Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
I lift the squares to my nose and breathe in, letting the scent of fresh baking neutralize every bad thought forcing its way to the front of my mind. I need to focus on the future.
I took it as a good sign that when I arrived at eight this morning, Dr. Cove was already in his office. I assumed he must be expecting a busy day. I was excited, considering I’ve spent most of the week bored out of my head. Other than research and starting the insurer recognition process—which Dr. Cove may or may not appreciate—I’ve done nothing but research recipes and give the windows another clean. The cleaning service for the building had been difficult to track down, and I wanted things as perfect as they could be.
I had eighteen and a half months of paycheck left before I could stop caring.
But two and a half hours after my arrival, my determination and excitement have wilted. Dr. Cove hasn’t come out of his office at all. I’m running out of things to do.
Mutterings through the wall make me pause, still as a statue, so I try to make out what he’s saying. Is he on the phone? Maybe to a patient who has his mobile? Unlikely, but I live in hope. Silence ticks by and I give up. If he doesn’t come out in twenty minutes, I’ll go in to him.
I pop a cherry-and-almond square into my mouth, closing my eyes as I enjoy the way it melts onto my tongue. It’s the perfect ten-thirty snack.
“Are you asleep?” a voice asks.
I open my eyes and immediately want to die. He would pick the only ten seconds of bliss I’ve had today to come out of the office. “Dr. Cove!” I jump to my feet. “No! I was just snacking.” I grab the plastic box full of treats and shove it forward, like a tin of cherry-almond squares is an explanation unto itself. “It’s impossible to taste one of these without closing your eyes. It’s like your taste buds are so overloaded that all other sensations have to shut down. I don’t know if it’s a medical thing or just instinct, but it’s true nonetheless.”
He looks at me like I’m a jabbering idiot, which may or may not be true.
“Try one,” I urge him. “You’ll see.”
He winces. To be fair, his body looks like a temple. I’m sure he’s one of those, just like Shane, who doesn’t eat refined sugar, dairy, wheat, red meat, or alcohol, and snacks on broccoli. He probably thinks thirty minutes rowing every morning is the ideal way to wake up.
“Honestly, it’s the closest you’ll get to God today. I promise.” I remember what Jen said about all doctors thinking they’re God and internally cringe. I hope he doesn’t think I’m insulting him.
“What are they?” he asks.
“Cherry-almond bites. Surely even you treat yourself occasionally?”
He frowns but reaches out, takes one and pops it in his mouth. I freeze, staring at him, trying to gauge his reaction.
He nods. “Tastes good. You made these?”
“Last night,” I say. “Do you think they need a little more almond?” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret it. He doesn’t want to discuss my bakes. I’m here to assist him, not the other way around. “Never mind,” I say. “But if you have five minutes, I’d love to go through a few things.” With the help of my after-hours research, I figured out who the main health insurers are and filled out what I could on each of their consultant recognition forms. Most of it is online and fairly basic, but it isn’t like I can actually submit the forms without Dr. Cove’s approval. There must be a reason why he’s dragging his feet over the entire thing. Or maybe he’s already done it, and my efforts are totally in vain.
“Sure,” he says. “Come through.”
I wasn’t expecting him just to say yes. For the last year of our relationship, Shane would avoid anything that resembled a meeting. In hindsight, he was avoiding any one-on-one time with me at all—professional or personal. Like he said, I should have read the signs better.
I follow Dr. Cove through to his office, bringing my laptop with me. He’s moved his desk out a little to give himself more room. It makes sense. He’s very tall. And the scent in here is less “neglected office space” with the hint of expensive body wash in the air.
I shut the office door and he sits down, but he’s distracted. And not by me.
I take a seat opposite him and wait. He’s clearly thinking about something. His brows arch and lower. His perfect cupid’s bow lifts and twitches. It’s like he’s having a silent conversation.
“Are you okay, Dr. Cove?” I ask.
He clears his throat and looks me dead in the eye. “Call me Zach. What do you need?”