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Of course I looked up his file. For professional reasons. What does he expect?
“When was the last time you had that ligament examined?”
He shrugs. “I’ve been on dad mode 24-7 for the last eighteen months. I barely remember my date of birth. If I catch a cold, I just power through.”
“But you need to take care of yourself as well,” I say.
“I need to take care of Graham and set him up for the future,” Owen says. “Luckily I can still work full-time at the feed store and care for the farm without missing too much time with Graham.”
“That’s great,” I say. “But it sounds like you’re burning the candle at both ends.”
“I have a good system now,” he says. “He hangs out with me at the feed store twice a week. The rest of the week, my mom watches him for me. I carry him on my back when I’m home tending the farm. Pretty soon he’ll be big enough to be my little helper.”
I don’t think a two-year-old will be as much help in the garden as he thinks, but I’m not here to predict the future. He’ll figure it out.
“May I introduce you to the concept of daycare?” I say instead.
Owen smiles, but there’s some tension there. “I don’t want someone who’s not family to raise my kid.”
Here we go.
This, I know a lot about. “You may not be aware of this, but studies have shown that quality child care has long-term benefits for children. They learn independence, how to advocate for themselves, and how to make friends and work as a team.”
He stares at me for a beat, leaning back, clasping his hands behind his head. “Doc, are you prescribing child care for my son?”
I should tread carefully here. I know this body language. I’ve seen it dozens of times.
“I’m not prescribing anything,” I say gently. “I’m just saying, there’s no reason to be scared of hiring full-time child care. Just do your research.”
I sense a shift in his demeanor, and I know I’m the cause of it.
Owen leans back in his chair and crosses his burly forearms across his chest. His work shirt sleeves are rolled up, making him look all the more imposing.
“I have done my research. I research everything. The second that Amber dropped Graham at my front door, I’ve been doing nothing but learning how to take care of him.”
Shit.
“I didn’t mean to…” I start.
A text notification comes through, distracting Owen from our argument.
I should say, the argument he seems to be picking with me. I have no skin in this game. I don’t actually care if I piss him off, because I’m not crushing on him. It’s one hundred percent the other way around. One hundred percent.
Reading the text that just came through, Owen quietly curses and stands up.
“I gotta go. It was nice talking with you, Daisy.”
I watch him walk away for the second time in two days, but I feel something else this time.
The opposite of satisfaction. Which makes no sense because I clearly won that argument. Didn’t I?
So why does his use of my first name make me ache? And why, as he walks away, do I feel as if I’ve been oblivious to something that should be so obvious?
chapter
four
Owen
