Page 48 of Goalie Secrets

A large gulp of water barely clears my throat. “Thank you, but I’m good.” We both glance at my sad looking lunch. “I don’t have time right now. That’s super nice of you and your mom to bring food.”

“She’s only in town for a couple of days during Christmas and spends most of that time cooking. The staff here and at theMavericks’ arena won’t let the holidays go without asking about her food.”

“If you learned to cook from her, she must be spectacular.”

“Come find out, doc,” he says with a grin so warm and familiar, I can’t help but return it.

Jeremy looks stunning today, wearing a gray sweater and dark jeans. I’ve seen him shirtless or in athletic wear. I’ve swooned over his prowess on the ice. And I’ve admired the way his tailored suits hug his body when he’s dressed to and from the arena. But this casual elegance is new. He might as well be a fashion model for how well everything fits. The pull of the sweater across his chest and the narrowing of his upper body from broad shoulders to flat waist to narrow hips. My eyes stray between his muscular, hockey-player thighs before I can stop them.

I stand so abruptly my chair wobbles when it gets pushed back. “Can’t! I, um, busy. I’m busy.” I stammer and fuss with a folder on the table so my eyes don’t stray where they shouldn’t.

“I thought you’d say that, so I packed some away for you.” He steps forward to lay a plate covered in foil on my desk.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“I know.”

It strikes me that Jeremy’s thoughtfulness is more than a nice gesture. It’s insightful. He knows I won’t easily socialize during a busy day. He’s noticed that I’m reluctant to socialize at work. But instead of reprimanding me for my workaholic tendencies, Jeremy shows care without fuss or judgment.

“Got you something else.” He plops a winter-themed gift bag beside the plate.

My gratitude turns to anxiety. “Jeremy, you shouldn’t have. I don’t accept gifts from patients.”

I’m appalled that he would buy me something. More than that, I’m foolishly wondering what buying me somethingmeans.

“You were willing to take the empanadas and Christmas cookies. This is no different.” His voice is clipped like he’s hurt. “Besides, I’m giving it to my PBS buddy, not my doctor.”

He pulls out a folded tote bag and a DVD pack featuring the concert we watched together last week. With a flourish, he announces, “Congratulations to you, Dr. Vanya Kapur, for being a sustaining member of your local public broadcasting station.”

A bubble of laughter escapes when I reach out to receive his adorable offering. I don’t usually take gifts, but this isn’t a gift exactly. It’s a donation to a good cause. Who can call something like this—so simple and platonic—inappropriate?

“I’m sorry. I didn’t get you anything.”

“You can cover the cost of popcorn during the next Musical Monday.”

“Deal.”

We smile at each other for a while, neither willing to end the moment. Honey brown eyes glint with warmth, like they’re touched by the sun even though we’re indoors and under florescent lighting.

But it doesn’t matter how mesmerizing he is physically. What truly matters is how he is in the world. How much he cares about other people. Jeremy Lopez is attentive and understanding in a way I’m not used to from anyone but my best friend.

Maybe that’s the solution here. Instead of focusing on my weird and unprecedented attraction to a patient, I should try to think of him as a friendly neighbor who shares my love of musicals. There’s nothing wrong with that, right?Right?

No one has to know that I think about his words every night.

I’ve got so many reasons, Vanya, you have no idea. You’re beautiful and smart and caring. And the way you look at me makes me so fucking hungry for more. Like I’m the only one I want you to see.

No one has to know that he’s already all I see.

My mother usually drops off holiday treats on her own, but this year I made her wait till I was free to come along. Because I’m here to spread holiday cheer.

Bullshit.

If I didn’t drop by today, I wouldn’t see Vanya until my next appointment after Christmas.

My gorgeous doctor and I are wordlessly staring at each other when my observant mother makes her presence known.

“Jeremy, I thought you’d be here. Hello, Dr. Kapur! I’m Christina Lopez, the mother of your biggest fan.”