“You’re up early.” The loud baritone voice sends my pulse into overdrive and my heart echoes in my ears. I turn around to find him.
“You scared me.”
Fisher shoots me an amused look, and then he smiles. “I’m not that scary, am I?”
If I’m honest with myself, he is. Not because he’s a monster, but because he does many things to my body—without touching me. He also drives me crazy. How can this man pull so many emotions out of me? I hold onto hate because if I don’t, I’m going to throw myself into his arms and beg him to…stop, Nat.
Instead of melting into love-goo, I lift my chin the same way my mother does and act annoyed. “Why are you here?”
“It’s breakfast time,” he declares.
“You don’t have anything with you,” I point out.
“The apartment upstairs is empty. I’ve been looking all over for you. What if you left?”
The thought of leaving Luna Harbor is appealing just because it seems like the clinic isn’t running. However, I want to see this through. I’m not sure what this is, but I have the feeling I’m here for a reason.
“Why would I leave?”
He leans his shoulder against the wall and crosses his strong, tattooed arms. I’ve never found ink so hot in my life. He knows how to wear it. “The better question is why would you want to stay?”
“I…I don’t know. I haven’t made up my mind about this place yet.”
“So, this is just a pit stop for you?”
“Isn’t everything just a pit stop? Nothing is permanent. Do I plan to stay here for the remainder of my medical career? I don’t know. My family wants me to become a cardiologist or a neurosurgeon or something proper and respectable like a Nobel prize-winning researcher.”
He chuckles. “Oh, is that all? What do you want to do?”
“I like being a doctor.”
“But?”
I sigh, so much for avoiding the subject for a few weeks.
“I don’t know who I want to be. Most of my classmates knew their specialty by the end of med school. I’m still wondering what in the world I want to do. I enjoyed the ER because I saw all kinds of cases. I could help the orthopedist, the dermatologist, or the pediatrician…I didn’t have to pick one thing. I could do it all.”
“And general practice isn’t an option because…”
I gasp and clutch the neck of my sweatshirt. “I, Nathalie Elizabeth Brennan, can’t just be a family practitioner.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Why not?”
“My parents are medical snobs. Making a difference is second to competitive salaries and ambitious career trajectories for them.”
“What do you want to do?” he repeats.
“Heal. I’d like to know that I helped someone feel better—maybe even saved their lives.”
“Then that’s what you should do. Why are you here?”
I hate that he’s not letting this go, but I like that he’s not pushing me to say what he wants to hear. “I’m not sure.”
“We’ll figure it out.” It sounds like an offer—a friend taking my hand and walking along during this journey that seems narrow, dark, and frightening.
“Who are you, Fisher?” This guy can’t be the same man who plays for Too Far From Grace, taking off his shirt mid-concert and pulling people from the audience to make out with them because he can.
He mystifies me.
How can he be so irritating but also so thoughtful?
I can’t help but ask, “Why are you in Luna Harbor? Do you love what you do?”
His cocky grin appears automatically. “I love my life, and that’s what matters. Let’s focus on Nathalie. How can we figure out what you can do with your life?”
“I need someone to give me a tour of this place. Do you know when the nurse is coming? Dr. Westbrook should’ve waited for me. He told me I’d be fine and that everything was easy to find.”
He tsks. “We can’t continue this discussion on an empty stomach. I’ll bring you some coffee and pastries.”
“What, no eggs today?”
The left corner of his lips lift. “I knew you were warming up to my food. You know what they say…”
“I should be careful before you poison me?”
“Sure.” He leaves with a big grin.
Chapter Nine
Nathalie
This place is a time capsule. I should open a museum. I still can’t understand how they updated the structure but didn’t even think about investing money on what matters, the medical equipment. I should wait for the receptionist or the nurse to arrive. I’m sure they know where everything is. That’s probably why Dr. Westbrook didn’t wait for me. His employees are qualified enough to do it.
“What are you doing down there?”
I’m in the reception area, sitting on the floor behind the desk. “I’m searching for the laptop.”
“Laptop?”
“Yes. They don’t have a computer. I assume they have laptops.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t recall seeing a laptop when we did the inventory.”
“Why would you do the inventory?”
“When we rebuilt the place, we moved everything to a temporary location. My job was to ensure that we didn’t lose anything. Dr. W. is very particular about his equipment. It lasted him years—I’m sure he purchased it back when Herbert Hoover was the president.”
My eyes grow wide. “That happened in 1930.”
He leans and whispers, “I think he’s that old, but don’t tell anyone.”
“You’re annoying.”
“But I might be the only person who knows where you can find what you need.” He sets down the tray of food and produces his phone. “I still have the inventory list, and I know where I put everything.”
To say that I’m impressed is an understatement. “You?”
“Me,” he says with a mischievous grin. “You better be nice if you want them.”
“Where are the patients’ charts?”
He grabs my hand and pulls me to a standing position as if I’m a rag doll. Then, he points at a wall behind us. “Here.”
“Nice. Invisible charts for my imaginary patients. Thank you for your help,” I say, annoyed. “I don’t have time to play games.”
He pushes the wall and it opens like two majestic doors containing the knowledge of an entire civilization. In this case, the civilization is Luna Harbor. Though the trick is cool, those folders prove that this place is too old.
“Everything is so archaic. How am I supposed to work here?”
“Why don’t you just sell the place?”
Is he kidding? This is my grandfather’s legacy. Not that there’s much left of him in here. I could take it as the opportunity to find me—or invent myself. I’ve been an experiment long enough. It’s time to figure out what I want to do.
“I don’t know if I want to sell it. It has too many memories. Grampa taught me how to treat patients here. Well, they were stuffed animals, but you get the idea. We checked their vitals, diagnosed them, and prescribed them medications.”