Page 2 of Dr. Scandal Claus

"That'll be five dollars and twenty-seven cents." If he hadn't recognized me yet, chances were he wouldn't. I slid the cup across the counter to him and set the sack with his muffin next to it, and he handed me his debit card.

I ran the purchase and left room for a tip, then handed him the receipt with the most genuine smile I could muster given the situation. He took it and signed it, but when he handed me the receipt and the pen, I tensed.

"Have we met?" he asked with the same narrow-eyed expression he'd given me moments ago.

"Uh," I fumbled, not sure what to say. "I don't think so. We see a lot of customers here. I think I'd have remembered through." I pushed the receipt into the cash register drawer and slid the pen into my pocket, trying to avoid his gaze.

"I've never been here before, but I could swear we've met…" Nick flashed me that near-perfect smile and I was a fool. I met his gaze again and almost swooned. It was the same smile he'd gotten me with that night. My God, how could I not have been swept away with it? He was a stunning specimen of a man and the things he did to my body were lighting me on fire even now, almost eight years later.

"Uh, nope. I don't think so." I shook my head firmly and nodded, already on my way back to the kitchen. "Come again soon!" I called and the entire walk to my office my knees were knocking. I heard the bell ring as he left, but I sank onto my chair and buried my face in my hands.

When I was certain I wasn't going to throw up, I looked at the picture of my son—framed in a silver frame on the corner of my desk—and stared into the same eyes I'd just lied to. Ethan looked just like his father, and I had a scandal of my own. Dr. Nicholas Edwards had never met his son because I'd been too ashamed to tell him I was pregnant and allow my life to be dwarfed by the hysterics surrounding his malpractice lawsuit.

I lied to him then, and I lied to him now. Both times for the same reason.

I had to protect Ethan from Dr. Scandal Claus and the web of hatred this town wrapped him in. And now I hated myself even more.

2

NICK

Iwalked out of the bakery carrying my cup of coffee and the white paper sack with my blueberry muffin, and I had the strangest sense that I knew that woman from somewhere. Her eyes were so familiar, and the sound of her voice. I could've sworn we'd met before.

The breeze was crisp, as was usual for Minnesota in December. All of Evergreen Creek was prepared for the festive holiday, except me. I didn't exactly hate the merriment of it all, but it did remind me how miserable and alone I was. Even the gorgeous baker who just served me this muffin and coffee with a smile would think differently if she knew what the rest of the town felt about me.

My head hung, though not in shame. I just always kept my head down so I didn't have to look people in the eye as I passed. It made the harsh whispers hurt less if I didn't know who was saying them, if I didn't have to see the disdain on their faces as the sting of their words hit my heart. I knew who I was, but after the way my ex ruined me, no one else did. All they could see was the scandal.

"Merry Christmas! Ho, ho, ho!" The loud shout of the bell ringer almost fooled me into looking up, but the nasty comment that followed reminded me why I always hung my head. "You think he'd know better than showing his face around here…"

I would've liked to say I was used to it, but it still felt like a kick in the gut every time someone said something like that.

I clenched the paper sack in my hand a little tighter as I walked down the sidewalk, my breath hanging in the air like a ghost of the man I used to be. The cold nipped at my face as a sharp reminder that the world wasn't kind. Not to me, at least. A few blocks down, I could already see my car parked under a streetlamp with a layer of frost covering the windshield. Just thinking of scraping that off made my mood sour more.

I glanced at the wreaths and twinkling lights in shop windows, the red ribbons tied around every lamppost, and the glowing icicle lights hanging from the roofs like some kind of nostalgic postcard. Normally, I'd have been the type to enjoy the holidays. I used to, back when I thought life could actually be good. But now, seeing everyone so happy only made the bitter ache inside me swell even more. The whole town was drenched in Christmas spirit, and all I could feel was cold.

As I walked past a couple of laughing kids building a snowman near the town square, I caught a glimpse of a few familiar faces. Not that they ever looked at me. People avoided me like I was some kind of infection, a contagious plague they didn't want to catch. I kept walking, pretending not to notice the sideways glances and hushed whispers.

A group of women stood near the town's nativity display, sipping their hot chocolate, the steam rising in soft curls into the frigid air. One of them spotted me, and her face instantly twisted into a sneer. I heard her whisper something to the others, and soon, they were all staring at me. The knot in my stomach tightened, but I didn't stop walking.

I used to care what people thought of me. I used to want their approval, their respect. But after Fiona and her father destroyed my life, I stopped caring. I had to. It was the only way to survive.

The truth was, I wasn't sure I even belonged here anymore. Not in this town, not in this life. Maybe that's why I couldn't stop thinking about the woman in the bakery. I shouldn't have even noticed her, shouldn't have let her face stick with me like it did. But there was something about her, something…different. I let myself feel some sort of connection with her when she smiled politely instead of giving me a biting remark and asking me to leave her shop. And that scared me more than anything.

Because the last time I let someone in, it ruined me.

By the time I reached my car, I could feel the weariness in my bones. The thought of sitting inside my cold, empty house was somehow more exhausting than the day itself. I pulled the door open, tossed my muffin onto the passenger seat, and sat down, taking a deep breath that did nothing to calm the storm swirling inside me. The coffee was already cooling off, but I took a long drink and savored the hints of peppermint as I started the car so it could warm up.

Then I picked up the muffin, unwrapping the paper with slow, deliberate movements, trying to ignore the echo of the bell ringer's cruel words still bouncing around in my head. As if I didn't already know how much the town hated me. As if I didn't hear it every day, in every passing look, every whisper behind my back. Fiona hadn't just ruined my career. When I found out how involved she was in the whole thing and ended things with her, she ruined my reputation as a man.

I took a bite, the sweetness of the blueberries momentarily distracting me from the bitterness lodged in my chest. The woman's face flashed through my mind again, and I found myself wondering—what would she think if she knew the truth? If she knew who I really was? If she knew how the courts saidI murdered that patient on my own table by neglect on my part…How the town believed I should've been in jail.

She wouldn't smile at me like that again, I knew that much. No one ever smiled at me once they found out.

Maybe it was time to leave Evergreen Creek. I'd thought about it before, especially in those dark nights when the walls of my house felt like they were closing in on me. But then there was the house itself—my parents' home, the one I promised them I'd never sell. I couldn't just leave that behind, could I? Even if it felt like I didn't belong here anymore, even if the town would never forgive me…Was I ready to break that promise?

I chewed slowly, staring at the frost retreating across the windshield, watching the world outside come into focus as the defrost warmed the glass. I thought maybe as time passed the fog over my career and personal life would clear like my windshield was. I was wrong. Time passed but nothing changed, except that I'd had the courage to try to rebuild.

I was still the pariah, the walking disgrace, the man whose name was always on the tip of people's tongues but never in a good way. Even when Norman Walsh set his own house on fire after drinking too much and setting off fireworks inside his garage on the Fourth of July, the town never lost hold of its grudge against me. They talked about him for a while, but soon forgot his mistake. Mine they still held against me.