Page 7 of Tempting the Single Dad (Curvy Girls of Whitetails Falls #1)

The clinic hums with gentle efficiency around me as I finish updating charts. Morning sunshine streams through the Victorian windows, painting golden rectangles on the polished hardwood floor.

"Dr. Allen?" Maggie appears in the doorway, her pumpkin-themed scrubs making me smile. "Your ten-thirty cancelled. Something about their car not starting. Which means you're free until your one o'clock."

"Great," I say, stretching my arms above my head. "I could use the catch-up time."

"Mmm-hmm." Her knowing smile makes heat creep up my neck. "Catch up on charting? Or catch up on daydreaming about a certain pumpkin farmer?"

I feel my cheeks flush. News travels at light speed in Whitetail Falls. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Honey, half the town saw you two at the festival last night."

Three days. That's all it's been since I first set foot on Silverbrook Farm, since Diana fell from that pumpkin display, since David looked at me with those amber eyes that seem to see straight through me. Three days, and somehow they've both worked their way into my heart.

"Now, why don't you take your paperwork to the back garden?" Maggie suggests. "It's too beautiful to be cooped up inside."

The garden welcomes me with crisp air carrying the scent of chrysanthemums and the rustle of fiery leaves overhead. I settle on the wooden bench beneath an ancient oak tree, tablet in hand.

My mind should be on work, but it keeps drifting back to last night—the hayride under stars, Diana pointing out constellations, David's hand finding mine beneath the blanket.

And that kiss in the parking lot. Not the heated, desperate kisses we shared in the barn, but something deeper. Gentler. A promise rather than a demand.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

My eyes fly open at the sound of David's deep voice.

He stands at the garden gate, backlit by midday sun, a brown paper bag in one hand and what looks like a thermos in the other.

His hair is slightly tousled, and he's wearing a blue flannel shirt that makes his eyes look like sunlight through honey.

"David," I say, my voice embarrassingly breathless. "What are you doing here?"

He smiles, closing the gate behind him and crossing to my bench. "I had to pick up feed at the co-op, and I thought..." He holds up the bag. "Lunch? Unless you're busy."

"Not busy," I assure him quickly. Too quickly. I make a show of gathering my papers. "My ten-thirty cancelled."

"Lucky me," he says, settling beside me. The worn denim of his jeans brushes against my scrub pants, and even that slight contact sends awareness skittering across my skin. "I hope you like turkey and avocado. The Copper Kettle makes the best sandwiches in town."

He unscrews the thermos, pouring steaming apple cider into the cap. "Diana insisted I bring this too. She helped make it this morning."

I accept the cup, letting the warmth seep into my palms.

"How is she today?" I ask, breathing in the cinnamon-spiced steam.

"Talkative," he says with a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. "More than I've heard in months."

I nod, taking a sip of the cider. It's perfect, sweet and spicy, with a hint of orange. "That’s wonderful."

"We'll see you tonight," he reminds me, unwrapping his own sandwich. "Diana's already planning the menu. Spaghetti, garlic bread, and—" he adopts a dramatic voice "—her world-famous fruit salad, which is basically just apples and grapes cut into pieces."

I laugh, feeling the last of my workday tension melt away. "Sounds like a feast."

We eat in comfortable silence for a moment, the sun warm on our faces despite the cold air. A squirrel darts across the garden, pausing to chatter indignantly before disappearing up the oak.

"So," David says finally, his voice casual in a way that immediately alerts me that what follows won't be casual at all. "I've been thinking about us. About what's happening between us."

My stomach tightens. "That sounds ominous."

"No, not ominous," he says quickly, turning to face me more fully. "Just... important."

I set my sandwich aside, suddenly not hungry. "I'm listening."

He takes a deep breath, his broad shoulders rising and falling.

"Miranda, I know this is fast. Impossibly fast. We've known each other for three days, and already I'm feeling things I didn't expect to feel again.

Ever." He runs a hand through his hair. "I'm scared.

Not of how I feel about you, that's the clearest thing I've known in years.

I'm scared of how fast it's happening, of involving Diana when you're only here temporarily, of the age difference mattering more than I want it to. "

The vulnerability in his voice catches me off guard. This is the confident man who ran his farm with easy authority, who handled Diana's crisis with steady calm, who guided me through pleasure with sure hands. Yet here he sits, struggling to find words.

I reach for his hand, threading my fingers through his. His palm is warm against mine, calloused from farm work.

"David," I say, waiting until his eyes meet mine. "I'm scared too."

His eyebrows lift in surprise. "You are?"

"Of course I am. I came to Whitetail Falls for a temporary posting. Three months, then back to Boston. That was the plan." I squeeze his hand. "But now there's you. And Diana. And this town that already feels more like home than anywhere I've lived in years."

"What are you saying?" His voice is careful, measured, as if he's afraid to hope.

I take a deep breath, gathering courage. "I'm saying that plans change. That sometimes you find something you weren't looking for, and it changes everything."

A leaf drifts down from the oak tree, landing on his shoulder. I reach up to brush it away, letting my fingers linger against the solid warmth of him.

"The age difference," he begins, but I cut him off with a gentle press of my finger to his lips.

"Is nothing," I say firmly. "You're not some predatory older man, David. You're just... you. Kind and steady and wonderful with Diana. The age gap only matters if we let it matter."

His eyes search mine, looking for doubt or hesitation. Finding none, he captures my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm that sends warmth cascading through me.

"And Diana?" he asks, his voice rough with emotion. "She's already so attached to you. If this doesn't work out—"

"It will," I interrupt, surprising myself with my certainty. "I know that sounds naive, but I've never felt this sure about anything. Not even medicine, and I've wanted to be a doctor since I was ten."

He smiles at that, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "You are pretty confident in the exam room. The way you handled Diana that first day..." He shakes his head in wonder. "I knew then that you were something special."

"I just treated her like a person, not a patient," I say with a shrug. "Kids know when you're really seeing them."

"It was more than that," he insists, his thumb tracing circles on my wrist. "You saw her pain and didn't try to fix it or dismiss it. You just... made space for it."

The simple observation catches me off guard, warming me from the inside out.

"That's what good doctors do," I say softly.

"And good people," he adds, his eyes holding mine. "Good partners."

The word 'partners' hangs in the air between us, weighted with possibility.

"Miranda," he says, his voice dropping lower. "I need you to know that I don't do casual. Not ever, but especially not with Diana in the picture."

"It's not casual for me either," I assure him. "Not even a little bit."

Relief washes over his face, followed by something deeper, more intense. He lifts a hand to my cheek, his palm warm against my skin.

"I wasn't looking for this," he murmurs, his eyes tracing my features.

"After Elisa died, I was sure that part of my life was over.

I had Diana, the farm, my mom to help with everything.

And then when Mom passed..." He swallows hard.

"I was just trying to keep us afloat. Keep Diana safe. I wasn't looking for anything else."

"And then I showed up and complicated everything," I say with a small smile.

"You showed up and made everything clear," he corrects, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. "Like suddenly seeing in color after years of black and white."

The poetry of his words catches me off guard. This farmer with his flannel shirts and calloused hands contains multitudes I've only begun to discover.

"What happens next?" he asks, his eyes serious. "You said plans change, but... what does that mean for you? For your job in Boston?"

The question is fair, but complex. "Honestly? I'm not sure. My position here is for three months while Dr. Winters finalizes his retirement. After that..."

Hope and anxiety war in his expression. "After that, you go back to Boston?"

I shake my head slowly. "I don't think so. Not anymore. Maggie mentioned that they're looking for someone permanent. Someone who might want to buy into the practice eventually."

"And would you?" David asks, his voice carefully neutral. "Want that?"

I consider the question, looking around at the peaceful garden, the Victorian clinic with its warm wooden floors and sunlit rooms. I think about my sterile apartment in Boston, the frantic pace of the ER, the way I'd started to dread going to work.

"Three days ago, I would have said no," I admit. "But now... Now I'm thinking about it. Seriously thinking about it."

The hope in his eyes is almost unbearable in its intensity. "Because of Whitetail Falls?"

"Because of Whitetail Falls," I agree, then add softly, "and because of you and Diana."

He takes both my hands in his. "Miranda, I need you to be sure. I need you to want to stay for you, not just for us. I can't be the reason you give up your career plans."

His concern—not pushing me to stay for his sake, but wanting me to make the right choice for myself—only confirms what I already know: this man is worth changing plans for.

"David," I say, "I was burning out in Boston.

That's why I took this posting in the first place.

My mentor saw it happening and practically forced me to take a break.

" I smile ruefully. "Here I get to know my patients.

Watch them grow. Be part of a community.

Yesterday, Mrs. Patterson brought me homemade jam because I helped her grandson with his earache. I've never had that in Boston."

"Community matters," he agrees. "It's what got Diana and me through losing Elisa. And then Mom."

"I'm not giving up anything by considering staying here," I tell him. "I'm gaining something I didn't even know I was missing."

The relief in his smile makes my heart skip. His hands release mine only to frame my face, his touch achingly gentle.

"I'm falling in love with you," he says quietly, the words hanging in the crisp autumn air between us. "I know it's too soon to say that. I know it's crazy and impulsive. But it's true."

The simple declaration steals my breath.

"It is too soon," I agree, my voice barely above a whisper. "And completely crazy."

His face falls slightly, but before he can pull away, I catch his wrists, holding him in place.

"And I'm falling in love with you too," I continue, watching joy bloom across his features. "With you and with Diana and with this whole ridiculous fairy-tale town with its pumpkin festivals and hayrides."

He laughs, the sound warm and free. "Maggie is definitely watching us right now."

"Let her watch," I say, sliding my hands up to his shoulders.

His eyes darken, dropping to my mouth. "Dr. Allen, are you suggesting we give the town something to talk about?"

"Mr. Hilton," I counter, leaning closer until our noses almost touch. "I'm suggesting you kiss me before my one o'clock patient arrives and ruins the moment."

He doesn't need to be told twice. His lips find mine with perfect certainty, soft and warm and tasting faintly of apple cider. Unlike our desperate kisses in the barn or even the tender goodbye in the parking lot, this kiss feels like a beginning. Unhurried, thorough, full of promise.

His hands slide into my hair, cradling my head as if I'm something precious.

I melt against him, my fingers curling into the worn flannel of his shirt, anchoring myself to his solid warmth.

He kisses like a man who has all the time in the world, like each press of his lips is a vow he intends to keep.

When we finally part, I'm breathless and dizzy, my heart pounding against my ribs.

"Still too soon?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that I feel more than hear.

I shake my head, unable to stop smiling. "I think time works differently in Whitetail Falls. Three days here is like three months anywhere else."

A throat clears behind us, and we turn to find Maggie standing at the garden door, arms crossed but expression amused.

"Sorry to interrupt, but your one o'clock is here early, Dr. Allen."

Reality intrudes, but gently. David sighs, pressing one last swift kiss to my lips before standing.

"Duty calls," he says. "Still on for dinner tonight?"

"Wouldn't miss it," I promise. "What time should I come?"

"Six? Diana gets home from her after-school program at four-thirty, which gives her time to help with the fruit salad production."

"Six is perfect." I smooth my scrubs. "I'll bring dessert."

"Just bring yourself," he says, his voice dropping so only I can hear. "That's all we need."

I watch him go, his tall frame silhouetted against the autumn sunshine.

As I gather my papers and head back into the clinic, I realize with sudden clarity that I've made my decision.

Not just about tonight's dinner or tomorrow's plans, but about everything.

About staying in Whitetail Falls. About buying into the practice.

About building a life here, with David and Diana and pumpkin festivals and small-town gossip and all of it.

I came to Whitetail Falls looking for a temporary reprieve from burnout. Instead, I found a home. I found a family. I found the kind of love that changes plans and rearranges futures.

And as I straighten my white coat and prepare to greet my patient, I find I'm not scared at all.

For the first time in years, everything feels exactly as it should be.