Annie O'Neil - London's Most Eligible Doctor

“I know.” Vonnie sighed melodramatically, and rolled her eyes in Lina’s direction before singsonging, “RICE, RICE, RICE, RICE, RICE!”

“That’s right, young lady,” Cole replied in a stentorian tone Lina hadn’t heard from him before. “And what does it stand for?”

“OMG, I practically came out of the womb knowing what that stood for!”

Cole crossed his arms and gave her a very good “I’m waiting” face. Lina could easily see him being a parent, willing to wait as long as it took for the child to clean their room, finish their homework, whatever … She wondered what—No, she didn’t. She didn’t wonder that at all!

“Rest, ice, compression and elevation. Are you happy?” Vonnie’s tone was more teasing than truculent so whatever they’d discussed in the exam room had put her in a better mood. Her mother emerged with coats and handbags and a couple of tutus Lina hadn’t noticed before.

“Ooh, look at these—they are wonderful!” Lina couldn’t help herself.

“Do you really think so?” Vonnie’s mum flushed with pleasure as Lina nodded emphatically. “I made them.”

“They’re amazing.” Lina meant it. From the very bottom of her heart. Her own mother, to save money on the countless tutus she’d required, had stitched and stitched and stitched for her, as well. “You’ve got a wonderful mother, Vonnie.” Lina gave the girl’s shoulder a squeeze. “You make sure you let her know how much you appreciate her.”

“I will!” Vonnie replied, working her way across Reception and out the door. She might, mused Lina. Or she might not. Lina hoped she had done the latter, but was never sure it had been enough. One day … she would let her mother know just how heartfelt her gratitude was. One day.

“So, I guess that’s us! Just another day at En Pointe!” Cole shrugged on a wool blazer, scooped up the puppy in his basket from the sofa and gestured with his head toward the front door with a smile. “Are you ready?”

Cole took about three seconds to examine the menu before offering the waitress a smile and his order.

“I’ll have the spaghetti carbonara, a fresh salad, some garlic bread and—uh—Rover, here, will have a bit of plain chicken and some rice. In a bowl. Is that doable?”

“Not a problem.”

It was easy enough for Lina to see that anything Cole or “Rover” asked for wouldn’t be a problem for the waitress, who had plonked herself down in the spare chair between the two of them. Lina may as well have been invisible for all the attention the waitress was paying her. Not that she minded. Going along to a job interview she’d been cajoled into was one thing, but being dragged out—okay, well, being blackmailed into going out to dinner was another.

“Who’s the little puppy?” The server had on her best baby-talk voice now. “You’re the little puppy! You’re the little puppy!”

So much for the restaurant’s no-dogs policy.

The waitress had already made a puppy-exception rule, and brought the little guy a bowl of water and a couple of itty-bitty raw carrots to gnaw on in case he was teething. Right now the pup’s head was resting on the brim of the basket, lending him more supercute factor than anyone—or anything—should be allowed.

Cute factor or no, Lina was there for the sole purpose of securing the job. That was it.

“Lina?” Cole tipped his head in the waitress’s direction. It was her turn to order. She’d scanned the prices and hadn’t even bothered to look at the menu choices. One entrée was the equivalent of her weekly food budget.

“Don’t worry.” Cole reached across and covered her hand in his. “I’ll take it out of your first paycheck.”

Lina tugged her hand away and clenched it in her lap. She wasn’t comfortable accepting help … but it had been ages since she’d had a well-made restaurant meal. Gone were the days of being feted by London’s social elite.

“The gnocchi, please. And a rocket salad.” They were the least expensive items, but with the added bonus of reminding her of pierogi. Pierogi! Her mouth watered at the thought of her mother’s pierogi. One day … she’d go home one day. Lina pursed her lips and handed the waitress her menu, who gave her a cursory glance, scribbled something on her notepad, then whirled off with a smile expressly for Cole’s benefit.

Lina focused her attention on the puppy. Neutral territory. That’s what she needed. Cole’s hand on hers had been too close to feeling something—wanting something. She hadn’t realized how curative the simple touch of a hand could be.

“He doesn’t look like a Rover.”

“No?” Cole rubbed a finger along the little guy’s head. “What does he look like?”

As if by design, they both crossed their arms, leaned back and considered the puppy. He had a white muzzle that broadened into a wide stripe that led up to his forehead. Black took over from there. He had little brown arches over each eye, white paws and appeared slightly affronted at this very obvious inspection.

“Vladimir,” Lina pronounced.

“Horace,” Cole countered.

Lina shook her head. “No. He is not a Horace.”

“How do you know he’s not a Horace?”

“I just know.” Lina gave Cole her best I-just-know look, then tipped her head to the left as if it would give her a different perspective. The puppy opened his eyes wider as if in anticipation of her coming out with the right name.

“Wojciech.”

“I can’t even pronounce that.” Cole laughed. “How about Spot?”

“No!” Lina protested. “That’s lazy. And look. Where do you see spots on this guy?” She lifted him up out of the basket. His back leg was in a little splint. She wanted to ask what had happened but felt herself already getting too involved with the puppy and with Cole. They both looked at her as if she held all the answers to the question at hand.

Despite herself, she couldn’t help giving the puppy a little cuddle. It was impossible not to. She held him up again so that they were face-to-face. “What’s your name, huh? Jak masz na imię? ” The puppy scrunched his face into a mess of wrinkles before yawning widely in her face. Then he sneezed. Twice.

“Maybe he doesn’t speak Polish.”

“Maybe he doesn’t speak American.” She kept her gaze on the puppy.

Cole rearranged the cutlery at his place setting with a grin. “Go on, then, Polish puppy-whisperer. What’s his name?”

Lina looked across at Cole once she had given the puppy a good long stare. “Igor.”

“Igor,” Cole repeated, as if he hadn’t heard her correctly.

“Yes. Igor.”

For the second time that day Lina’s mood lifted as that smile of his peeled apart his lips and heated her insides as if he’d unleashed a swathe of warm sunlight.

“I like it. Looks like we’ve got ourselves a puppy name.”

Lina handed Igor across to him, careful not to get his injured leg caught on anything. “No. You have yourself a puppy name. And a puppy.”

Cole cradled the dog in the crook of his arm, careful to adjust the little splinted leg so it could lie along his forearm. “Didn’t I tell you? Part of the new job is dog walking. Once his leg heals, of course. Only until I find him a new home, of course.”

“Yes, of course,” Lina replied dubiously. Then the cogs started to whirl in a direction she didn’t like. She could feel the smile on her lips press into a thin line. Part of her physio was to take regular walks. Longer and longer. She should be doing at least two or three kilometers a day by now. Cole would know that. And, having watched her walk to the restaurant, he would probably have assessed that she hadn’t been taking as many walks as she had been advised to. She’d done countless laps of her flat but going out there—out here —where everyone could see her, judge her … she just hadn’t been up to it. Igor pricked up his ears and gave her an expectant look. Her eyes shifted to Cole’s face and he looked virtually the same—minus the furry muzzle. She couldn’t help but laugh.