Page 8 of Tempted By the Handsome Doctor (Curvy Wives of Cedar Falls #3)

Despite her warning, Maya moves with grace, falling easily into rhythm with me. We're not quite embracing, there's still space between us, but I can smell her strawberry shampoo, can feel the warmth of her through the denim of her jacket.

"See?" I murmur. "You're a natural."

"The bar is very low at small-town festivals," she replies, but she's smiling.

The band transitions into a cover of "Landslide," the singer's voice a husky contralto that spills over the crowd like honey. Maya's expression turns wistful.

"My dad loved this song," she says softly. "He used to play it on his old record player on Sunday mornings."

"You miss him a lot."

It's not a question, but she answers anyway. "Every day. But especially now. He would have been so excited about a grandchild."

Her voice catches on the last word, and without thinking, I pull her closer, my hand sliding from her waist to the small of her back. She doesn't resist, letting her head rest against my shoulder for just a moment.

"I'm sorry he's not here," I say into her hair.

"Me too." She pulls back slightly, composing herself. "What about your grandfather? Have you told him yet?"

"No." The question makes me tense involuntarily. "Not yet."

"Are you going to?"

"Of course. Just... waiting for the right time." The truth is, I've been avoiding Lou's calls all week, unsure how to tell the man who raised me that I'm about to become a father under less-than-ideal circumstances.

Maya seems to sense my discomfort and doesn't press. The song ends, and we step apart, the spell broken.

"Thank you for the dance," she says, and I can't help but smile at her prim librarian tone.

"My pleasure."

We continue our stroll through the festival, stopping to watch a glass blower demonstrate his craft, his movements precise as he shapes molten glass into a delicate hummingbird.

Maya asks intelligent questions about the process, her genuine curiosity drawing the artist out of his usual rehearsed spiel.

"You're good at that," I comment as we walk away.

"At what?"

"Making people comfortable. Getting them to open up."

She shrugs. "It's a librarian skill. Half my job is helping people find what they're looking for, even when they're not sure what that is."

"Is that what you always wanted to be? A librarian?"

"Not always. I wanted to be a writer for a while." She smiles ruefully. "Then I realized I prefer organizing stories to creating them."

"What kind of stories did you write?"

"Fantasy, mostly. Elaborate worlds with complicated magic systems." She glances at me. "Go ahead, make your nerdy librarian jokes."

"No jokes," I say honestly. "I think it's cool. Creative."

She looks pleased but embarrassed by the compliment. "What about you? Always wanted to be a doctor?"

"Since I was ten." I don't elaborate on the timing, on how my father's abandonment pushed me toward a profession built on fixing, healing, making whole what's broken.

"Well, you're good at it," she says. "At least, that's what everyone in town says. Lou's boy, the brilliant doctor."

There's no malice in her words, but I wince anyway. "That's the problem. I'm always Lou's boy here."

"Is that so bad?" she asks, genuine curiosity in her voice. "Being connected to someone everyone loves?"

"It's not bad, it's just..." I struggle to articulate feelings I've never fully examined. "I told you. I want to be known for my own accomplishments, not as an extension of his."

Maya considers this. "I get that. After Dad died, I was 'poor James Sullivan's daughter' for months. Everyone looking at me with pity, offering casseroles and platitudes."

"Exactly. And Lou is... larger than life in this town." I shake my head. "You should see how patients light up when they realize I'm his grandson. Half of them launch into stories about how he served them the best burger they ever had."

“My dad used to take me there for milkshakes after school."

"Everyone in Cedar Falls has a Lou's Diner story," I say with a rueful smile. "Everyone except me."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I grew up in the back of that place, doing homework in a booth while Lou worked, eating the same burgers everyone raves about until I couldn't stand the smell of them anymore.

" The words come out more bitter than I intended.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for everything he did for me.

But sometimes I felt like I had to share him with the whole town. "

Maya is quiet for a moment, absorbing this. "That must have been lonely."

Lonely. Yes, that's exactly what it was, though I've never put it into words before.

"Sometimes," I admit. "But it made me independent. Focused."

"And it made you get an Audi and a fancy condo downtown," she adds, her tone gently teasing but insightful.

I laugh, caught. "Guilty as charged."

We've reached the far end of the park, where the crowd thins out and the river bends away from town. By silent mutual agreement, we find a bench overlooking the water and sit down, close but not touching.

"Can I ask you something?" Maya says after a comfortable silence.

"Anything."

"Why didn't you call me? After that night?" She keeps her eyes on the river. "The real reason, not the excuse about being busy."

I owe her honesty, even if it doesn't paint me in the best light. "I was scared."

She turns to look at me then, surprise evident in her expression. "Of what?"

"Of how I felt with you." I meet her gaze steadily. "That night wasn't just physical for me, Maya. It was... I don't know how to explain it without sounding like a greeting card. But there was a connection there that I wasn't prepared for."

"So you ran."

"So I ran," I agree. "And I've been kicking myself ever since."

"Even before you knew about the baby?"

"Even before." I take a risk and reach for her hand, relieved when she doesn't pull away. "I'm not saying this to pressure you or complicate things. I just want you to know the truth."

Maya looks down at our joined hands, her expression thoughtful. "I felt it too," she admits quietly. "The connection. It scared me too."

I run my thumb over her knuckles, marveling at how small her hand feels in mine.

"So where does that leave us?" I ask. "Beyond co-parents?"

"I don't know." She meets my eyes again. "But I think I'd like to find out."

Hope blooms in my chest, cautious but real. "Me too."

We sit there by the river as the afternoon light turns golden, holding hands and watching the water flow past, carrying leaves the color of Maya's dress downstream.

And for the first time since she showed me that pregnancy test, I feel like maybe—just maybe—this unexpected detour might lead somewhere beautiful.