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Sometime in the past year, Chris decided I was the male role model he needed, and for some reason, I went along with it. He joined me for runs without asking, and I gave him advice on girls and electric razors. In exchange, his mom Rose fed me more than she should, and Chris refused any payment for walking Skye. Even Poppy had grown on me. Beneath the frightening exterior was a sweet girl who’d gone with me to the hardware store countless times after she’d witnessed my exasperation with exterior paint swatches. Seriously, the number of blue exterior paint shades and ceramic bathroom tiles should be illegal.
Chris spoke in a rush. “I was wondering if you’d help me train this summer. I’m trying out for wide receiver on the varsity team. I thought since that was your position, you might have some tips.”
“No,” I said. Even to my own ears, my answer sounded harsh. His eyes widened in surprise before his shoulders sagged. I hated being a dick, especially when Chris had been such a helpwith Skye, but I’d never touch a football again. I cleared my throat. “Sorry, it’s just I don’t have time. Work has been crazy.”
He shot me a look but didn’t call me on my bullshit. He and I both knew I’d been able to walk Skye myself lately because I don’t have patients.
“It might be good for Rowan to throw you some passes. Not yet. But once we’ve built up her core strength, it could be a great exercise.” Great. The sun wasn’t up all the way, and I’d already violated HIPAA. “Hypothetically.”
Chris smirked, which I hoped meant he’d forgiven me for turning him down. We talked about an action movie he’d seen, and whether Skye would ever act her age. By the end of the run, I felt certain I hadn’t hurt his feelings too much, but I still felt like an ass.
The feeling intensified as we ran toward the Stevens’s house, and I caught sight of Rowan sitting on the front steps, leaning against one of the large wood pillars that held up the porch roof. Her hair was piled on her head in a riot of curls that cascaded down her delicate neck. She was wearing a different pair of glasses from the ones in high school but equally hideous. The lenses had steamed over from the large coffee mug she held to her full lips. She jumped when she saw us and pulled the sides of her robe together, covering the smooth skin beneath her throat but doing little to hide her toned legs. She looked barely awake. I bet her bed was still warm. This rumpled version of Rowan was somehow even sexier. I ran Super Bowl stats through my head before I made a spectacle of myself in my running shorts.
I should have waved at her and run home. Instead, I kept pace with Chris all the way to his front porch as if my feet had a mind of their own. Music blared from inside the house, the bass far too powerful and upbeat for the hour.
“Not Cyndi Lauper again,” Chris said, plopping down on the steps.
“I have not missed Mom’s music selections,” Rowan said. “Morning, Dr. Cardoso. Are you helping Chris train for tryouts?”
“Please, call me Cal,” I said. I lifted my shirt to wipe the sweat from my forehead. When I lowered it, her mouth was hanging open. I smiled and she buried her face into her coffee mug until her glasses steamed over again. “We’re just finishing our usual run.”
“I haven’t convinced him to train me,” Chris said, flashing me a huge grin. “Yet.”
“I want to apologize for not recognizing you yesterday,” I said. Chris looked at me like I was the biggest dumbass on the planet, which maybe I am.
“It’s fine,” Rowan said, attempting to drink from her empty mug.
“Can you tell me about the session now?” Chris asked me. “That’s all she said to us too. I’ve lived in this estrogen fest long enough to know ‘It’s fine’ never means ‘It’s fine.’”
Rowan sighed. “It hurt like a mother, but my back didn’t feel as tight after.”
“That’s good, right,” Chris said, wrapping his arm around her and beaming. Her entire face lit up when he grinned at her, and I forgot to breathe for a second. The warmth of her smile and the tenderness in her eyes stole the air from my lungs.
“Ew, you’re sweaty,” she said, shoving him playfully. She winced, and Chris frowned.
Seeing her in pain reminded me of how many sessions we had left and how awkward it would be if I didn’t clear the air. “I should also apologize for sounding judgmental. We’ve all looked at a text when we shouldn’t.”
“What text?” Chris asked.
Rowan’s eyes widened. “Never mind, nosy. Go shower, so you can help me make those cinnamon rolls you like.”
He gave her shoulder a squeeze and me a wave. When he opened the front door, Cyndi wailed louder about girls having fun.
Rowan closed her eyes and sighed. “Did you need something else, Dr. Cardoso?”
I should really leave. Skye was waiting for her morning walk, and I had no reason to stay. “I’m afraid we got off on the wrong foot.”
She opened her eyes and gave me a polite smile. “It’s fine, Dr. Cardoso, really.”
“Cal,” I said.
She shook her head and started to stand. I took a step forward to help her, but she held out her palm to stop me. “I can manage. I’ll see you tomorrow, doctor.”
I blew out a breath once the front door closed behind her and sprinted down the street toward my house. Technically, I had a doctorate in physical therapy, but unlike my boss, Adam Cohen, I preferred not to use the title. I wasn’t a physician, and some people got nervous talking to doctors. I wanted my patients to feel comfortable telling me how their bodies tolerated the exercises. Hopefully, my rapport with Rowan would improve whether she used my first name or not.
Skye started barking the moment she saw me from the window. My house sat on the corner of Sullivan and Broad. Luckily, my only next-door neighbor, and former high school principal, Mr. Twillings, couldn’t hear a thing until he put in his hearing aids. None of the other neighbors complained, which felt like a miracle given the number of apartment buildings I had to leave on account of my dog’s enthusiasm.
I widened my feet and opened the front door. Skye leapt at me as though I’d been gone a month and licked my face.
