Page 29 of Hogging the Hunk
The building was newer, built sometime between when I’d left for college and had an unceremonious return, dumped back in the small town where I was expected to figure out life post-serious relationship with Greg. Everything nowadays seemed to be measured in that time span. Instead of checking off my life goals in an orderly fashion, everything was infinitely more complicated. Naïvely, I assumed that when I found everything I thought I was looking for in a man, that would be the end of it. How wrong I was. The silver lining to coming back to Button Blossom was Milo. He was genuine and as kind as they came.
Is that all you think about him?
Okay, and hot. But that’s irrelevant.
Shaking my head, I forced myself to focus to avoid wandering into the treacherous what-ifs. Taking a breath, hoping to jumpstart my weak pulse, invigorating me for the mundane tasks awaiting me to wrap up the day, it had no effect on my stubborn body. Instead of leaving temptation alone, I studied Milo’s clinic, trying to glean some clues about him from what I observed.
The flowerbeds had all been pruned and prepped for our impending winter, suggesting he was orderly and timely. That was half true, since I’d seen the sad state of the back seat of his truck. He wasn’t impeccably tidy.
There was a welcome mat at the front door. Could that imply he was friendly? Or conscientious about keeping muddy footprints off the floor? Maybe someone else put it there because they were sick of him traipsing inside without wiping his boots.
My shoulders slouched at my abysmal sleuthing skills.
The building itself overall was well-kept. Cute, even, with shutters at the windows and the quaint angles that made the place feel cozy.
Maybe the building was just a building, and it had nothing to do with Milo.
Or maybe it had everything to do with him. Imperfect, but remarkable nonetheless. The way Milo had listened when I rambled and raged about Greg was admirable. No judgment, no chiding. I bet a guy like Milo even lets the women he dates hold the remote.
I reprimanded myself for making the leap that because Milo wasn’t talkative, he’d make a good boyfriend. “That’s irrelevant, Beckett. You don’t need anyone, remember?”
Greg had been the one I wanted, and he had severely disappointed me. Allowing myself to daydream about Milo opened up the possibility of hurt all over again.
Huffing at myself, I grabbed the fold-out signs I’d set out by the RV, pointing patients my way, and shoved them inside. Worse than ogling Milo’s clinic was Greg’s dorky, grinning face twenty feet up in the air and larger than life. If someone didn’t replace the billboard soon, I considered buying a bucket of black paint and, by the cover of darkness, decorating his annoying face with a monocle and a walrus mustache. At least then I could laugh whenever I saw the blasted billboard. I did not need a glowing reminder of the man who left my heart in shambles. Volleying my gaze between Greg’s towering billboard and Milo’s clinic, the only place left I’d have to look was the paved parking lot. Greg was easy enough to avoid, but my eyes betrayed me one last time and darted to Milo’s clinic.
His truck was parked in his usual spot, confirming that yes, Milo was there, too.
I turned my back, as if not seeing it would somehow magically erase the confusion I felt whenever Milo entered my thoughts. The man was an enigma. He was quiet and bold. Strong and careful. Wise and… what? Sexy? Those qualities weren’t mutually exclusive.
Pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes, I paced in front of the RV door. “Enough, Beckett. Milo’s a friend.”
Playing a sadistic joke on me, my memory replayed how Milo so adeptly toted me back to the car after I twisted my knee. My face flushed, and a frustrated grumble clawed its way out of my lungs and up my throat. Bombarded by Milo’s unending attractive qualities, I couldn’t not think about him. It was a pleasurable sort of torture that seemed fitting of Milo’s duality.
Why was I being pulled in so many directions when all I wanted to do was feel complete without giving that power to a man? “If you don’t get a hold of yourself, so help me—”
“Are you still open?”
I whirled around, blinking to find Ellie standing behind me. I needed a moment to compose myself, so I smoothed a hand over my ponytail and nodded while I found my voice. “Ellie! Hi! Yes, I’m still taking patients for fifteen more minutes.”
She eyed me warily. “You look like you were on the verge of a breakdown.”
“Headache.” My laugh was flat, and Ellie didn’t reciprocate it. “What can I do for you?”
“I caught my thumb with the scissors while helping my dad open up the boxes that were delivered today.” She removed the paper towel wrapped around her thumb for me to examine the extent of the damage. “It’s a good thing blood never bothered me, or I might have passed out.”
She spoke of her lack of squeamishness with great pride and it made me smile. It reminded me of myself at her age when I already knew I wanted to go into the medical field. Anytime anyone in my family hurt themselves, I doctored them with the medical kit Granny kept in the hallway closet. Picking out slivers was a personal favorite of mine.
“Come in.” Holding open the door, I gestured her inside. “If you head to the back of the RV, there’s a clean examination room there.”
Ellie strolled through the RV, soaking up everything she passed, not unlike the way I’d been studying her father’s veterinarian clinic. If she didn’t have a nasty gash on her thumb, I might have suspected her of rooting for an opportunity to scope out my mini clinic. If there were clues to be gleaned in either place, Ellie and I were the type of people who would find them.
“Have a seat.” I pointed to a chair next to the examination table, then washed my hands in a small, stainless steel sink. Gathering my supplies, I put on a fresh pair of gloves. Taking Ellie’s hand, I gently peeled back the used paper towel and scrutinized the damage. “Doesn’t look like you’ll need stitches, but you’re awfully close. They must’ve been some sharp scissors.”
“I know how to use scissors.”
Ellie raised her chin, waiting for me to challenge her abilities. It was a test for me. To see if I’d patronize her like a child or treat her as an equal.
Gently washing off the blood that had dried, I talked as I worked. “One time, I was helping my sister put up a new section of the fencing at her farm, and I took out a utility knife to cut plastic off a bucket of barbed staples. Before I knew what happened, I slashed my palm. Three inches and a couple dozen stitches. These kinds of things happen to everyone.”