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Prologue

Caleb

If you’re lucky, you’ll know the exact moment that you meet the love of your life. A chance meeting, a glance, a quick lock of the gaze, and wham! Your life is changed forever. You’ve found your person, someone you’ll be there for forever, and they’ll be there for you, no matter what life throws at you.

I, Caleb D’Angelo, was eighteen when it happened to me. I never thought anything or anyone could ever come between us. Call me a romantic. Or just call me someone who believes in the power of true love.

But stuff happens—life happens—and Lilly and I didn’t survive my move to med school. We were so young when we started dating. We had zero experience in the world. Med school turned into residency, and I moved on. At least, I tried. Outwardly, I’m sure it seemed like I was having a lot of fun. Yes, I dated around. I’m not bragging when I say I was pretty popular, and finding someone to date was never hard.

But finding someone to love is.

The truth is, I’ve never stopped wondering what if with Lilly. And now she’s free. Except someone I work with spread some gossip about me, and it got back to her.

As for that annoying colleague of mine who thought the worst of me and ruined my chances with the woman I love—well, she’s impossible. As much as I’m easygoing and friendly, she’s driven, outspoken, and never fails to give me a hard time. She’s judgy and she hates my guts. We clash so much that I finally did something about it. I asked for another anesthesiologist for my case. Anyone besides her.

That made her dislike me even more. The problem is that I have to be nice to her because she’s my sister’s best friend. And we’re both in the same wedding at the end of this summer. And, ironically, so is Lilly. All three of us. Yay.

But I’m not going to let Samantha Bashar ruin my chances with Lilly—again.

I have a plan. I’m going to find out if Lilly and I are meant to be together. And nothing—and no one—not even the she-devil herself—is going to stand in my way.

I’m going to hold my friends close… and my enemies even closer.

 

CHAPTER 1

Samantha

I rolled back the curtain to the patient bay in the presurgical area of Children’s Milwaukee and gave a thumbs-up to a nine-year-old boy lying on a gurney, looking small and stark against the white sheets. Flanked on either side by his worried parents, he lifted a skinny arm, now attached to an IV board, giving me a gap-toothed smile and a thumbs-up right back.

That smile melted me and made me want to live up to all that trust in his eyes. “Hey, my man, you ready?” I did a fist bump with his non-IV-boarded hand.

“Yep,” he said with a big nod and a grin, full of positive energy despite being less than an hour away from a third surgery on his right femur, which had been badly fractured in a car accident a year ago.

“Let’s do it then.” I smiled at his parents, who didn’t look nearly as calm, his dad anxiously tapping his foot and his mom holding her hands tightly in her lap.

I saw the fear in their eyes. Surgery was scary. But it was also life-changing. And this one would finally give Joseph a chance to be a normal kid again by evening out the length of his legs so he’d be able to run—not limp. It would give him wings.

“Hi, Dr. Bashar,” Joseph’s mom, Terry, said. “We’re so relieved you’ll be doing Joey’s case today.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” I said.

“After this one, I’m gonna be GTG,” Joseph said.

I shot Joseph and his parents a puzzled look. “Good to go,” Terry said, smoothing her son’s hair back from his forehead. “Dr. D’Angelo taught him that.”

Dr. Caleb D’Angelo, the pediatric orthopedic fellow—meaning he’d finished his orthopedic residency and was doing a special fellowship year in pediatric orthopedics here at Children’s—would be doing the case today. He was a good doctor, but we didn’t get along at all. But because he was my best friend Mia’s brother, I had to at least try.

“I’m going to play baseball and run track. Right, Dr. Sam? That’s what Dr. Caleb said.”

“That’s the plan, Stan,” I said as I prepared to do my routine preop assessment.

“My name’s not Stan,” he said with a giggle.

His hopeful and trusting demeanor tore me up inside. It roused all my protective instincts, as it did with all the kids I cared for as a pediatric anesthesiologist in my last few months of training. Then I’d be GTG, ready for a real job. And I couldn’t wait.

Joseph’s dad, Henry, squeezed his son’s leg. “Last surgery, buddy. Let’s get it done.”

“Hey, everyone,” my friend Ani, who was Joseph’s pediatrician, called from behind me. She showcased a bright smile and two to-go cups of coffee that she passed out to his grateful-looking parents. Funny what a good cup of coffee could do during a stressful time. “I just stopped to say hi and break a leg,” she said. Joseph frowned. “That means good luck, but maybe that’s a bad joke. Hey, y’all, I have to borrow Dr. Bashar for a minute, but we’ll be right back!”

Ani was a human tornado, full of energy and endless optimism, all jam-packed into a five-foot-two frame. She was getting married in the middle of June, in just three weeks, and I was lucky enough to be one of her bridesmaids even if I personally didn’t believe in love—at least for myself. But I tried to keep that opinion quiet.

Before I knew it, I was being pulled by the elbow down the bright central aisle of the surgical floor by a petite powerhouse of a woman with a halo of blond curls as a parade of people in scrubs all colors of the rainbow passed by, some dragging EKG and portable X-ray machines, others cradling their own early-morning Starbucks. Almost everyone smiled.

That’s how it was in a children’s hospital. No one was here for themselves. And everyone had one mission—the kids. I was so proud to work here.

“Sam, I’m so sorry,” Ani whispered, stopping halfway down the hall, which filled me with sudden dread. “There’s been a last-minute switch. Erin’s been named anesthesiologist on this case, ortho fellow’s orders. I tried to buy you some time—I told her to come back in ten minutes to do the pre-op interview.”

My first reaction was confusion. Last-minute switches were unusual. “The ortho fellow took me off the case?” Suddenly the truth dawned. “Caleb?”

Ani didn’t need to nod. The solemn look in her eyes confirmed everything. Hot indignation boiled my blood. “He did this.” He being that awful splinter in my heel, the one person I tended to lock horns with personally and professionally.

Unbelievable—but predictable since there’d been no love lost between us from the very first time we’d met. I tapped my finger against my lips as I paced, trying to wrap my head around the fact that the peds ortho fellow I despised the most was about to prevent me from doing my job on a case. Not any case: Joseph’s case. I’d been in on both previous surgeries. I had a special place in my heart for this family. They knew and trusted me.

Some people thought that anesthesiologists were good at technology and procedures but had little bedside manner, but that was not true. One of the most important things we do daily is to help to calm and reassure patients and families on some of the scariest days of their lives.

Ani squeezed my arm. “I’m really sorry, Sam. Go talk with him.” I immediately started to take off to do just that, but she held me back one last time. “More flies with honey,” she warned.

“Thanks,” I mumbled. She knew me too well. My tendency to jump into anything with both feet was good for tense situations in the OR but sometimes bad for conflict resolution. I often spoke my mind first and thought later. I guess that was why I wasn’t a diplomat.

This time I had to be careful. I was in the last months of my pediatric anesthesia fellowship, and I’d applied to join the anesthesia group here at Children’s. I couldn’t afford to be unprofessional no matter how annoying Caleb was.

This was the first time any of our conflicts had escalated to this level. I’d make sure it would be the last. I couldn’t allow anything to interfere with getting this job.

I strode at a fast clip across the massive pre-op area, my bright pink Danskos squeaking on the shiny tile floor. Around me, the floor was coming to life: the screek of curtains being pulled back on patient bays, gurneys being wheeled down the central aisle as the massive surgical unit buzzing to life under the bright white lights like the floodlights of a movie set. Lights, camera, action.

I passed the giant whiteboard with all the day’s cases. Sure enough, my name had been erased and replaced by my colleague Erin’s.

I struggled to slow my breathing. A quick touch to my cheeks indicated that they were as fiery as my temper. This was sadly my normal reaction to Caleb. Nothing I did helped me to calm down. I was the emoji with the brains about to blow off its head.

One final turn and the object of my wrath came into plain sight. He stood at the central nursing station, his tall frame a little hunched over as he quietly examined an electronic tablet in his hands, prepping for his first surgery.

We’d miraculously managed to be civil to one another, especially at work. But this… this stunt meant war. I approached the desk where he was deep in thought, his thick, wavy hair tumbling forward as he read.

Before I could speak, Dr. Agarwal, one of the ortho attendings, walked up and slapped him on the back. “You ready, son? I’m just going to stand by and watch. The helm is yours, okay?”

Caleb saluted. “Aye, aye, Captain. As ready as I can be, sir.”

Their interaction was friendly and harmless, a show of both how well Caleb was liked and his easygoing humor. It also showed—to me, a female physician—how male physicians spoke to each other. Would any attending, female or male, call me “daughter?”

I understood that I had built-in anger toward charismatic men: my mother had been briefly married to one, my father. After their divorce, he swept in and out of my childhood, promising the world and delivering only disappointment after disappointment, until finally he left for good. And my mother had ultimately done the same. So I saw through Caleb’s charisma better than most. I tolerated him for Mia’s sake and for the occasional times we had to share an OR.

My grandma, Oma, had warned me that a man could be a woman’s downfall as had been my mother’s. I prided myself on being the type of woman who didn’t need that kind of man or, frankly, any man for that matter. Love was a fairy tale. Independence, strength, and self-sufficiency were what mattered. Men could be fun, but in general, they all sucked. I’d never had any reason to believe otherwise.

Dr. Agarwal left and I stepped up. A soapy smell filled the area surrounding Caleb that I immediately identified as Spring Fresh Dial, my own money-saving favorite that I bought in twelve-packs from the Dollar Store. Okay, so he smelled clean, and his looks might have been kissed by the angels, but I was not deterred. Looking around, I saw several people charting and making phone calls behind the massive nursing station. “Can I talk to you?” I asked while gesturing with my head toward a nearby door that led to the back transport hallway.

We walked through the double doors into the hallway, which was empty for now except for a lineup of clean gurneys along the sides. I waited for the doors to fully close behind us before I confronted him. “Why did you bump me from that case?” I struggled to keep my voice calm and even as Ani had advised.

He looked at me, his pale green eyes quietly assessing me, starting with my bright pink clogs, which caused him to lift a brow in disdain, up to my safari-print scrubs (hey, I work in a children’s hospital) and my bouffant-cap-covered hair, ready for the OR. I ignored the unusual but intriguing color of his eyes and his calm, intelligent—if derisive—gaze. Women tended to fall at his surgical shoe-covered feet. His smiley, glass-always-full personality drew men and women like a magnet. But I found him childlike and entitled.

His thick, dark brows knit down in a frown as he seemed to carefully search for words. As if he could actually defuse the bomb that he’d already detonated. “Yes, that was me,” he said, not really answering my question.

“At least you’re not denying it.”

He exhaled and then spoke carefully. “Look, Samantha, it wasn’t a professional decision. You’re good at what you do. But you’re so—” His voice trailed off.

I crossed my arms and urged him to continue as I silently plotted his demise. “So…?”

“…argumentative,” he said decisively, filling in the blank. “Headstrong. Obstinate.”

“That’s three adjectives telling me I’m determined. One would be plenty, thanks.”

I was focused and goal-directed—and proud of it. I didn’t allow people to trample on me. I stood up for myself. I’d had plenty of practice getting places on my own strength—my own stubborn will. Unlike him, who cruised by on his good looks and who played—a lot—instead of being serious. Who dated and discarded women faster than Kleenex. In fact, his latest victim had been my friend Nora, a nurse practitioner from the NICU, whom he’d recently reduced to an endless font of tears.

“I didn’t want to deal with your, um—determination—in the OR during a tough case,” he said. “It’s unprofessional. Not to mention bad for patient care. And distracting.”

“I am good at what I do.” I enunciated every word slowly and carefully. “And I’m never unprofessional.” I would never create drama, especially in the OR, that sanctum sanctorum where any careless error could mean the difference between life and death.

“You get along with everyone except me. You disagree with me on everything—publicly.”

I frowned. “Like what?”

“You always give me grief when I ask you to turn up the pain control.”

I tossed up my hands. “A surgeon has no conception of how much pain control the patient needs. I’m monitoring the patient while you surgerize, remember?” I tapped my chest a little too emphatically. “My job.”

He did not appear convinced. “The table was too high, and when I ask you to lower it, you huff.” He looked down his nose at me, which I had to say was his only imperfect feature. It was a little bit large, with the tiniest bit of a dorsal bump. Staring at that tiny imperfection gave me the courage to gather my thoughts.

Maybe I had fought him on some petty things. But if I was defensive, it was because he irritated me in a way that no one else did. “I know this family. I’ve done the anesthesia on both of Joseph’s other surgeries. You know how much this means to me.”

I had to shut down this entire issue fast. If the anesthesia chair, Dr. Benson, found out, I’d be crossed off the prospective employee list faster than the time it takes for the sedating effect of a Propofol drip to kick in.

“I’m sorry,” Caleb said firmly, “but I can’t have power struggles in my OR.”

I shook my head, momentarily speechless. “‘My OR?’” A voice in my head told me to put on the brakes. Think of Mia. His sister, my best friend. I would never do anything to put our friendship in jeopardy. Mia was wonderful, the dearest friend I’d ever had, and she was everything her dumb brother wasn’t.

More urgently, all of us—Mia, Caleb, and I—were in Ani’s wedding. She was marrying Tyler Banks, an invasive cardiologist who did things like place stents in clogged arteries, implant pacemakers, and open tiny coronary arteries with balloons. In truth, his personality was a bit invasive too, but that was another story.

Their wedding was in three weeks, on June 14, and there was a bonding wedding party weekend coming up next weekend at a farm in Waukasaw, about two hours away, which actually included the beautiful outdoor venue Ani and Tyler had selected.  We had to at least pretend to get along for the sake of our friends.

Even more urgently, my car was in the shop, and Caleb and I were the only ones headed way out there in the middle of nowhere from Milwaukee. My wheezing, chronically ill car, which was all I could afford after meeting all of my sister’s college expenses, had undergone cardiac arrest, and the nice mechanic down the street from where I lived, Hal, was struggling to save it. He’d said it would be a miracle for the car to be resuscitated in time for the farm weekend.

I was praying for one, because after this incident, I would never step into a vehicle with Caleb. I wouldn’t trust myself not to commit a felony. It looked like I would be forking over the bucks on a rental because my pride would never allow me to ask him for a ride.

I balled and unballed my fists, thinking. He noticed. That was the trouble with him—he always noticed.

His mouth twitched. He was amused at my indignation, and that did it. I closed my eyes and shook my head and took a breath, but none of that stopped everything I was feeling from spilling out like a flood. “The fact that you think you can cancel me—publicly—on a whim just because you don’t like me, and your attending actually allowed you to get away with that, says everything. You are a stereotypical meathead ortho guy. Handsome, but all muscle and no brains.”

Okay, maybe I went too far.

Yep. I was met with complete, hulking, deadly silence. The pale green eyes glared.

Good. I’d made him feel my anger. Why hold back? Except now I’d be walking to

Waukasaw next weekend.

“Wow,” he said, staring at me. “Handsome, huh?”

I spun toward him. “What?”

There was that too-bright, mocking grin. “You said I was handsome.”

I could. Not. Deal. With. Him. I took a step back and prepared to go.

“This isn’t a joke,” I said to his face.

I desperately needed this job. To stay close to Wynn, my nineteen-year-old sister, who was in college at UW. Also, I loved this hospital. I loved the complex and challenging cases. I loved teaching. All things I couldn’t do in a smaller place.

Caleb crossed his arms and looked down at me. Way down, because oh man, was he tall. I would guess six-four to my five-nine. “No one will know about the switch unless you make it known. And I’m sorry about Joseph. But Erin stays.”

The hydraulic double door swooshed open behind us. “Joseph’s family is asking for Sam,” Ani said in a pleasant tone. She walked over, handed me a clipboard, and turned to Caleb. “Maybe you’d like to go in there and tell them why you don’t want her in there?”

He shook his head and sighed heavily. Crossed his arms.

She dropped her voice. “Plus this is ridiculous. You’re both in my wedding. And I’m the bride. Get it together, both of you.”

He was silent for a moment. “Okay, fine,” he said finally. The words came out heavy and flat, as if it nearly killed him to say them. Then he narrowed his eyes at me. “This is a complicated case, and I don’t want any distractions.”

“You have my word, Dr. D’Angelo.” I shot a grateful look at Ani, took the clipboard, and left.

For now, this was about our patient. I could wage the war with Caleb later. And make no mistake, there would be war.

 

CHAPTER 2

Samantha

One Week Later

It was nine p.m., and Caleb still wasn’t home. I squinted through the peephole and peered into the second-floor hall of the hundred twenty-five-year-old Queen Anne Victorian that we both called home, but the door across the hall from my apartment remained closed and silent. I listened for the crunch of his tires on the gravel drive—nothing.

It had been a week since our little—um—confrontation, and since then, we’d both managed to carefully avoid each other.

But I had a problem. That farm-bonding weekend was coming right up, and my car was still bone dead, waiting on a part that still wasn’t in. I’d have to borrow a friend’s car or rent one, plain and simple. The third option, asking a favor from a person I considered despicable? Ugh. My pride hurt to ask the first and third favors, and I couldn’t really afford option two after barely squeaking by—between loans and my savings—to meet my sister’s tuition payment for a class she had to retake this summer.

Yes, retake. Take again. As in paying twice. Ouch.

I wrung my hands as I paced my apartment, talking to my little sister, Wynn. “Did you say you got a job in the perfume department?” I’d just learned that she’d definitely not been planning on spending the summer doing research in a lab with a medical researcher like we’d planned. Working in the perfume department of a department store was not going to be a good cred to get her into medical school. Unless she was doing chemistry experiments there.

In between glances through the peephole, I paced the solid oak floor. It creaked in a few places, which ordinarily I barely noticed, but in my present state, every sound was like chalk on a blackboard.

“My job at Winterfield’s starts next week,” Wynn said. “So I have the restaurant job and this new one. Isn’t that great?”

She’d mastered an enthusiastic tone, but it sounded fake to me. Which made me worry, worry, worry. Wynn was emotional, excitable, and young—the opposite of me, who was steady, even-keeled, and cautiously thrilled about only a few things. Plus she was just nineteen, a far cry from my own age of thirty-two. I didn’t want her to have a truckload of worries, especially financial ones.

But it felt like I was going on fifty-two, because the trouble was that I found myself constantly straddling the gap between sister and parent, something that you’d think I should’ve mastered by now except for the fact that my sister was always throwing me curve balls. While I wanted her to enjoy her time away at college, something I’d never truly been able to do, I wanted—make that needed—her to have a secure future. Basically, I needed her off the payroll ASAP. And that meant her passing her classes with flying colors, focusing, and declaring a major in the appropriate time frame to graduate in four years. Easier said than done.

The parent part of me couldn’t let her off the hook. “I thought you were coming home to take calc here in Milwaukee this summer.” Because summer housing was yet another expense I hadn’t counted on. Plus I wanted her here. I wanted our relationship to be what it used to be, before our grandmother died a year and a half ago.

“Home?” she asked in a deadpan tone.

I knew the problem. Last year, after Oma died, I’d sold her house, and Wynn had not forgiven me for getting rid of the only home we’d ever had even if that money was now helping to fund her college. And even though Oma’s neighborhood was becoming crime-ridden and scary—not the home-sweet-home fantasy anyone would dream about.

We were homeless, so to speak. A bit unmoored, but I’d vowed to be the glue. We’d always stuck together—except now there was a chasm between us. And I didn’t know how to bridge it.

“Yes, home. Home with me.” Not that this tiny apartment was so great, but I’d made the big bay window a sleeping alcove. I’d bought a cute futon with bright pillows and hung flowery curtains for privacy all around it. With the naturally quirky nature of this old home, that arrangement would work out great. Except that Wynn was throwing me a plot twist.

“To retake calculus,” I added.

That was the elephant in the room: She’d failed calculus last fall. Not because, like a lot of us, her brain simply didn’t get calculus, but because she’d met a boy first semester and had fallen madly in love with him—and had stopped going to class.

Ugh. A boy named Miles, whom I hadn’t even met yet.

I was completely out of my wheelhouse here. The only reason I’d made it to college in the first place was my smarts, and without total focus, I wouldn’t have survived. My future would have had as great a chance of being as chaotic as our mother’s, who’d gone from bad job to bad job and worse man to worse man. Until one day she’d left us behind too, in Oma’s care. Which was probably for the best for everyone.

“I want to work this summer.” Wynn’s tone was insistent. “That’s more important.”

More important than retaking calculus? “I admire that you want to work.” So did my bank account. “But med school admissions committees aren’t going to be excited about the perfume job.”

I’d sent her the names of some doctors who were taking students to work in hospital labs for the summer and therefore take part in research—the typical med school application credential. If she could get into a prestigious lab and get her name on a cutting-edge scientific paper, it would be a great thing to put on her CV. I’d helped her fill out the applications—but she hadn’t said anything about hearing back.

This was a different attitude from before… the boyfriend. Miles, who didn’t seem to care about things like passing classes and planning for a good future. I looked down to find that I’d shredded a bunch of tissues into confetti on my kitchen counter as I talked.

I suppose that was better than nail biting or drinking, but still.

“I want to save up until I can pay for the class I have to retake,” Wynn said. “And I want to stay here.” There was a long pause. “With Miles.”

Shred, shred, shred, shred, shred.

I supposed I should be glad she’d taken the perfume job. That job would be in addition to her job waitressing at a very chichi restaurant in downtown Madison. But would her grades suffer even more? When she first got the waitressing job, I practically broke out in hives every night thinking of her walking out of the restaurant alone and taking public transportation home late at night.

So I’d bought her a used car, even as the dollar signs racked up. So many dollar signs that they appeared in my dreams at night. I’d been supporting both of us on a resident’s salary, loans, plus all the moonlighting jobs I could find, including one spending weekend nights at a local psych hospital doing admission physicals on patients. Despite all that, the expenses felt endless.

That’s okay, I told myself. It wouldn’t last much longer. After three years of anesthesiology residency, I was now in a fourth year of training, a special year of pediatric anesthesiology fellowship—and I was finally applying for a real job. After years of sacrifice, real income was just around the corner.

“Don’t worry about me,” Wynn said. “I’m fine. Maybe I’m not as smart or as independent as you, but I’m finding balance. I’m learning how to study and have a social life.”

That was a hit directed at me—the fact that I’d studied and worked my way through college. Even in med school, I worked as a phlebotomist from four a.m. to seven a.m. four mornings a week. My sister was now telling me I was one dimensional. Unbalanced. And too independent. She probably wasn’t wrong, but I didn’t have a choice. I chose to tamp down the insult even though it hurt a little. “You are smart. And I’m glad you’re finding balance.”

Not worry? Impossible. And her tone—so disdainful! I bit my tongue as I thought of more disasters. Was she using birth control, like I’d preached many times? But if I said that now, I was afraid she’d hang up.

I agonized. I shredded. I was wasting the whole fricking box of tissues. But it was better than losing my mind. No lab job, no calculus retake, no return home to be with me for the summer. No, no, no.

“You’re using birth control, right?”

That was met with dead silence as I’d predicted. I had to ask. If I didn’t and something happened, I’d never forgive myself.

“Yes,” she finally answered, exasperation in her voice.

“Okay, just checking.” I tried to strike a more positive tone. “Maybe I’ll drive up for lunch or dinner next week,” I said. “Would that be okay? We can go somewhere cute to eat.” I paused. “Miles can come too.” That last part cost me two more Kleenex, but I said it.

“Yeah, but I—uh—I’ve got exams. I’ll text you when’s a good time, okay?”

“Okay.” I disguised a little more hurt. She’d been putting me off for the past month or two. When she was younger, she’d been filled with adoration for me, wanted to spend every moment with me. But she was an adult now. And now our relationship was fraught with all these other things. “You sure everything’s okay?”

Actually, she sounded fine. I was the one who was not okay.

“Sam, I’m doing great. Don’t worry so much, okay?”

The floor creaked again under my pacing. Thump thump thump sounded from below my feet.

That would be Mrs. Von Gulag, my elderly landlady, who lived below me. To be clear, that noise was her broom handle—and her temper—hitting the ceiling.

I glanced at my watch. Nine on the nose. Her way of signaling me to stop pacing, walking, talking, and also breathing, since it was her bedtime.

“Okay,” I conceded. “I just— I love you. Make good choices,” I snuck in at the last minute.

The line went silent. Wynn took a breath, gathering patience, no doubt. I should’ve left out the Jamie Lee Curtis line.

Oh, but I had so much more I wanted to say. Make other friends. Don’t let anyone distract you from your goals. Work hard and then play hard.

I knew that sometimes I sounded pushy, and I tried to keep my mouth shut. But sometimes I just couldn’t.

You know why? Because I was frightened. I didn’t want her dreams to get derailed. I wanted her to have every chance, every opportunity. I wanted her to have an easier way than I did. And I wanted my hard times to be worth something. Like, I’d put in the suffering for both of us, and now it was over, and she’d never have to experience it.

“Love you too,” she said in a cautious tone. “Talk soon.” Then the call ended.

I sat down on the cute futon, totally distressed. If only Oma were around, she’d manage to laugh this off somehow. Make me tea. Sit down beside me and put her arm around me and surround me with her love. But there was no Oma. There was just me, alone in the cheapest (but safest) apartment I could find.

Oh, I had good friends. But trying to talk to them about parenting matters was… difficult. They were always supportive, but it was like asking a Burger King employee to create for you a James Beard recipe. No experience.

In some ways, I perpetually felt that my sister was one misstep away from disaster. From flunking important classes to getting involved with the wrong boys to spending money that I couldn’t replenish fast enough. I was always torn between pretending that everything was normal so that she could enjoy a college life relatively free from worry to coming down on her hard and demanding that she get it together or else, whatever that meant. And so I said nothing, afraid to drive her away for good.

I would never do anything to drive a stake between us. It was bad enough we’d grown up without a father—at least, by the time she’d come around, he was long gone—and that our mother had been capricious, floating in and out of our lives as randomly as a bubble in the wind, bringing the promise of excitement and fun and raising our hopes, only to have them all dashed.

After a while, that kind of hurt makes you want to give up on people. You don’t trust anyone except yourself. And you end up alone.

I didn’t even have a pet. I wasn’t sure that I could manage one more responsibility.

But at least I could depend on myself, right?

I just had to figure out how to handle my sister. How to be a good big sister. How to help her reach her full potential. Be a mentor. And love her. But how?

I had no clue what I was doing. As I lay back on the pillows, my phone fell from my pocket and clattered on the floor.

The broomstick banged again.

Caleb never got the broomstick.

He got leftovers and pieces of homemade pie and cookies while I got… the broomstick.

But then I was a woman. I was used to working hard in what was very subtly still a man’s world without perks or privileges. I didn’t expect cookies or leftovers or a friendly landlady. I didn’t expect the world to give me anything. I’d come a long way on my own willpower. And I would be just fine.

 

CHAPTER 3

Caleb

I was trying to be as silent as possible as I crept down the hall to my apartment, not only because of my landlord’s excessively early bedtime and insistence for us to basically play dead anytime after it but also because I had a feeling that my nosy across-the-hall neighbor wanted to talk to me.

“The wedding bonding experience” that my friend Ani had come up with—a weekend experience that was meant to replace the bachelor and bachelorette parties—was taking place this weekend. Being trapped at a farm in rural Wisconsin for two days would require Samantha and me to bury the hatchet, at least temporarily. She’d been lying in wait for me the past few nights, and I’d barely escaped, her door opening just as mine shut—but she never knocked, and I didn’t answer. I was waiting for my temper to cool.

I usually didn’t require that—I was a fairly easygoing guy, and I didn’t typically harbor anger. But through a strange twist of fate, Samantha had unknowingly thrown another complication into my life that had messed with my relationship with Lilly, my first and potentially only love, who was Ani’s oldest friend and in the wedding too.

Call me romantic, call me an optimist who doesn’t know when to quit, but I couldn’t stop wondering if Lilly was the One. Things hadn’t ended well between us, but there were circumstances. This wedding weekend was my chance to set things right and start us off on a better foot, in a brand-new direction. I didn’t want to live with what-ifs,what-might-have-beens, and being in this wedding together would be the perfect opportunity to resolve things.

I’d grown up understanding that love was a rare and precious gift and the only thing that truly mattered. I learned this because I’d lost a sibling—my younger sister Mia’s twin—when I was eleven. So nothing Samantha said or did could stop me from taking my last chance with Lilly.

I dreamed of being an orthopedic doctor in our quaint little hometown, where Lilly worked as a florist. We’d have a cute house near my parents’ farm, and our kids would grow up roaming the fields and forests and having a great time being surrounded by family just like I did. The dream was there, within reach—I just had to actualize it, starting this weekend.

Tonight I was tired after a long day and definitely not in the mood to hash anything out. I was okay with pretending that Samantha and I liked each other for the weekend, but I had no desire to talk with her about anything. Silent as a cockroach—or any one of the random critters living in this old place—I turned my key but accidentally dropped my keys. They hit the wood floor with a metallic chink. Behind me, Samantha’s door opened with a loud creeeaaaak.

I spun around to find my annoying neighbor standing there in shorts, a Brewers T-shirt, and pink fuzzy slippers, her long black hair wet from a shower. I’m not even going to mention catching a glimpse of her nicely tanned legs, which made me do a double take that I instantly regretted.

Samantha looked fun, attractive, and not at all like someone impossible to be friends with—but looks are deceiving. She didn’t have a stitch of makeup on, but she had long, thick lashes and pretty, full lips and didn’t need it one bit. Looking at Samantha sure wasn’t painful, but talking to her definitely was.

I reminded myself to be cordial for my sister’s sake. But I was still so damn angry.

“Why, if it isn’t the notorious Dr. Gas,” I said in a false-pleasant tone, using the common nickname for anesthesiologists as I slowly straightened up in the dim hallway. “Awake past curfew, I see.” My gaze flicked up and down, until I realized I was staring at her legs again. I diverted my gaze directly up to her face and forced it to stay there.

“Dr. Bone Cracker,” she shot back, glancing at her watch. “You barely squeaked by, I see.”

“Mrs. Von Gulag thinks I’m charming. She always cuts me some slack.”

“Men always get cut slack. But we women don’t need any slack. We make our own destinies.”

I usually got this type of diatribe about women vs. men, which for some reason she felt I needed to hear. I tried to remember that Mia loved her—they were the very best of friends. I honestly didn’t have a clue why.

Small talk was over. I was ready to call it a day. So I turned back to my door and jiggled the key—or rather, tried to. But it was now stuck. I silently cursed.

“I need to talk to you about something,” she said.

Dammit. Reluctantly I faced her again. The light above our heads was shining on her hair. Black, shiny hair and so much of it, thick and lustrous. I pushed the distraction out of my mind. Sooner or later I was going to have to confront our troubles. “Funny you should say that,” I said. “I’ve got something to get off my chest too.”

“I hope it involves an apology for trying to boot me off that case last week.”

I bristled. “You make being nice so hard, Gas.” I folded my arms in a show of defiance. “If we want to get anywhere with this, you’re gonna have to call me by my real name.” I pinched my nose for patience. If only my key wouldn’t have stuck.

“This is no joke,” she said. “What you did could have cost me my job application. I was lucky no one told Dr. Benson about it.”

I crossed my arms and looked down at her. Not that far down, because the woman was tall—not the usual dynamic I had with women. I disliked Samantha, but she was a conscientious doctor. What I’d done about trying to replace her on my case was a little reckless, not my usual behavior, but nothing bad had come of it. Just this painful conversation.

“You’re right, our dislike of each other isn’t a joke. I admit that what I did wasn’t the greatest way to handle things. And I am sorry about that. But this time you went too far, and it cost me something too.”

* * *

Samantha

“I went too far?” I couldn’t wait to hear this.

Caleb tipped his tall, lean frame against the scarred doorjamb. “For your information, you cost me something with someone I care about.”

“I’m confused. You actually care about someone? With human emotions?” I instantly regretted being snarky. The hospital grapevine said that he dated around a lot. I wasn’t sure if he ever went out with anyone more than a couple of times. But then I didn’t pay much attention to the daily dish.

“Judge much?”

“I can’t help it if I find you reprehensible.” Okay, so subtlety wasn’t my strength. At least with me, people got what they got. I wouldn’t apologize for that even if his frown lines were distractingly cute. Who has cute frown lines?

“I can’t help it if you’ve got a tree trunk up your—”

“Just tell me what happened, okay?” Somebody had to be mature here, so it might as well be me.

“Something you said last week got back to someone I care about.”

“I don’t gossip,” I said firmly. I couldn’t fathom what he was talking about. But I had been royally upset after he’d nearly booted me from that case. Had I vented to a couple of my girlfriends? I had. But I don’t have the kind of friends who break confidences. “Who?” I asked, straining to remember what I said and whom I said it to. “Got back to whom?”

“Lillian Hardy.”

Lillian Hardy? Never heard of her. Wait a minute—yes, I had. Lilly. She was Ani’s oldest friend from childhood, and she was one of her bridesmaids, along with me and Caleb’s sister Mia. “From Oak Bluff?” That was Caleb and Ani’s hometown, a quaint little place in the middle of a lot of farmland, which was two hours from Milwaukee.

The look in his eyes confirmed a yes. “Lilly happens to be very special to me, and she’ll be at the farm this weekend.”

“I’m still not following.”

“She’s my ex. My first love. I hope you understand about love.”

“Your first love?”

Caleb sighed heavily. “I don’t want to talk about this. But yes. Things didn’t end well, but I have a chance to make them right. Except someone at the hospital spread some rumor—that I don’t treat women well.”

First love—didn’t end well—make it right. That sounded to me like strikes one, two, and three. I would’ve never pegged him as a full-blown romantic. Good luck with that, buddy, was my first thought.

“I have no idea how you treat women. I only know how you treated me, which wasn’t nice. Or collegial. Or fair.” And I was still pretty steaming mad about that.

“Lilly is good friends with Stacey from 5 North,” he continued. “And Lilly apparently… heard things from her.” He cleared his throat. “Things ‘the anesthesiologist on the case with the child with a broken leg,’ said about me.”

A dull sense of dread seeped slowly into my veins, like anesthesia before a surgery. That happened in the OR all the time. Patients felt a cool sensation and started counting backward from ten, and by eight they were out. Stacey was a nice work friend. I knew she was chatty, but I guess I’d been mad enough to be careless with my words.

Nora, our friend from NICU, had been beside herself that week. She’d gone out with Caleb a few times, but then the very next week, he dumped her for a respiratory therapist who also worked in the NICU—whom Nora said he’d been dating at the same time.

I’d vented to Stacey about what a terrible person Caleb was. How he indiscriminately dumped women, how he’d screwed me over and nearly got me called in by my department chair. And Stacey had apparently told Lilly.

“And now Lilly doesn’t trust me,” Caleb said. “She broke off with her boyfriend a few months ago. I finally have another chance with her, and now it’s blown—because of you.”

All the blood left my head. I got so weak-kneed I had to back up and lean on my grandma’s little book stand for support.

I’d been so mad. So appalled at what he’d done to me. When I’d heard what he’d done to Nora, I guess I’d just lost it—I’d told Stacey everything.

I felt terrible. Not only for Caleb. How was I going to tell Mia what I’d done? Because this would hurt her too.

Anger had disconnected my stupid mouth from my brain.

But Stacey knew Lilly? How was that even possible?

And Lilly was apparently the love of his fricking life?

Ugh. No matter how terrible Caleb was, Oma didn’t raise me to be a vengeful person. And I wasn’t a gossip. And I especially wasn’t one of those people who ruined someone’s chances at love.

In my family, that was a mortal sin.

My last name, Bashar, means bringer of glad tidings, of love. Oma was a matchmaker. She’d proudly matched over one hundred couples in her lifetime.

I thought that maybe I’d inherited her gift too. Which sounds strange, but I had a special sense about couples who were meant to be together. So far, I’d predicted five marriages among my friends. Five, including Mia, who’d been dating our colleague Brax since last Christmas and wasn’t engaged yet, but honestly, those two were a perfect match.

“I don’t care what you think of me.” Caleb leaned in very close, his eyes glinting with anger, “Just know this: I. Am. Not. A . Cheater.”

He looked so determined, his distinct-looking brows turned down in a formidable frown. I’d never seen him that way before. He spoke forcefully, vehemently. Like someone telling the truth.

“I don’t owe you any explanations about my personal life,” he continued, stabbing a finger at me. “But since you’re my sister’s best friend, I’ll tell you that I never date anyone who wants to get serious. Nora happened to want more, and when I broke it off, she got angry. End of story.”

“You’re saying she lied?”

“To start a rumor, yes. Maybe to hurt me as she felt she’d been hurt.”

I had to admit, it sounded plausible. He certainly looked and sounded adamant.

“Fair enough.” I stood up straight. “Regardless of what I think about you, I owe you an apology. I’ll make it right—with your friend.” There. I wasn’t beyond apologizing. And I would make it right. That was who I was.

“No, you won’t,” he said quickly.

What? “I insist,” I said carefully, standing my ground.

“You’ve done enough. All I want now is for you to stay out of this.”

My head was spinning. I thought of Oma. She would be so ashamed that I’d stood in the way of someone’s chance at love. Even someone like him.

“Really, I feel terrible,” I said. “I may not like you, but I-I would never… I’ll do whatever it takes to keep the peace this weekend.” With a brief nod, he turned to place his key back in the lock. This time, I heard a successful click before the door swung open. I figured the discussion over, so I opened my door and started to walk into my apartment.

Then I heard, “Just be ready by eight on Thursday.”

I spun around. Did I hear that right? He wouldn’t be… could he be? “You’re offering me a ride? After all this?” I was incredulous.

We disliked each other. He was furious with me. I was furious with him, despite feeling bad about Lilly. When he turned to face me, he looked… normal. Not fuming, not pissed. “Is this a trick?”

He scowled. “No.”

This had to be a trick. “Like, are you offering me a ride, only to leave me dead in those woods that line the highway all the way to Waukasaw?”

He rolled his eyes. “Mia told me about your car.”

Oh great. Thanks, Mia. She was a wonderful friend. I, however, sucked, because look what I’d done. I narrowed my eyes. “What exactly did she tell you?” I didn’t want any pity about sacrifices I’d made for my sister.

“That your car’s in the shop.” He paused. “I don’t mind giving you a ride, but I have a few conditions.”

Conditions? The nerve. “I was going to say that was incredibly nice of you, but now I changed my mind.”

He ignored that. Instead, he simply counted them out on his long, elegant fingers. “First of all, I’m spending Thursday at home with my family, so hope that’s not a problem. Number two, I don’t want to discuss this anymore. Three, I’d prefer you not mention any of this to my family. Especially not Mia. And four, most importantly, I need you to stay out of my way. Please,” he added, sounding vehement. “Absolutely no interference.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You don’t want Mia to know that you’re planning to get back with your ex?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know if I’m getting back with her. But I need to resolve some things. And I like to keep my business private.” He got up close. So close I could see the pure, unusual green of his eyes. I’d never seen eyes like that before. They might be beautiful, if he wasn’t someone I wanted to run from screaming, as far away in the opposite direction as I could. His expression was dead serious. “Okay, Dr. Bashar?”

“Yes. Fine. I’ll be ready.” I hesitated, knowing what I had to do. I opened my mouth. Cleared my throat. Forced out the words. “Th-Thanks.” The word stuck like dry, sticky rice to the roof of my mouth. “Thank you.”

As painful as a shot in the butt, but I’d done it.

He gave me a nod and a self-satisfied smile. Then he disappeared into his apartment.

Behind his back, I flipped him the bird. No discussing, no mentioning, no interfering, I mimicked to myself. What a sanctimonious jerk.

But at least he was a sanctimonious jerk with a car. And he’d been nice to save me the humiliation of asking.

So, fine. I’d follow the rules.

Except for that last one.

I lived my life like I lived our Hippocratic oath; above all, I tried my best to do no harm.

Plus Dr. Annoying was Mia’s brother. Hurting him also hurt Mia. Granted, he annoyed the hell out of her too, but she loved him. I had to fix the damage I’d done—fast. I wouldn’t be responsible for someone losing their true love. I committed to do everything I could to help.

I was almost inside my apartment when I heard his voice. “By the way, I saw that,” he called over his shoulder.

 

Print preorder coming soon to Amazon, IngramSpark, and orderable from your favorite bookstore!

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Each book in the Doctors of Oak Bluff is a standalone, but they are best enjoyed together. Book 1, Take Me Home for Christmas,  is on sale in April, 2025, at half price on amazon.com and amazon.ca.