Page 18 of Hearts on the Mend

It’s a hard juggle, finally having to do everything myself, relying only on me. I mean, I’ve been a married single mom longer than I’ve been waiting on this divorce. Marriage just gave me someone to resent while I did it all alone. At least back then, I had the illusion of help. Fake backup still felt like backup some nights. Pathetic, but true.

I bite back another yawn, then peer down at the old woman who’s smiling up at me.

“So?” she asks.

Shit. I swear I’m better at this. I’m a good nurse. Graduated at the top of my class, even started taking classes for my master’s degree, but had to put that aside after Ruby. With Matt gone for half a year, it took everything to stay afloat those first few years. There was no time for extras.

I place my fingers against her wrist, pump the cuff, and wait for the thrum of her pulse under my touch. When I release, I count each beat, carefully watching the clock.

“Blood pressure looks good.” I un-Velcro the cuff and wheel back the cart to the corner of the small room.

“Cassie will bring you back out to the waiting room, and someone will be with you shortly, Mrs. Desmond,” Brianna says.

Right. Just playing today, not directing traffic.

I spend the rest of the short shift putting Band-Aids on everyone, pushing them off to the waiting room, or turning them over to an attending if it’s urgent. It’s not lost on me that I’m sort of doing the same in life right now. Moving through the motions, each day the same slog of tasks to tackle. Each day triage for my broken heart and the life I blew up.

I need to sell my aunt’s house so I can find a place to land with Ruby. I hate the in-between I’m stuck in. Some days, the wanting it over is almost worse than the waiting.

I head home early, shower, change, and there’re still a few hours to go before I need to pick up Ruby from school. I’m rustling through my fridge for something quick to eat when the most terrifying high-pitched ding rattles through the house.

Fuck, the doorbell. Sounds like a dying goose fell into a piano. Add that to the list to fix. Right under “figure out if it’s the ghost or bad wiring when the kitchen light flickers.”

Nolan’s in the driveway, pulling out rolls of pipe insulation from the bed of his truck. There’s another man with him too, older, who’s wrestling with a ladder.

My heart hammers against my chest, but I don’t think it’s just from the doorbell. Nolan’s brown hair is a little longer than when we first met, brushed back from his face and tucked underneath a backward baseball cap. His jaw is covered in a light beard, his mustache game still very strong.

Unfortunately for me.

It’s been almost a year. Figured that I’d be over him by now. Instead, I’m nursing a crush like I’m in high school again. Overwhelmed. It’s embarrassing how I stared at him last night. Ogling over the way he worked his hands over the pipes, the sparrow tattoos inked across the backs of them, or the flex of corded muscle in his forearms every time he reached for a tool, the broad line of his shoulders, the way he moved and commanded a space.

The entire time, I only thought about how he moved over me in that hotel room, just as commanding, just as thorough. It was a miracle I could use my legs after walking out early that morning.

Worse, I hate how calm he is. He didn’t yell like Matt or toss blame at me for the pipes freezing. He came in, saw a problem, and immediately solved it, and that might be the most panty-melting trait about this man.

Him. Nolan Murphy.

“You’re here?” Surprise rings out in my question.

“Said I would be.”

He brushes past me, the cold air from outside sweeping over me until I’m shivering. Can’t ever get warm in this stupid house.

“Right,” I say, my brain finally catching up.

“Scott is going to inspect the chimney for you. Old friend of mine from the fire station,” he calls out over his shoulder as he makes his way to the kitchen. “I’ll get the pipes insulated. Like I said last night, you’ll be all set. Nothing to worry about if we get another cold snap.”

“The whole house is something I have to worry about.”

I don’t mean to say it. It just kind of falls out between us, and it must catch him off guard too because he stops and turns, dark eyes pinning me in place.

Suddenly, I wish I wasn’t wearing a giant otter hoodie and faded black leggings. Or have my hair tossed up into a messy bun, with a half-eaten cold quesadilla clutched in my hand.

Sexy, Cassie. Real fucking sexy.

But that doesn’t matter. I gave myself one night. We had that, but there’s not a chance I’m going to let myself fall for a man like Nolan again. A firefighter, I mean. An adrenaline junkie. I need something safe and reliable in my life, a real partner. Ruby and I both deserve a man who will show up.

“You all right there, Hellcat?”