Page 181 of The Doctors Will See You Now

“A delivery? For me?” I questioned in surprise. I wasn’t expecting any deliveries.

“You’re Harlow Paige, right?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “That’s me.”

“Yep,” he said and walked into the office. “This delivery is definitely for you, then.”

“Do you know who it’s from?”

“Uh…” He set the brown paper sack on my desk and scanned the Blackberry in his hand. “It’s from a Dr. Hickey?”

“Dr. Hickey?” I asked, horrified. Of course, I knew the sender’s real identity.

Scott Shepard. Only a self-righteous, sarcastic bastard like him would go to the trouble of calling himself something horrendous like Dr. Hickey.

I bit my lip to fight my smile, but it was a lost cause. My cheeks stung from their abrupt, puffed-out, happy state.

Jesus. Why am I smiling like a lunatic?

It was a mindfuck, to be honest. Scott Shepard should have annoyed me, not made me goddamn giddy and grinning like I was one antidepressant away from stripping off my clothes and dancing naked in a field of daisies.

“Just sign here,” the delivery guy said and held out his iPad and stylus pen.

I followed his instructions and quickly scribbled my electronic signature across the device.

“Have a nice day,” he said with a wave and left my office.

As I unrolled the top of the brown paper bag, goodness assaulted me. Mmm. Sweet and sugary, there was no mistaking the scent of maple syrup. Food. Tasty, high-calorie food was inside this bag.

I pulled the white takeout box out of the bag and popped it open to find a large serving of the most irresistible looking pancakes I’d ever seen in my life. Nutella, bananas, whipped cream—Jesus Christ, it was heaven in a box.

I was all set to dive in face first, when I spotted the small envelope attached to the back of the bag. My name was written neatly across the front, and inside sat a little note.

I know you can’t resist these. Or me.

Enjoy.

Dr. Hickey

I shook my head.

That cocky bastard.

Why I was smiling was still a mystery, but I decided to blame it on the pancakes. I mean, no human being in their right mind could frown when looking down at this pile of sugary goodness. Before I ate myself into a carb coma, I pulled my cell phone out of my purse and called the pancake culprit.

“Harlow,” he greeted on the second ring, a smile apparent in his voice.

“Dr. Hickey?” I asked, and he chuckled shamelessly.

“Did you taste them?”

“Hell no.” I feigned annoyance. “I never eat food sent over by people I don’t know. I trashed them.”

“You’re so full of shit,” he refuted. “I bet you’ve got a greedy fork within an inch of digging into them right now.”

I totally did.

Wow. I don’t even remember pulling that fork out of the plastic.