The Fake Mate(73)

I am doing everything humanly possible to focus on work, but it is decidedly . . . difficult. It’s only been forty-eight hours since Mackenzie and I left the lodge, and I’ve had to endure a scathing text from Hunter and his aunt Jeannie about the state we left the bedroom in. It was well worth the bill they’re going to send me for cleaning, I think. More than, even.

Mackenzie had seemed so unsure when we piled up in my car to head back here, everything about her demeanor speaking of an uneasiness about what would happen when we got home. I hadn’t been able to find the exact words to explain it to her then, how after only a few weeks with her I’m considering turning all my plans upside down—too afraid to scare her off. But still she’d melted into my kiss, and she’d said again that she would go on an actual date with me when we got another night off, and I think that’s a start, at the very least.

I spoke to the board director at the hospital in Albuquerque this morning, and it’s funny. Before all of this, I couldn’t wait to get out of here. The idea of packing up and moving to another state for a fresh start with more open minds had been exciting—and now it only makes me unsure. Logically, I know the fact that I’m so unsure now of what I want to do is one thousand percent to do with Mackenzie and this strange thing blossoming between us, just as I recognize that hesitating for these reasons could end up being a massive mistake. So why am I dragging my feet, suddenly asking the director to give me some time to consider his offer?

Maybe I really am losing my mind.

I shake my head as I give my attention to my laptop, clicking over to my email client to find a message from the enigma herself. My smile is immediate, my entire body perking up at the idea of speaking to her even in this small way, and I think to myself fleetingly that I really could be losing it.

I have had two people ask me this morning if you took me to a cave for the last few days. I hope your morning is going a little less annoyingly.



I grin as I tap out a reply.

So, I’m assuming it wasn’t a good idea to hint we took a spelunking trip on the side?



I can imagine the way she’ll roll her eyes when she reads it, can practically hear her laugh, which makes my chest feel tight.

Seriously. Am I losing it?

I’m distracted from my musing by a knock at my door, sitting up in my chair as the doorknob turns and the door creaks open to yield a familiar head of sandy blond hair peeking around it.

“Hey,” she calls, and that one word is enough to make my heart pick up its pace.

“Hey,” I answer, watching her step inside with a brown paper sack. “I was just emailing you back.”

“Probably writing me poetry, right? Just make sure you give me a really stellar analogy for my eyes. None of that ‘bright pennies’ bullshit.”

My lips curl as I shake my head. “Duly noted.”

“I brought you lunch,” she tells me, sitting the sack on my desk.

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Really?”

“It’s not a big deal,” she says almost defensively. “I just know how you get when you’re busy, and you have that heart cath later.” She shrugs. “I figure after robbing the entire hospital of you for three days I can make sure you aren’t getting shaky fingers from low blood sugar.”

It’s a small thing, but it makes me happy that she thought of me, a feeling of thrill stemming from the simple brown paper sack that’s now sitting on my desk. “Thank you.”

“It’s only a sandwich,” she says flippantly. “Just plain old turkey. Don’t get too excited.”

I chuckle as I reach for the bag. “I will make sure not to read too much into the sandwich.”

“Good,” she says with a grin. “I don’t want you to get any preconceived notions before we go on that date.”

I pause from opening the sack. “Preconceived notions?”

“Yeah,” she says seriously. “Like, that you can get away with just a sandwich or something.”

My eyebrow quirks. “Oh?”

“I’m an expensive date, Noah,” she tells me pointedly. “I’m a five-star kind of gal.”

“Your favorite food is soup,” I remind her.

She waves me off. “Yes, but I’ll be ordering the fanciest soup,” she assures me. “Gold flakes in the broth, maybe.”

“Right,” I chuff. “Of course.”

She plops down on the edge of my desk. “So how has your day been?”

“My day?”

“Your day,” she echoes. “Have you been listening to whispers going quiet every time you walk into a room?”

“I’ve been here, mostly,” I tell her truthfully. “I had a lot of procedure notes to document. Playing catch-up.”

She winces. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be.” I reach across my desk to place my hand over hers. “Seriously.”

There’s a flush of color at her cheeks when she smiles softly, but she turns her face shortly after so I can’t see. “It does feel weird,” she notes. “Coming back. It felt like we were gone way longer than we were.”

“I know what you mean,” I murmur.

I don’t tell her that I didn’t want to leave, knowing it might be too much, too fast. The last thing I need is to spook her when I’ve just gotten her to agree to considering a real shot at this.