Page 35 of Once Upon A Second Chance

Bijou paws at my knee, sensing my distraction. I absently scratch behind her ears as I type:

Me:Is there WiFi?

Richard:Nope.

A slow smile spreads across my face.

Me:Good.

The response is immediate:

Richard:Is that a yes?

I stare at the message, my stomach doing a slow flip.

This is a terrible idea. We're barely a month into whatever this is. There are rules. Boundaries.

But then I remember the look on Rebecca's face at the diner when the entire town turned their backs on her performance. The way Richard had squeezed my hand afterward.

Me:Hypothetically... what time would we leave?

My phone starts ringing before I even finish sending it.

"Friday after your last appointment," Richard says when I answer, hisvoice warm with barely contained excitement. "We can grab dinner on the way up."

I can hear the grin in his voice, that particular lilt he gets when he knows he's about to get his way. It's the same tone he used to use when convincing me to skip class for an impromptu road trip.

"What about your own patients?" I ask, playing with the frayed edge of my couch blanket.

"Covered. Holloway owes me for taking his weekend call last month. Besides, in the ‘good news’ department, he’s offered to make my locum position permanent. Looks like I’m here to stay.”

The certainty in his voice sends a shiver down my spine. He's really thought this through. I’m taken aback a bit to realize that Richard may actually be sticking around. Could we possibly make this thing work?

“Thatisgood news. So, are you sure this cabin has two bedrooms?"

"Cross my heart." A pause. Then, softer: "We don't have to do this if you're not ready."

The sincerity in his voice undoes me.

"Pack warm socks," I say before I can overthink it. "I remember how cold you get."

His quiet laugh curls around me like smoke. "Still have the socks you stole from me sophomore year?"

"I didn't steal them. I liberated them from your tragic laundry habits."

"Same difference." I can practically hear his smirk. "See you tomorrow, Morgan."

The line goes dead, leaving me staring at my darkened screen, equal parts terrified and exhilarated.

Bijou cocks her head at me, her ears perked.

"What?" I mutter, rubbing my suddenly damp palms on my thighs. "It's just a cabin."

But the way my heart is pounding tells a different story.

Friday morning arrives with golden sunlight spilling through my bedroom curtains, painting stripes ofwarmth across my half-packed duffel bag. I stare at the mess of clothes strewn across my bed—a pile of sensible hiking gear on one side, a few lacy, completely impractical things on the other.

What am I doing?