Page 73 of Off Plan
Shit. I wished I could ignore the way my stomach jumped, just reading that.
That feeling—that weird, jittery, fluttery feeling—had never happened to me before.Ever. Not in high school, when I took Celeste Nustlebaum to prom, or when I’d kissed Rory. Not when I’d dated the gorgeous Emily Lu in college, or sweet, funny Becky in med school. Not even in the earliest early days with Victoria, who I’d planned to marry. Apparently Iwascapable of feeling passion, I’d just been looking for it in the wrong people.
This would have been a more comforting revelation if theoneperson I felt this way about had been capable of returning my feelings, but he wasn’t. And this overcaffeinated, anxiety-attack feeling was not compatible with friendship.
I stuck my phone back in my pocket and decided it wasn’thidingif you refused to acknowledge someone waslookingfor you.
I also fervently hoped that one of the fourteen MedLister jobs I’d applied for would call me back soon.
“Morning, Dr. Bloom!” a voice called from across the street.
I blinked out of my daze and realized that I’d nearly reached the curve in the road where the town center began. It was a good thing there was hardly any traffic—Fenn Reardon was dangerous to my senses in more ways than one.
“Mr. Wynott!” I lifted a hand in a wave at the short, starchy man in his fedora, holding his tiny dog on a leash. “How are you?”
Marius Wynott was the owner of Wynott’s Books, a secondhand bookshop located on the ground floor of his gorgeous Victorian home. Taffy had said the house had been in his family for ages, and the two upper floors were even grander than the first. Gloria had told me Ineededto see Mr. Wynott’s collection of local memorabilia. But when I’d stopped by Wednesday, the man had barely started showing me around when his Pomeranian attacked me with love, literallytremblingin excitement as she licked my chin, so I’d beenforcedto sit and pet her instead. I’d left with a book on pirates and a smile on my face.
Mr. Wynott crossed the street, led by a white-brown-and-black blur of barking excitement.
“Topaz!” I bent down to caress her furry face. “Really, more people ought to display this level of excitement at seeing me.”
“She’s usually very reserved and dignified,” Mr. Wynott said, bewildered. “But she’s taken to you immediately.”
“Have you? Have you, baby girl?”
She yapped excitedly, and I hadn’t thought I was a fan of tiny dogs, but I decided this one was an exception.
“That reminds me,” Mr. Wynott said. He hesitated. “I’m going to a writing conference for two weeks in early July, and I wonder… could you watch Topaz for me? My friend Chrissy is coming to mind the shop while I’m gone, and she does an excellent job, but she’s a cat person.” He wrinkled his nose like this was an embarrassing flaw to confess about his friend. “She and Topaz have almost nothing to say to one another.”
I grinned. “Sure. Let me give you my number and you can text me the dates, and I’ll…” I blinked. Wait.July. Would I still be here then? I mean, probably, right? That was weeks away.
I grabbed my phone to check my calendar again and saw that I’d gotten two more texts from Fenn.
Seriously, Loafers. Can we talk?
Are you avoiding me? Who’s running now?
Okay, that one stung.
Topaz licked my face, and I resumed petting her. “Sorry,” I told Mr. Wynott. “Just give Taffy the dates and I’ll put them on my calendar later, okay?”
“You’re a treasure, Doctor!” Mr. Wynott tipped his fedora. “Come, Topaz. It’s nearly nap time. Mason, you’re welcome to stop by later and visit your betrothed.” He winked.
I barely had time to be amused by this before Taffy and her son, Max, pulled into a parking space near me, and Taffy waved.
“Max, you remember Doc Mason, right?” Taffy said. She ruffled her son’s reddish hair.
Max gave a long-suffering sigh, then shot me a very solemn, Fenn-like chin lift. “Yep. Hey.”
“Hey,” I agreed, giving him a chin-lift in reply. I remembered what it was like to be tenwaytoo clearly. “What are you two doing today?”
“Arcade,” Max said effusively, hooking a thumb over his shoulder.
“Jeremy Mickell is opening Mickell’s Arcade on the weekends again, starting this morning,” Taffy explained, grinning broadly. “He got some kind of small-business grant through Big Rafe Goodman! I don’t know what magic he’s working, butman, is it exciting.”
I understood what she meant. All around, the little town center was buzzing, even on a Sunday. The whine of saws and crack of hammers filled the air. People stood chatting and laughing on the sidewalks, despite the heat of the day. The place felt cautiously optimistic, like a crocus in the spring, and I found myself absorbing the vibe.
“Mom! Bean Me Up is open.” Max pointed toward the coffee shop I’d walked by several times while it was closed, but which now had a couple of small tables and chairs arranged on the sidewalk. “Can we get donuts before we game?”