Page 15 of Merry with Me
She nods. “I’ll buzz you through. I don’t know if he’s in his office or still finishing with his last patient before lunch. Go on back and wait for him in his office.”
Reading her name badge, I say, “Thank you, Sara.” I hold up the bag that I picked up from the local diner in town. “I hope he’s hungry.”
“He’s a grouchy bear today, so maybe that will help.” She snickers.
“Hard to work for?” I ask, knowing that I’m close to overstepping bounds, but as they say, curiosity killed the cat, and I am hella curious about Dr. Thompson. I shouldn’t be questioning his staff, but the words slipped out before I could stop them, and now, I’m definitely sticking around for the answer.
“Oh, no, not really. He’s quiet most of the time. He does have his moody days, but he’s not mean or anything. Just a grump.” She chuckles. “Patients love him. He’s a great doctor.”
I smile. “Good to know. Thank you again.” I move to the door, and after the sound of a buzzer, the lock disengages, and I’m able to step through the door.
The hallway is empty as I make my way to Dr. Thompson’s office. His door is open, but he’s nowhere in sight. His desk is immaculate, so I take the liberty of setting up for our lunch. That way, we can eat and get right down to business. I know from his nurse, Kathy, when I called last week to set this up, that he has a full schedule of patients today. I don’t want to put him behind, so we have a lot to cover in a short amount of time. In fact, I think I’ll start eating so that he can just eat and listen. It’s not as if I expect him to have any kind of input.
I don’t even know why I’m here.
“Yes, you do,” I mutter to myself. I don’t know him well, but there is something in his eyes that tells me there’s more than just a grumpy doctor inside of him. He hates Christmas, and I’m nota psychologist, but something must have happened to cause that reaction. Christmas, hell, all of November and December are the best times of the year. He doesn’t know what he’s missing. Then again, maybe he does. Either way, I’ve, for some unknown reason, decided I’m going to try to give it back to him.
I want him to feel the joy.
I want him to experience the love.
I want him to celebrate the season.
Trust me, I’m fully aware that I have my work cut out for me, but I’m up for the challenge. Sure, I could just piss him off even more, but in my heart, I won’t be able to live with myself until I try. Maybe he just needs someone to try and to keep trying. If that’s the case, I’m his girl. Well, nothisgirl, but you know what I mean. I’m the woman for the job. There, that’s better, even in my head, that sounds more… professional.
Opening my container of beef and noodles, mashed potatoes, and green beans from Dorothy’s Diner, I dive into my lunch. I scoop up the first bite and moan at how damn good it is. I hear a choking sound and look up to find Dr. Thompson standing like a statue just inside his office, and his eyes are locked on me.
“Sorry,” I mumble as I cover my mouth with my hand while I finish chewing. “I thought I’d start eating so that I can get through my list and let you get back to your day.” He remains frozen, and I start to worry I have food on my face. “Do I have something on my face? That was a huge bite, but it’s so good. I got carried away, but trust me, you will too. I mean, usually, I get the most carried away with dessert. Dessert with lots of whipped cream. Do you like whipped cream?” I can feel my face flame with embarrassment. I close my eyes, willing myself to shut the hell up. I’m rambling on like a fool. I can’t help it though. Dr. Thompson, Oliver… he’s sexy as hell, and him standing there staring at me, all broody and whatnot, has my nerves frayed.
Slowly, I open my eyes, knowing that I need to face this rambling crazy mess I just made myself look like. However, when my eyes meet his, they’re flaming with… desire? Is that possible? He looks like he’s ready to eat me. I shift in my seat, because I don’t hate that idea at all, and I can’t allow myself to go down that particular line of thinking.
Not here.
Not now.
I’ll save all my naughty thoughts for when I’m at home in my room all alone. That way, I can take them with me to the grave. No way will I admit that the grumpy doctor does it for me. Nope. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever. I’m keeping that shit locked up tight like a bank vault.
Clearing my throat, I say, “I have a list.” I point to my tablet on the corner of his desk, as if I need proof that I’m here to work and not just ogle him while eating my lunch in his office.
That seems to break him out of his daze. “I’m sure you do,” he says gruffly. He moves to the opposite side of his desk and reaches beneath, pulling out a lunch box.
“Oh, I brought you lunch too.” I push the second Styrofoam container toward him. Did he think all of this was for me?
“You brought me lunch?” There’s disbelief in his tone.
“Yes. I wouldn’t ask you to take your lunch break time to meet with me and not provide you with lunch. It’s from Dorothy’s here in town. It’s really good.”
He nods. “I’m a fan of Dorothy’s.”
“I can remember eating there all the time growing up. I’d go to work with my dad, and we’d walk there for lunch from his shop.” I don’t know why I just told him all of that. He doesn’t care about my life, but that’s who I am. I share. I’m an open book.
I watch him as he opens the container. “Thank you for this.” His eyes meet mine, and I wish I had my phone out so I could take a picture as the corner of his mouth lifts in a small grin.
“You’re welcome.” We both dive into our lunches and eat in comfortable silence. I assumed it would be awkward, but it’s not. Not at all. I’m stuffed after only eating half, so I close the lid, wipe my mouth, and take a long pull of my water before grabbing my tablet. “Do you mind if I talk while you finish eating?”
“You barely touched yours.” He’s frowning at my now-closed lunch container.
“I’m stuffed.” I heave a sigh and place my hand on my belly, which feels as if it could pop open. “I can’t eat another bite.”