Page 50 of One Last Rodeo

I didn’t. I just needed something to do, and I didn’t want to go home. Because where is home for me anymore? I moved out of the apartment that my ex and I spent the last decade in before going to Whitewood Creek. Then, I went straight from Whitewood Creek to the circuit. I don’t really have a home anymore.

Maybe it’s the movies I grew up watching. They were all soft lighting and twangy music and wide-open fields set in small towns. Maybe it's those few times when I snuck a listen to country music on my way into a difficult surgery. Maggie Parton and her Tennessee twang always got me in the mood. Now that I think about it… the lyrics to the song “Jolene”were a little too on the nose for my situation.

But Tennessee has always seemed magical to me. Exciting. Southern in a way my born-and-raised Californian heart has never known except from a distance. The closest we get to magic in California is Disneyland. Out here it’s the size of the mountains and the fresh air that make it feel otherworldly.

I’m trying very hard not to assign too much meaning to this trip, because my track record with “meaning” is abysmal.

My ex hated his own family, so I never met them. Never had a “meet the parents” moment despite being with him for a decade. I never learned how to navigate someone else’s childhood home or make small talk across a dining room table with someone whose opinion should have mattered. And I have no idea if I’d had been good at it.

My instinct says no. That no, I wouldn't be good at a whole meet the family situation. That I’d bristle and the parents would judge me for being with their son and wonder,is this really the best he could do?

My ex had met my family and promptly decided he would only attend holiday gatherings going forward if I required his attendance. I love my family, so that gutted me, but I never showed it. To accept that, I took shifts at the hospital when everyone else was with their loved ones celebrating. Extra money is what I’d tell myself, but I missed out on time spent with my family because of him.

Jensen’s grandma doesn’t give me a chance to worry about any of those things. The second I step over the threshold of her adorable home, she’s wrapping me in a hug like I’ve been hers since birth. I freeze.

I don't hug people. That's not a personality quirk or a social anxiety thing, it's just a fact about me that I've made peace with. My parents were not huggers with me. By the time Isla came along they'd apparently figured out something they hadn't known to give me, and I watched it with a kind of scientific detachment that I now recognize as longing.

So that means I don't know what to do with this kind woman's arms around me. My instinct is to go rigid, to count the seconds, to wait for the release. Instead, I just… stand there. And then, before I can analyze it or talk myself out of it, I find myself hugging her back. The tension loosens in my shoulders, and I realize,wow, I probably couldn’t have handled a meet the parents situation. But a tiny, white Abuelita, I can handle.

“Doctor Alba,” she says in a kind voice. "Welcome."

“You can call me Catalina,” I mumble into the soft fabric of her sweater that smells like her perfume. It's a little intense for me, but I don't mind it on her. She smells like warmth.

She's slightly round, with bright white hair and the unhurried easy of a woman who’s already lived out her dreams. decide that I like her immediately. Which, frankly, is alarming. It almostfeels like the way I felt when I looked down at her grandson’s cracked-open chest. He has a nice one, even if it's covered in a tattoo.

She pulls back, wiping at her eyes. I notice Jensen standing behind her with his usual big smile. One booted foot crossed over the other, leaning against the counter.

“I never thought I’d hold the woman who fixed my grandson’s heart,” she says to me.

And that’s when I realize she’s really crying.

Oh.Oh no.

Of course I didn’t think this through. Of course, I didn’t connect the dots between “surgeon” and“grandson with a shoulder injury and a reputation for reckless behavior bringing home his freaking heart surgeon.”

I viewed Jensen as… Jensen. The chaos cowboy I’ve accidentally befriended mostly because he won't leave me alone. I forgot he’s someone’s whole world, and the doctor who fixed him months ago coming home with him is probably an alarming sight to see.

“Jensen’s heart is fine,” I rush out, glaring at him over her shoulder as she hugs me again. “That’s not why I’m here. Please don't worry.”

She pulls back and looks at me with confusion. “I didn’t think that was why you were here, dear. I know his heart's as good as new. All because you fixed it.”

“Oh.”

Strike one for not being able to read social cues correctly.

Jensen steps between us, draping his giant arms over both our shoulders like he’s presenting us for a family portrait.

“I already explained to grandma why you came home with me.”

“You did?” I ask, because at this point, I’m fairly certain I don't even know why I'm here.

His smile gets brighter. “Told her you came because my heart was the best one you’ve ever touched, and you needed to be around it a little longer.”

I narrow my eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

He shrugs like he’s agreeing with both of us.

His grandma laughs lightly. "He told me you have a date tonight."