Wildflowers and Wide Receivers

10. Sophie

Chapter 10

Sophie

W ork has been awkward this week. It’s safe to say I completely understand why companies enforce the “no fraternization” policy. And it isn’t even just the strangeness between Isaac and me, it’s the staff. I know he’s not a gossip, but that doesn’t mean the rest of them aren’t, and it irritates me greatly.

I didn’t work my ass off for all these years for people to stand around and talk about me. I feel I’m owed more respect than I’ve been given this week, which further makes me question what I’m doing with my life. Why haven’t I been consistently looking to see if there are any openings back in Minneapolis? Not that I’m trying to run from my problems, but the goal has always been to get back home, and I haven’t looked in at least six months. During the six months that I was sort of dating him.

Monday, I’m definitely taking the time to see if anything is posted, as well as reaching back out to my office contacts to see if there are any changes in staffing or if additional locations are being added. Lately, many practices have been expanding as large city markets grow. Take Tampa—last year, it was the eleventh fastest growing city in the US, and the only place for these newcomers to land is either north, south, or east. There have been mumblings from the senior physicians that it might be time for a north location as two new hospitals are going up. New locations mean they need more physicians.

While Minneapolis isn’t growing as fast, it is a much larger metro area, and I’d like to believe that opportunities will be open—if not now, then soon.

And when I do go, I will definitely not date anyone I work with.

Parking my car in Camille’s driveway, I stare up at her house and admire what she’s accomplished. This house is a home with her handsome husband and her soon-to-be beautiful baby. I may love what I’m doing and am proud of how hard I worked to get where I am, but I’m thirty-three. A part of me recognizes what I’m missing.

“Sophie, stop with the pity party,” I chastise myself and climb out of the car.

We’re one week away from Camille’s baby shower, and despite having the world’s best party planner gifted to her by her mother, who is technically the host, she invited me over because she said she needed my help.

Of course I go, but what I didn’t realize is we’d be food tasting.

So much food.

We’re at her formal dining room table, which seats twelve. She had built this table from reclaimed pine that was found through salvaging rural farmlands for her business, Vintage Soul. There’s a mixture of old doors and barns. It has a natural antique finish and was distressed by hand. The legs have been shaped to remind me of one of those hanging Christmas ornaments where the top bulb is large, the middle medium-sized, and then there’s the smallest just before the pointy end. The chairs are stained the same color, but she’s upholstered them with an ivory fabric. It’s beautiful. And spread out in front of us are three different salads, baked salmon, baked chicken, and baked eggplant. There are four different pastas, at least twelve different canapés, and twelve different finger desserts.

“Why didn’t you have Reid taste all of this with you?” I ask her as I stare at the plates in front of us. A server slips behind me and fills my glass with water. I feel like royalty being served in her house like this.

“I asked him, but he thought I would enjoy this more with you. We get to pick our favorites, whereas he would just pick it all.” She smiles at me. The pregnancy glow on her is a real thing. I’ve teased her that she's having a boy because her skin is too flawless to be a girl. In which she laughs and says her baby loves her too much to suck away all her beauty.

“Well, tell him my stomach says thank you,” I say in awe.

The chef steps up to our table and takes his time explaining each dish. When he’s done, we dive in.

“How’s work going?” she asks.

I let out a groan. “Terrible. Apparently, my six-figure student loan affords me the title of ungrateful heartbreaker instead of surgeon,” I tell her bitterly.

“What?” she asks, coughing as if she almost choked and needs to clear her throat. “What do you mean?” she asks as she stares at me.

“The loyal office staff have clearly taken sides, and it’s not mine.” My lips pinch together, and then I let out a deep sigh. It’s nice to be able to talk to someone about this.

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” she asks, her fork hanging in midair.

“I wish I was.”

Natural light pours into the room from the large windows overlooking her back patio. Frequently, when I’m here, my eyes drift to where Jonah and I danced the night away and where he first kissed me. Has that fondness for the moment faded some over the years? Yes. But it was still there, and now it’s come roaring back just like he has.

I was so embarrassed when he saw his name pop up on my watch. I look like a creeper stealing his phone number. It’s completely unprofessional, but the confused look which morphed to a pleased look lessened some of the sting. He was happy that I have it. Now I just have to decide whether I’m going to work up the nerve to use it.

“Isn’t that like breaking a lot of the company policies? You’re a superior to them, and they’re speaking negatively, in addition to spreading rumors about your character and personal life.” She takes a bite of the eggplant, and her eyes briefly close in satisfaction.

“I know, and I’m actually surprised that Isaac is allowing this. He must know it’s happening. The tension at the nurses' station is thick and frigid.”

“You should say something to him,” she says between bites.

“And make it even more awkward? No, I can handle this. Regardless of whether this dies down this week, I will be setting expectations.”

I pick up three different canapés and place them on my plate. The first is a crostini with whipped ricotta, sliced prosciutto, and pickled peaches. The second is a seared scallop topped with a bacon jam, and the third is a perfectly cut piece of watermelon with basil, feta, and balsamic vinegar. I’ve died and gone to heaven, and there’s still so much more.

“As you should. And for the record, I’ve thought a lot about what Isaac said, and I kind of don’t disagree. Ever since I have known you, you’ve had a purpose, something that drove you. You’ve always been go go go, but now that seems to have shifted to stalling. And I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. I know that you ultimately want to get back to Minneapolis, but I feel like we need to channel some energy into something new. A new project. A new hobby. Something. You have always liked to be busy. When was the last time you took a vacation?”

I laugh. “A vacation. What’s a vacation?”

I don’t even bother telling her that I agree with her. I agree with her and Isaac. I do feel like I’m at a standstill, waiting for the next chapter of my life to start. But I do understand what she’s saying.

“Exactly. You need a trip where you go somewhere and do nothing but maybe formulate a more streamlined plan for what you want to do next. You’re the smartest person I know. You are brilliant at what you do, and we need to channel this more. Meanwhile, breathe in the fresh air, feel the sunshine on your skin, and relax.”

“So you’re saying you think I’m capable of world domination?” I ask as I slip the watermelon into my mouth, and my tongue rejoices.

She laughs. “Most definitely.”

I chew and think about what she’s said. Could I go on vacation? I’d be by myself, not that I mind. I just don’t know what I would do. “It’s not really in my nature to relax.”

“But maybe it should be. You’ve spent so many years working toward this one goal, which you crushed, but maybe you need to figure out some new ones.”

She’s not wrong. I’ve floated in this in-between space long enough. Am I moving back to Minneapolis or am I staying? If I stay, for how long and do I want to continue working for this practice or go somewhere else? If it’s somewhere else, the big question is where? And then why?

“Assuming I could even get the time off work, where do you suggest I go?”

“Wherever you want. But you could go to the beach house if you don’t want to go far. We’re not using it anytime soon, and if you go over Memorial Day weekend, you can take the long weekend and not take time off work or take the whole week. It makes no difference to me. Kiddie camps don’t start that week anyway. How many injuries could there actually be?”

“You’d be surprised.”

I do love their beach house. Last year, Camille decided to have a girls’ weekend, and several of us went. The house sits directly on the beach on Anna Maria Island. It’s not an overly large house, but they don’t need it to be.

And now that she’s planted the seed, excitement courses through me.

I’ve been in Florida for over six years and haven’t spent nearly enough time at the beach.

“I suppose I could, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”

She smiles, and it’s so genuine. “I don’t mind at all. No one is using it, and it’s just sitting there begging for visitors.”

“Memorial Day weekend isn’t a bad idea either.”

“Exactly, and it’s after the shower.” She winks. “But anytime after that works for us. You just tell me when, and I’ll make sure the kitchen is stocked.”

“Oh, there’s no need for that. I’ll bring my own food.”

“You know I don’t mind.”

“But I do! You’re letting me stay there. You don’t need to feed me too. And yes, I find that ironic as you’re feeding me now.”

She laughs.

There’s a knocking on the front door, followed by the doorbell and then Izzy barking. Camille and I both look toward the foyer, which we can see through the entrance to the sitting room. My guess is they don’t get a lot of unplanned visitors, but when the door automatically opens and Vivi runs in with her puppy on a leash trailing close behind, Camille’s face lights up.

“Hi, gorgeous girl,” Camille says, as she slowly rises out of her chair and then squats down to give the little girl a hug. She’s wearing a supercute romper that’s pink with white polka dots and I can’t help but to wish they made it in my size.

“Hi, Ms. Camille.” She gives her a small smile in return and then a big smile to Izzy who’s jumped into the middle of the greeting. It’s then she notices me and the excitement on her face slips a little at the sight of seeing someone she kind of knows, but really doesn’t. “Hi, Ms. Sophie,” she says, politely, but a little more quietly.

“Hi, Vivi.” I smile back at her.

Will the resemblance to Jonah ever stop being so alarming that my breath catches. I can’t even pinpoint exactly what it is, but it’s there. And with that thought, my stomach drops as I realize where Vivi is, he’s probably close behind.

And sure enough, he steps in and the front door closes.

Is it possible for my mouth to water and go dry at the same time?

This guy always looks so good.

The memory again of him busting me with his number has heat climbing up the back of my neck. Just my luck. The only explanation I really have is that I wanted it because in an intangible way, it made me feel a little bit closer to him.

Vivi getting attention from Camille has the puppy beelining for me. She jumps on my leg with her tongue flopping out, and I can’t help but to bend down and pet her. Izzy shoves her way in as well.

“Hey, Jonah,” Camille says, but his gaze is locked on me and my stomach dips.

He’s wearing his typical attire of nice athletic wear. Navy joggers, a white T-shirt, and white running shoes. His hair looks disorderly, windblown, perfect, and everything about him somehow feels familiar and inviting, but completely foreign at the same time.

“Hey, Camille,” he eventually says back, his voice rolling over me like white noise. Comforting, perfect for my ears, and something I’d like to listen to every night before bed. “Hey, Sophie,” he says, acknowledging me too. My breath catches at the sound of my name on his lips. His full lips that I know better than I should.

“What are you two up to today?” Camille asks, as the puppy has moved over to her now and is now jumping for more affection.

“We’re selling candy bars,” Vivi announces, as she holds up a box in her free hand that has her dance studio logo on it.

“Is that so?” Camille grins at Jonah like she knows how painful this is for him.

“It’s for the recital costumes,” he grumbles. “Apparently, it doesn’t matter that I offered to pay for all of them, Kelli, the studio owner, thinks it’s important for them to learn the art of fundraising at an early age.”

I roll my lips between my teeth to keep from laughing.

“If I get ten people to buy all my candy, I’ll get a special colored flower for my hair,” Vivi says.

“Yep,” he says, popping the p. “Ten.”

I don’t even think I know ten people, and definitely not if I exclude work colleagues.

“All right, let me get my purse,” Camille tells her, and we move into the kitchen. “How many do you think I should buy for Mr. Reid?” she asks her.

“All of them,” Jonah chimes in. “All under ten different names.”

“Uncle Jonah, you know that’s not how this works!” she chastises him.

My heart squeezes at the look that passes between the two of them. It’s the first time I’ve heard her call him uncle and I think about how amazing it is that he fully stepped up to take care of and raise his brother’s daughter.

Camille buys four. I grin because I don’t know if she’s buying them for herself or to actually share with Reid.

Vivi turns to me. “Would you like to buy one, Ms. Sophie?”

“Of course I would. Us girls have to stick together when it comes to beautiful hair accessories.”

Vivi beams and Jonah gives me a look so full of appreciation and thankfulness that butterfly wings flutter inside my stomach.

“Which one should I get?” I ask her, pulling my phone from my back pocket. Apparently, it’s no longer cash or check, it’s pay and donate by QR code.

“I like the ones with the rice krispies in them, but Uncle Jonah likes the peanut butter.”

“Peanut butter.” My eyes flash to his and find warmth and fondness staring back at me. “I love peanut butter, too. I think I’ll take two of those.”

“You’ve made a great choice,” she tells me, as she walks me through the purchase.

“Wildflower, what do you say?”

“Thank you,” she says, smiling at Camille and me both.

Wildflower. What an interesting nickname.