a hard time keeping up with you.”
“Let’s sit down for a sec.” His nice strong hand pats my shoulder and I miss it the minute he removes his hand. “We don’t have to jog anymore.”
“We don’t? I mean you don’t mind?”
“Not at all.” His eyes crinkle at the corners as his mouth eases into a warm smile. My tummy does another flip-flop as I return his gaze. I don’t want to leave any time soon. I’d rather stay and talk.
“Harrison…”
“Yeah?” His eyes zero in on me as he gives me his full attention.
“Why did you become a veterinarian?”
“As opposed to a ‘people doctor’?” he says wryly, completing my
thoughts.
My face flushes at his uncanny ability to read me. “I wasn’t going to say that,” I fib.
He raises a disbelieving brow and I blush even brighter. “Okay, maybe I was thinking that…but I wasn’t going to say it.”
“Fair enough.” His gaze connects with mine, sincere and earnest. “I’ve always had a close bond with animals. I was a scrawny little kid who stuttered around people, but when I was with my pets, I never stuttered.”
I smile at him. “I hear you. Animals aren’t judgmental, but—”
“People are,” he says, his tone brusque. “I was bullied at school because of it…and at home.”
“At home?” I’m shocked. Why didn’t Chloe mention this?
“My old man believed it was character-building to belittle his sons. I got the worst of it because I’m the oldest. Anyway Mom divorced him before he could harm my little brothers.” Harrison’s genial face darkens at the memory.
“I’m sorry.” I want to say more, but he shrugs.
“Don’t be. Everything’s cool now. When Dad left, I got speech therapy and stopped stuttering.”
“I’m glad.” I’m moved by his honesty and want to say more, but Harrison looks like he’s ready to change the subject.
“I love the way Flamingo Park looks after it rains,” he says, glancing around as we sit on a nearby bench. “It’s so different from Denver.”
I nod happily. “If I were back in New York, I’d be wearing jogging pants instead of these shorts in October,” I say, gesturing to my legs.
Harrison gives my bare legs an appreciative nod. “Good thing we’re in Miami.”
I grin, pleased by his comment.
He glances at his watch. “We should get the dogs soon.”
“Okay. Gosh, I don’t know what got into Romeo this morning.”
“Why?”
“When I tried to leave, he dashed out and ran inside the elevator. I tried to carry him back to my apartment, but he put up such a fuss, I gave in. I’m a pushover when it comes to that little cutie.”
“You need to let him know who’s boss.”
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