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7
Around five the next morning, I was forced to climb out of bed because of a patient who was in active labor. I dragged myself into my bathroom for a quick shower, pulled on some scrubs, and was heading out when I ran into my mother in the hallway carrying a tray of food to her bedroom with a huge grin on her face. I eyed the tray—two plates of food, two coffee mugs. Someone had spent the night in my mother’s room.
“Hey, sweetie. Heading out early?” she chirped.
I nodded. “Uh, yeah. See you later, Mama.”
“Okay!”
She ducked into her room and slammed the door shut behind her. I wasn’t sure what bothered me more, the fact that she was sleeping with whoever while still married to my father and in his house, or the fact that she was having more sex than I was. Well, that was an understatement. I hadn’t had any sex since leaving Robert, and to be honest, I couldn’t remember the last time we did it before I left. It had reached the point where he barely touched me near the end. I suppose he was getting it somewhere else.
I was thirty-six, in good health, and well…horny. But there was absolutely nothing I could do about that. So I climbed in my car and tried my best to erase any thoughts of my mom’s active sex life and my lack thereof from my brain.
The patient, a forty-year-old mother of four, was already at the birthing center when I arrived. The nurse beat me there and already had her set up in a room. Since they weren’t strangers to the birthing process, she and her husband were laughing and joking with each other when I entered the room. The birth of their fifth child, a boy, was a pleasant event, but I found myself a little depressed afterwards because I wanted what they had, had held onto my marriage with my fingernails trying to achieve it. But in the end, I came to realize there would be no forever with Robert Mattison no matter how hard I wished for it.
I had Janine reschedule my appointments for the day, told her I wasn’t feeling well, and was opening my car door when I heard his voice.
“Early lunch or late breakfast?”
I had been fighting my tears for most of the morning, but for some reason, as I turned to face Lorenzo Higgs, I let them fall.
The smile he wore dissipated, as a look of concern took its place. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked softly.
I wiped my wet cheeks with the back of my hand. I could’ve screamed for crying over a marriage that ended long before I left. I needed to get myself together. “I was just heading home for the day,” I said, ignoring his question.
He stood there for a moment, his eyes trained on me, then stepped closer to me, and said, “That’s not what I asked you. Are you okay, Ms. Strickland?”
There he was again, a man I didn’t really know, standing before me when I was in the midst of needing something, someone. So I shook my head and let my tears flow. Bleary-eyed, I felt his hand clutch mine and followed him as he led me from my vehicle to his, I presumed. It wasn’t the SUV but a car he stopped at. I looked up and managed to smile at Rell, who held the door open for me. He gave me a small smile and a tiny nod in return. I climbed inside with Lorenzo scooting in beside me.
“Where-where are you taking me?” I finally thought to ask, as the car coasted out of Genesis’ parking lot.
“Have you eaten?” Lorenzo asked. He wasn’t touching me, but as he sat there beside me, something about his presence comforted me. And he smelled absolutely heavenly.
“No,” I admitted.
“Rell, take us to the house,” he said, his voice louder and more authoritative than it was when he addressed me. Then he lowered it again, “I’m gonna get you something to eat.”
“At your house?”
“Yes, is that okay?”
I should’ve said no. Should’ve been leery of this man and whatever his intentions were. But I wasn’t, so I said, “It’s okay.”
*****
I sat at his rustic kitchen table watching his back as he stood at the stove cooking something that made my empty stomach roil with anticipation. I eyed my surroundings, noted the expensive-looking stainless steel appliances including two stoves, the gorgeous stone countertops, the massive rack of pots and pans hanging over the island that still held a knife, cutting board, and the remnants of onions and bell peppers he’d chopped up for my omelet. He worked in silence save the music streaming from speakers that hung high on the walls in the corners of the room. I tried unsuccessfully not to look at him, at his strong arms and long legs and amazing ass in slacks. An apron covered his dress shirt.
I sat back and closed my eyes as the soothing jazz continued to fill the room, mingling with the aromas saturating the air. Something about him and being there felt right. I wasn’t sure why, but it just did, and the thought of how right it felt brought a tiny smile to my face that widened when he approached me, plate in hand, and said, “Bon Apétit.”
“Thank you.” I appraised my food and added, “This looks incredible!”
He grinned, revealing white teeth. “Thanks. You have a veggie omelet, some maple sausage, toast, and oh, what kind of juice would you like? I have cranberry, orange, apple, grape, grapefruit—”
“Water is fine. Thank you. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble for me.”
“No trouble at all. I like to cook.”
I smiled and dug in as he began cleaning the kitchen. “Aren’t you going to eat?” I asked.
