Page 2 of Six Month Wife

“I didn’t want to bring down your trip. It’ll work, I just need to figure some things out. Palm Beach is brutal. Rents keep spiking, tourists don’t come back, and people are just plain fickle.”

Jenna reaches for my hand. “I’m sorry, Addy. I hate you’re dealing with this.”

“It’s fine. I’m figuring it out,” I lie. “I dropped the spa services, for the most part, because they were costing me too much keeping a full staff there.”

“What do you mean by 'for the most part,’ because you’re either doing spa services or you’re not, right?”

“I will still schedule massages for regulars, but I don’t advertise and I don’t keep a staff for them. It’s kind of like my side hustle now at my own business.” I laugh, as if that’s funny.

“You’re a brilliant businesswoman and an even better friend. Things will work out. I think you need to find your stride.”

“Well, I need to either find it or a money tree, and fast. I’m barely keeping the lights on. Something’s got to give. I’m working on a skeleton of a wellness business now, and there isn’t much more I can shave.”

This isn't hyperbole. Unless I find a silent partner, someone who doesn't mind footing the bill without taking over the vision, then I have a year left, max.

Jenna winces as she shifts. Her ankle’s even more swollen than when we got here, behaving more like my hyper-color t-shirt from 1998 than human skin.

“I knew I should have carried you in here,” I mutter, eyeing the purpling mess. "I bet I made it worse by letting you hobble."

“Lord, I can’t take you.”

“I can’t help it that I’m thorough. I don't want this to be the only thing you remember about your trip East to see me.”

She rolls her eyes, and that’s when I see him. Right at that exact moment, my snark short-circuits, and all is right with the world.

He saunters by like a dream. All six feet of lean muscle, tousled dark hair, and scrubs that should be illegal without a warning label. My jaw nearly hits her swollen ankle.

He moves like he owns the hallway. He's calm, confident, and annoyingly unfazed. Exactly the kind of man who either saves lives or ruins them.

Maybe both.

Jenna follows my gaze. “Ten bucks says he’s married. Or a total asshole.”

“He’s wearing a stethoscope,” I whisper. “Whatever he is, I want him to take care ofyou.”

And me, but I keep that to myself.

She grins. “Think he does ankles? Doctors that hot definitely don't take care of ankles.”

“Watch and learn.”

I step out of the room into the hall. I raise my hand like a woman ordering dessert. That’s a good analogy, because I could use a bite of that after a yummy meal.

“Excuse me!” I call out. “Doctor? Excuse me, can you please help us?”

He looks up. We lock eyes, and I’m slapped with a sense of déjà vu. I shake it off and put on my best damsel in distress smile. He strides over with a scowl like I’ve interrupted his very important business.

“Yes?” His voice is smooth, with enough impatience to make me bristle.

I look down at his embroidered white coat. P. Matthews, MD.

“My friend’s ankle might be broken,” I say, like it’s life-threatening.

She raises her eyebrows at me when I look back at her.

I turn back to him. “And we’d love it if you could take a look and let us know what we're dealing with. She isn’tfrom here and has to fly back to California tomorrow morning and?—”

I bat my eyes like a bad romance flick for good measure.