The Sky We Seek (Love and Other Dreams #2)

Chapter 17

Elina

Clara hands me a steaming cup of coffee. "What do you think of having it outside?" she suggests.

I accept the cup with a grateful nod and glance out the window. The sky actually looks inviting, and when I ran to the doctor's office this morning, it was warmer than the previous days. "Hopefully, the cold weather is finally behind us," I remark.

Her amused laughter reaches my ears. "This is Semmtal, have you forgotten?"

How could I? Every single morning, the cheerful chirping of birds outside my cottage reminds me that there's nothing but nature here. "Then let's at least enjoy the warmth now."

We walk together to the back exit and settle into the folding chairs. I tilt my face toward the sun. It's just warm enough that I don't feel cold even though I'm only wearing my doctor's coat over my clothes.

"Tell me"—Clara's voice holds a hint of curiosity—"why did you dress up today?"

"I didn't," I hastily reply, perhaps a bit too quickly. I pretend everything is normal and take a sip of my coffee. I've already grown accustomed to its bland taste.

In the corner of my eye, I notice Clara studying me. "Right. Those glittery earrings I see on you every day match the color of your eyes exactly. And you always have your hair styled in the Jennifer Aniston look."

I raise my hand to stop her. I don't need her to point out that I chose shoes with heels and a particularly form-fitting pair of pants. I've been berating myself about it all day long. I should have refrained, but this morning, I just couldn't resist. "I just felt like a change."

Internally, I pray she accepts my answer. Even without her probing questions, I'm nervous enough. My pulse has been racing all day, my hands feel sweaty, and I could hardly concentrate on the last patient with the worryingly large mole.

"Mm-hmm." Clara makes a sound and finally averts her gaze from me. She calmly sips her coffee. "And it surely has nothing to do with your upcoming appointment?" she asks.

"Which appointment?" I manage a good shrug, but my tone leaves much to be desired. It's way too squeaky. I need to get that under control.

A diabolical grin spreads across her face, but at least she doesn't say anything.

Hastily, I finish my cup and stand from the chair. "We should get back to work."

With wobbly knees, I walk back into the practice. As I open the door to the examination room, my heart gallops as if I've just raced against Mr. Bold himself.

"Your behavior is so inappropriate," I scold myself with a sharp tone as I take a seat at the desk and turn my attention to the computer. "Think about the firefighter."

To refocus on what truly matters, I pull up Noah's blood test results, which arrived this morning from the laboratory in Innsbruck. The inflammation markers, cholesterol, and red blood cells are within the normal range, but the white blood cell count is significantly elevated. This could have various causes, which we will investigate further. The low platelet count also concerns me.

I took his blood sample immediately after his accident. The most obvious explanation is the blood loss from the wound, but it could also indicate cancer, rheumatism, or a simple vitamin deficiency. Last, the low lymphocyte count puzzles me. It suggests a severely weakened immune system. Several illnesses could be behind it, but it could also be a stress reaction to the accident.

Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to take his blood during the treatment of his injury, but he left me no choice.

With a frustrated sigh, I turn to the intercom. Before pressing the button, I clear my throat and do a little vocal test. I can't afford to sound like I did earlier when I explained to Clara that nothing special was happening today.

"Noah, please come to treatment room two," I attempt a neutral tone, yet my words come out softer than usual. And as I release the button, my fingers tremble. Quickly, I intertwine them together.

Just a few more seconds until he steps through that door over there. Hastily, I position myself in a pose that looks completely natural. Hopefully.

Seconds pass without any movement. Then I hear footsteps in the hallway.

He's coming.

Once again, I check my voice. "Hi, Noah. Nice to see you've come," I say for practice .

No croaking. Very good.

I'm totally cool. Nothing can shake me.

The footsteps get closer, only to immediately become quieter again.

Confused, I quickly jump up from my seat and rush to the door. I swing it open and look out into the corridor.

That wasn't Noah. It was Clara, who now turns to face me.

"Is everything okay?" she asks, furrowing her brow.

"Um... I thought... well..." Heavens, it's really time for me to get a grip. "Where is my patient?" I say, and I'm a little proud of myself.

Her shrug doesn't bode well. "Noah didn't show up for his appointment."

He's not here?

Suddenly, the nervous tension that has consumed me all day leaves my body. "Why?"

For a moment, she looks at me as if I've lost my mind. "Not every redhead is a clairvoyant witch."

Very funny, but I'm not in the mood to laugh at her joke right now. I shift my weight from one leg to the other. Even though he wasn't thrilled about the blood test, I wouldn't have expected him to miss his appointment.

Noah could have serious health problems, and as his doctor, it is my duty to help him. Even if he were the most unattractive man in the world, and even if I couldn't imagine anything less appealing than snuggling up against his broad chest, I wouldn't accept that.

"Should I call him?" Clara asks, but I can barely hear her .

With a determined gesture, I signal that I'll handle it myself. "How many patients are still waiting?"

She takes a few steps toward the reception area and peeks into the waiting room. "Two."

"Do you think Helene can handle it alone?" That would be good. Because the doctor in me needs to confront someone now.

Lost in thought, Clara twirls the ends of her long braid. "I better ask her."

"Do that. And tell her I'll borrow the car." As soon as the words leave my mouth, I rush back into the treatment room. There, I exchange my coat for my jacket, grab my medical bag, and then I'm already on my way. If he thinks he can easily shake me off, he's gravely mistaken.

I enter Noah's address into my phone since my boss's old station wagon doesn't have a navigation system. The indicated point is in the middle of the forest.

"It will work out," I tell myself with a shrug. After all, I also found Hanna's guesthouse that way.

It's hard for me to adhere to the speed limit in the village. As soon as I pass the outskirts, I press on the gas pedal.

With every yard I cover, my anger grows. Because it becomes increasingly clear to me how careless Noah is with himself. When I treated his wound, he just wanted to get away quickly. He was willing to risk infection rather than seek treatment. And it's undeniable that he has other health problems that he refuses to take seriously.

It's as if he doesn't care about himself. As if he's indifferent to what happens to him .

"What's wrong with you?" I murmur absentmindedly as meadows and forests rush by.

"In two hundred yards, turn left," instructs the male voice of my navigation system.

I slow down but can't for the life of me see where a road would branch off here. Only at the last moment do I spot the path, consisting only of deep ruts in the forest floor and some gravel.

The navigation instructs me to follow the path for two miles.

Frowning, I make the turn and bump along the trail. This feels a bit like the oversized vibrating plate in Vienna's Prater amusement park. The forest around me becomes denser, and the sun peeks through the treetops.

It's fitting for Noah to live in the middle of nowhere. He probably dwells as a recluse in a weathered cabin with moss-covered roof tiles.

"You have reached your destination," my phone announces.

I turn off the engine and look around. "There's nothing here, Mr. Smarty Pants."

Just trees as far as the eye can see. The forest floor is covered in brown needles, occasional clusters of moss, and a few low-growing plants that resemble liverworts. Something glistens between the tree trunks. It's not a cabin, but I still leave the car and walk in that direction.

The glimmering turns out to be a lake. It lies perfectly still before me, with its radiant turquoise green. It's as if nature has put a filter over the water.

Beautiful.

The sight before me eases some of the frustration I've been carrying since Noah didn't show up at the clinic. I allow myself a moment of relaxation before turning away to look around. Somewhere here must be the house.

A clearing appears to my right, and something white flashes between the tree trunks.

Could that be it?

I make my way toward the clearing. There, I spot a cottage that, unlike the many wooden-clad farmhouses in Semmtal, has a modern feel to it. The walls are white, and the window shutters and front door are painted a rich forest green. Next to the house is an oversized garden shed. The clearing is about the size of half a soccer field and ends directly at the lake. A gnarled wooden jetty extends over the water, and a boat gently sways near the shore.

Is this Noah's home?

For a moment, I'm unsure of what to think. It's not surprising that he lives in such seclusion, but nothing else here matches him. The lovingly arranged firepit with the chairs carved from tree trunks, the blooming shrubs, and the well-maintained house. It feels as if he treats this place like a treasure while treating himself like an outcast.

Lost in thought, I step onto the first of the three steps leading to a veranda that seems to encircle the entire house. The solid table and lounge chairs remind me of the ones in front of Hanna's cabins. And the sign next to the door with Noah's name on it seems familiar.

Since I can't find a doorbell, I knock. "Noah?"

There's no sound from inside the house.

"Are you there? It's me, Elina," I call out and walk toward the window to peer inside .

I can't see much, but what I do see puzzles me once again. The light-filled space combines the living room, dining room, and kitchen into one. The minimalist decor feels like there's enough room to breathe. The marbling of the wooden beam construction, spanning the walls and ceiling, tastefully contrasts with the white-painted walls.

This house doesn't match the rough, unapproachable Noah I've come to know. Instead, it feels like someone who appreciates design and beautiful things lives here, someone with an eye for detail.

Strange.

I move on to the next window. From here, I can better view the kitchenette with its light-colored fronts. My attention is drawn to the steaming pot on the stove. So Noah is home. If that's the case, he'll have to open the door for me now.

Back at the door, I knock again. "I know you're there, Noah. Open up."

Once again, there's no response from inside the house. I shift my weight from one leg to the other in thought. Either he's foolish enough to think he can ignore me or he's unable to reach the door.

A sense of unease spreads in my stomach. What if something happened to him?

Technically, I should call the police because they're the only ones allowed to break down the door to check if my growing concern is justified. At least that's the case in Vienna. But here, where I've seen villagers enter strangers' houses without even ringing the doorbell? I couldn't believe it at first, and I still find it completely crazy, but no one locks their doors in Semmtal .

If a door is unlocked, then simply opening it is not a burglary. So I cautiously push down the door handle.

The forest-green door actually opens.

"Noah? I'm coming in now," I announce loudly, just in case he's simply in the shower and didn't hear my knocking. A second later, I realize how nonsensical that is. If he were showering, I would hear running water, but that's not the case.

What I do hear is something else. Shallow breathing.

It doesn't take me long to identify the source. Noah is lying stretched out on his stomach along the length of the corner sofa.

He's asleep.

Without thinking, I put my hands on my hips. "Seriously?" I exclaim, unable to contain myself.

As if I just activated a foghorn, he jolts awake, his eyes widening in alarm. I should be angry that he overslept our appointment, but one look at his face is enough to make my anger disappear.