“Bye, babe. And I mean it, I’m so lucky to have you met you.”

I feel like an ass, but this is getting too much.

“Thanks, um, bye.”

Sighing, I rub my temples and take a moment to center myself before I go back out there. What the hell did I just agree to? I’m so confused, and I hate to admit the reason why is sitting in my living room right this second.

Before Dixon re-emerged, I was beginning to open up and could see things with David actually progressing. But now that Dixon’s back and almost kissing me, I don’t know what to do. Maybe this was a bad idea and I’m kidding myself into thinking we could ever just be friends. I don’t know what it is about him, but he’s the first guy I have ever felt this way about. He’s the first guy I can actually think about in a physical way and not freak out.

I just want to be normal, and Dixon makes me feel that way.

Wiping away a stolen tear, I toss my phone onto the dresser and look at my reflection. I look like a complete mess, as my hair is sitting in a lopsided ponytail, and my T-shirt has a cheesecake stain on it from when I missed my mouth. Yet the sophisticated man just beyond my door wanted to kiss me. Why?

Taking a deep breath, I open the door and hope my flushed cheeks don’t give me away. Stepping into the living room, I see the sofa is empty and Dixon is nowhere to be seen. I didn’t hear him go into the bathroom, but I do a quick sweep just in case he wanted to stretch his legs. After I’ve checked my house—twice—I come up empty. Unless he’s hiding in my closet, he’s gone.

Looking over at my wooden grandfather clock, I see that I was on the phone for twenty minutes.

I should be pissed he left, but I’m actually more pissed at myself for not wrapping things up with David sooner.

Not in the mood to study any longer, I decide to pack up, take a hot shower, and crawl into bed, hoping to dream this day away. However, a loose piece of paper on my coffee table catches my eye and I bend forward, reaching for it.

In an elegant script are the words: It means, you’re an angel.

I bite my lip and hold the paper up against my chest, not able to look at his sweet words any longer.

18

Food for Thought

DIXON

“Good morning, Dr. Mathews,” Susanna says as I barge through the door, my rain-soaked coat making a mess on the cream carpet.

“Ms. Vale.” I run a hand through my wet locks.

“Oh, you should have called. I would have met you downstairs with an umbrella,” she says, quickly standing up and handing me a box of tissues.

“It’s June, for Christ’s sake! Why is it raining?” I gripe, accepting a few and wiping down my drenched face.

My briefcase is sopping wet and failed as a makeshift umbrella. “When will this blasted construction be over with?” I ask, brushing down the damp lapels of my gray suit jacket.

“It is New York. Once this one is finished, another will take its place soon enough,” she wisely says.

“You’re right. I just wish they’d hurry up so I can park my car in the garage I’m paying thousands for,” I snap.

Susanna nods with a smile. “Bad start to the week?”

If this were anyone other than her, I would be telling them to mind their damn business, but Susanna is practically family.

“You don’t want to know the half of it.”

“Go. I’ll get you a coffee,” she says, waving me toward my office.

My morning doesn’t get any better and by midday, I’m convinced I’ll murder my next patient. I’m barely refraining from banging my head on the desk when a soft knock sounds on the door.

“Come in,” I bellow, giving up on reading over my notes for my next appointment.

“Dr. Mathews, sorry to bother you,” Susanna says as she pops her head through my door.

“It’s fine. Come in.” I motion for her to enter.

“This just arrived,” she states. She holds a small, white box in her hand.

“Oh?” I say, raising an eyebrow. “Who’s it from?”

“I’m not sure. The courier said there were no sender details recorded.”

“How strange,” I reply, my curiosity piqued.

“I thought so, too.” She walks over to my desk and hands me the package.

Looking at the top and both sides, I still have no idea what could be inside this small box.

“If this is a severed ear, I’ll be extremely pissed,” I say, and Susanna laughs.

Unclasping the lid, I open it apprehensively and peer inside, while Susanna leans forward so she too can see what’s inside the box. The moment I see the slice of cheesecake, I know who the sender is.

But why?

“There’s an envelope,” she says in anticipation, no doubt wondering what the hell is going on.

Reaching for it, I open it up. Inside sits the same piece of paper I left for Madison. However, underneath my handwriting are the words: I saved you a piece—from one angel to another.

“Dr. Mathews, are you okay?” I remain mute, as the note in front of me has my full attention.

Why did she send this?

Sadly, Madison’s walls are paper thin, and I heard the majority of her conversation to David. There’s no doubt she’s into him, I mean, she said so herself. I just need to forget the fact she nearly kissed me, because her actions surely don’t match her words.

I couldn’t stomach a second longer of listening to her canoodling that lovesick fool, so I left. But I left her a note because I didn’t want to just bail yet again. I had no expectations, and yes, I could have chosen something else to write. But I thought this was better than the alternative of, “Your boyfriend is a parasitic dick.”

Eyeballing the cheesecake and note, I honestly don’t know what to do. I’m drowning in two women who are both toxic to my health for entirely different reasons, but toxic nonetheless.

Slamming the lid shut, I push the box away from me and place the folded letter into my pocket. Kicking the waste bin out from under my desk, I slide the box across my desk and am about to throw it in the trash when Susanna stops me.

“Aren’t you going to eat that?” she asks, obviously confused by my distaste toward a harmless piece of cake.

I shake my head. “Nope. Would you like it?” I offer the box her way.

“Are you sure?”

“Knock yourself out,” I reply. Susanna happily takes the cake from my outstretched palm.

“Are you sure you don’t want it?” she questions, and I can’t help the dry chuckle which spills from my lips.

“That’s the problem, Ms. Vale,” I vaguely reply, no longer referring to the dessert.

Susanna looks puzzled by my ambiguous response, but she doesn’t push. She takes the box and makes her way toward the door. However, she suddenly stops, and with her hand poised on the handle, she raises the box above her head and says, “Food for thought, Dr. Mathews.”

She gently shuts the door behind her and I sigh, because she’s absolutely right.

The rest of the week is no better than the start, and come Saturday afternoon, I’m dying for some S&S—scotch and sex.

Juliet has been MIA all week, and after my blow-off last weekend, I really shouldn’t be expecting anything less. But having easy, freaky sex on tap for the past three months really spoils a man, and my hormones are in overdrive.

I guess I could call Juliet, but I feel we’re both on the same page and realized we’re nothing more than fuck buddies who got a little carried away with a Disney HEA.