It's Definitely Not You - Abby Brooks Page 0,27

on and I gripped a swath of fluttering papers in my hand, we moved back into the waiting room. She fidgeted with the snack-laden table. A strange thing to find in the waiting room at a doctor’s office. Didn’t that violate some kind of health code?

“She set that up herself.” The receptionist appeared beside me, smiling so wide her eyes disappeared. It was the kind of smile you couldn’t see without grinning in return. “Keeps it stocked. Pays for it, too. Doctor Monroe is one of a kind.”

“I’ve…had similar thoughts myself.” True enough. Misleading, but true.

Clasping her hands in front of her heart, Dorothy lumbered over to Kennedy. They chatted in hushed whispers dressed in furtive glances, congratulated Tony on his improved snacking habits, then Kennedy gestured for me when it was time to leave. The drive home was quiet, though my mind was anything but.

“Is that why you had to move in with Maxine?” I finally asked, trying to make sense of a broke doctor. “Because you donate your time to a free clinic?”

Talk about shattering world views.

Light laughter lifted her brows. “I work for Key West Pediatrics during the day, which pays the bills. The clinic is…I don’t know. A way to make up for what I see at the day job.” She shrugged the statement away. “My apartment had a simultaneous flooding and bug infestation that needs addressed. That’s why I’m living with Nan.”

I bobbed my head, my focus locked on the road in front of us. “Makes sense.”

It didn’t.

Nothing about the day made sense.

Not a kind Kennedy. Not the lack of fire choking my heart when I looked at her. Not the way she interacted with everyone in that clinic. And certainly not a simultaneous flooding and bug infestation kicking her out of her apartment.

“Why’d you think I moved in with Nan? To keep an eye on you?” She turned to me with laughter that died in her throat. “You actually thought that, didn’t you?”

I shrugged. “Maybe a little.”

She shook her head and refocused on the road. “It’s not always about you, Joe Channing.”

I turned to watch the buildings rushing past the window, hiding a smile I didn’t want her to see.

Chapter Thirteen

Kennedy

Blue. Joe’s eyes were so blue they put a cloudless sky to shame. I’d wondered, and finally I knew. They mesmerized me. Eddies of light and dark swirled around the iris, hinting at depth and intelligence. I couldn’t stop staring, so I decided not to look at him at all. If Delores had misunderstood our bickering for chemistry, what would Joe think if I swooned over his beautiful blues every time our eyes met.

I pulled into my spot in Nan’s driveway and killed the engine. Wordlessly, we climbed out of the car and I followed him to the guesthouse, the lost puppy to his swaggering Bernese Mountain Dog. Injury-wise, I’d done everything I could, but my compulsion to do more kicked into overdrive as he absently rubbed the arm in the sling. Everything about my original opinions of the man had proved wrong.

The first time I saw him, I thought he was gonna rob the place. Wrong. He planned to fix it up for free.

The second time I saw him, I thought he was attacking Nan. Wrong. She wanted to show him her super cool Judo moves and despite his misgivings, he’d agreed.

My outrage over the bookshelves had been misplaced. He wasn’t swindling her. He was spoiling her.

I’d punched him. I’d almost pepper-sprayed him. I’d called him names. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Was there ever a time in my life I’d been so wrong? A quick perusal of my past said no.

I had a lot to make up for.

“I was thinking,” I said, as he pushed open the door and stepped inside, “it’s gonna be hard for you to work for the next couple days.”

“That’s very observant, Doctor Monroe.”

I followed him in, taken aback by all the boxes. “You have a lot of stuff.”

He pointed at the stack. “That would be all your grandpa’s stuff.” He waved his good hand toward a few pictures on the wall near his bed. “Those are mine. Not that much really.” He grimaced as I wandered over to stare at the photographs.

“Anyway, I was thinking…” I leaned in to study an image of him with his arm around a man in a ballcap. They were backlit, but the boots and jacket pegged Joe as Joe. The landmark reaching for the sky behind them was unmistakable. “You were in Paris?”

He