Page 22 of A Dark Fall
Do I feel disappointed he hasn’t contacted me? Maybe. Do I want him to? Absolutely not.
I’m typing up today’s notes back at the surgery when I hear a small knock on the door, and then Anna pops her head around.
“Hey, Alex. Sorry to interrupt, but these arrived for you.” She comes into the room carrying a gorgeous bunch of white roses framed with green leaves. I frown, confused, as she brings them toward me. “They’re so beautiful I gasped. Special occasion?” she asks, setting them down on my desk.
“Um, no, not at all.” I shake my head. Dad, maybe? He sends me a bouquet every year on my birthday, but that isn’t for months. Maybe he wants to cheer me up. God, I must have looked miserable yesterday.
“I think there’s a spare vase in the kitchen. I’ll get it for you,” Anna says and disappears out of my office.
From my angle, I notice a flash of white in the green and reach in to fish the creamy white card out of the bouquet and tear it open. It’s handwritten in a neat, boyish scrawl, and it causes my heart to flip over.
~ Like I said, I want to see you again. ~
His mobile number is scrawled beneath the message.
Holy Christ, he sent me flowers. Jake Lawrence sent me flowers. How gentlemanly of him. I bite back a stupid, girlish grin. My face feels hot and my mind giddy before I hear another soft knock on my office door. I think it’s Anna with the vase, but Sam pops his head in, a weird expression flitting across his face when he spots the roses.
“Wow. Secret admirer?” he asks as he comes into the room, the door closing softly behind him.
“Um, no ...” I smile as I slip the card into my desk drawer. “They’re from my dad.” I see something like relief in his eyes as he nods. “Is that you off then?” I ask. “You caught up okay?” He was harassed when I arrived back after lunch, four appointments behind after having to arrange an ambulance for a patient. I told him to buzz me if he needed a hand. “Did St. John’s call you back?”
“Yeah, she’s fine. A mild stroke, but she’s doing okay,” he says, but it’s clear he never came to talk about this. He’s opening his mouth to say something else when Anna knocks and enters with the vase.
“Thanks, Anna. I’ll decant them.”
When the door closes again, he looks back to me and begins shifting on his feet. I know exactly what he’s going to say.
“Eh, so, I was wondering if you were free this week, or at the weekend, for that drink?”
And so just like that, months and months with no male attention, and now I have two to choose from. Well, one is less of a choice and more of a steamroller to the senses. A steamroller that just sent me the most gorgeous bouquet of white roses I’ve ever seen.
“Oh, right, yes, sure. Saturday night?” I suggest. I’m surprised at how enthusiastic I sound because I don’t feel it.
His face brightens. “Yeah, great. Saturday is great.” He sounds pleased, which makes one of us. “Pick you up at seven?”
“Yeah, seven is good. Though, we could go to the Pig and Hen in my village. They do great craft beer and cider.” Which I know he likes. Also, it would be far less formal than dinner, and much more like two friends going out for a few drinks. Which is most definitely what I want it to be now that Jake Lawrence has sent me flowers.
“I do like beer—and cider.” Sam grins.
The first thing I do after Sam leaves my office is open my drawer to retrieve the card from Jake. After storing his number in my phone, I turn the card over in my hand and trace my fingers across his words. Seeing his handwriting has a weird effect on me I can’t explain. Then I feel foolish, because maybe he didn’t even write it himself and got the woman in the shop to write it. Yes, that’s probably what he did.
I’d guess that when Jake sends a woman flowers, he expects a lot in return. Thoughts about what I would be willing to give him keep me entertained for the entire drive home. Perhaps I could do one night of passion with him and move on from this madness. A night of Jake Lawrence being inside me isn’t the worst thing I could imagine doing with an evening. He would be magnificent in bed, I have no doubt about it.
One night with Jake.
Does it matter if he’s the kind of guy people want to cut open with a knife on a Tuesday night if all I’m going to do is sleep with him once and walk away?
Christ, what on earth am I doing even considering this?
I decide that at the very least, I should thank him for the flowers. But that would involve having to think about the wording of a message I’m not sure I want to be ambiguous or not. So, I’ll do it tomorrow when my head is clearer.
Tuesday is the longest day of the week because it’s another late drop-in. Each week, the six of us alternate in pairs to do it, and this week, Sam and I are it. Technically, it’s supposed to be James and Sam, but James has his daughter’s play or ballet recital or something, so I swapped with him. Late surgery days mean I’m on a twelve-hour shift, so I always try to make sure I get a decent hour and a half lunch.
I leave the surgery at noon on the button and head along to the deli the next street over to grab my favorite guilty treat of a smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel, followed by a white chocolate-chip muffin. I’ve been dreaming about it since 10:00 a.m. It’s fatty and unhealthy, but it keeps me going until I get home at 9:00 p.m. I justify it by only having it every other Tuesday.
As usual, the deli is busy with housewives and their pushchairs. Or, as I like to refer to them, their weapons of choice. Miraculously, I manage to find an empty table by the window, and I’m halfway through my bagel, Americano, and the deli’s copy of The Guardian when I feel someone standing over me. I glance up and blink a few times, the air leaving my lungs instantly.
Oh, dear god.Why is he here?Howis he here? What is he doing here?