From Neighbors...to Newlyweds?

She made a face. “I hate coffee.”

He smiled. “Hot chocolate? Coke?”

“Vitamin water?”

“Sold.”

They settled at one of the tables by the window with their beverages.

“How was your morning?” Brittney asked him.

“In addition to the usual hip replacements, I put a plate and five screws in the ankle of a kid who took an awkward tumble on the soccer field.”

She winced. “Sounds painful.”

“Nah, we put him under so he didn’t feel a thing.”

She rolled her eyes. “I meant the tumble.”

“I imagine it was,” he agreed. “How was your morning?”

“I had a test on molecular genetics,” she said.

“And?” he prompted.

She shrugged. “I think I did okay.”

“So no worries that Northeastern is going to rescind their offer?” he teased.

“Not yet.”

“Is Brayden going to Northeastern, too?”

“Brayden is old news,” she told him.

“Oh. I’m … sorry?” Truthfully, he was relieved. On the few occasions that he’d met her boyfriend, he’d seemed like a nice enough kid but Matt had worried that the relationship with Brayden would distract Brittney from her studies and her ultimate goal of becoming a doctor like her uncle.

She smiled, at least a little. “It was a mutual decision.”

“Then your heart isn’t broken?”

“Not even bruised.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said.

“How’s your heart?” she countered.

His brows lifted. “Do they have you working in cardiology now?”

She smiled again, but her eyes—when they met his—showed her concern. “Mom told me that Aunt Lindsay is having another baby.”

“Yes, she is,” he acknowledged, pleased that his voice remained level, betraying none of the emotions that churned inside of him whenever he thought about the family that his ex-wife now had with her new husband. He didn’t resent the fact that Lindsay had everything he’d ever wanted, but he was painfully aware of how empty his own life was in contrast.

“You should get married again, too,” Brittney said.

“Don’t worry about me—I’m doing okay,” he said. And it was true. Because he suddenly realized that, since moving in next door to Georgia Reed and her family, his life didn’t seem quite so empty anymore.

“You need a family.”

“I haven’t given up on that possibility just yet.”

“Mom was telling Grandma that you need a woman who can appreciate you for all of your good qualities,” Brittney continued, “so I’ve been keeping my eyes open for—”

“I appreciate the thought, but the last thing I need is my sixteen-year-old ni—”

“Seventeen,” she interjected. “Remember? You came by for cake and ice cream for my birthday last month.”

“I remember,” he assured her. In fact, he hadn’t missed a single one of her birthdays in the past three years, and he was grateful that Brittney’s mother had continued to include him in family events after the divorce. Of course, it probably helped that he and Kelsey had been friends long before he married her sister. “But the last thing I need is my seventeen-year-old niece trying to set me up.”

“Well, I haven’t found any candidates yet,” she admitted. “Aside from my friend, Nina, who thinks you’re really hot. But even I know how inappropriate that would be.”

“And on that note,” Matt said, pushing back his chair, “I think I should check in on my patient.”

Brittney rose with him. “And I need to get back to the E.R.”

But before she turned away, she gave him a quick hug.

He was as pleased as he was surprised by the impulsive gesture of affection. But it was the words she spoke—”You’ll find someone, Uncle Matt”—that somehow shifted his thoughts to the beautiful widow living next door with her three children and made him wonder if maybe he already had.

Georgia didn’t have a lot of experience with her kids and emergency rooms—thank God for small favors—but she knew that “the squeaky wheel gets the grease” was an adage that applied in hospitals as much as anywhere else. And when she finally managed to maneuver her family through the sliding doors, with Pippa fussing, Shane crying (and trying to hold a bag of now partially thawed frozen peas against his wrist), and Quinn shouting “Don’t let him die!”, she didn’t even try to shush them. Or maybe she knew her efforts would be futile anyway.

After she gave the basic details of the incident and handed over her insurance information to the bored-looking clerk behind the desk, she was told—with a vague gesture toward the mostly empty seating area—to wait. But she didn’t even have a chance to direct Quinn to an empty chair when a dark-haired girl in teddy-bear scrubs appeared with a wheelchair for Shane. Though the tag on the lanyard around her neck identified her as “Brittney” and confirmed that she was a member of the hospital staff, she didn’t look to Georgia like she was old enough to be out of high school.

“I’m just going to take you for a walk down the hall to X-ray so that we can get some pictures of your arm,” Brittney explained to Shane.

His panicked gaze flew to his mother. Georgia brushed a lock of hair away from his forehead and tried not to let her own worry show.

“It’s okay if your mom and your brother and sister want to come along, too,” Brittney assured him. “Would that be better?”

Shane nodded.

Quinn shook his head vehemently. “I don’t want Shane to get a X-ray. I wanna go home.”

“We can’t go home until a doctor looks at your brother’s arm,” Georgia reminded her son, holding on to her fraying patience by a mere thread. “And the doctor can’t see what’s inside his arm without an X-ray.”

“You can make it better,” Quinn insisted. “Kiss it and make it better, Mommy.”

Georgia felt her throat tighten because her son trusted that it could be that simple, that she had the power to make it better because she’d always tried to do so. But they weren’t babies anymore and Shane’s injury wasn’t going to be healed by a brush of her lips and a Band-Aid.