Page 31 of When In Doubt

“You need to rest.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

I know I’m being overbearing, but I can’t help it. I’m not usually like this. I can compartmentalize my work, letting it go once I’ve helped someone through a medical event—even if Freya insists this doesn’t qualify. It’s the only way to survive in this job.

But Freya’s not just work, and I need her to be alright.

She lets out a frustrated growl that shouldn’t be as cute as it is. “Fine. I’ll go home, but you’re not taking me.” She puts up a hand when I open my mouth to argue. “No. Besides, you’re busy here.”

Shit. She’s right. I can’t just take off. I gotta see the event through.

“Fuck, fine.” I scrub a hand through my beard. “But you call me the second you get home.”

“Oscar…”

“Just let me have this, okay?” I gesture for her phone. She reluctantly retrieves the device and unlocks it before handing it over. I input my number and send myself a text so I have hers.

The buzz in my pocket as the message comes through is like a little nudge. Here I am.

She gives me a reluctant half smile. “Thanks for your help.” I don’t miss the blush rising at the tips of her ears. “I’ll text you when I’m back.”

“Call.”

“Oscar—”

“Call.”

I don’t know why it’s so important to me to hear her voice, but a text isn’t going to cut it.

“Fine.”

She heads out with a wave, leaving me alone in the med bay. I huff out a long breath. I’d better get that call. Because if I don’t hear from her in the next hour, I’m knocking on every door in The Croft until I find her.

I am so fucked.

Chapter Eleven

FREYA

The room smells of stale coffee and old books. Any other day I’d enjoy it, but slumped in a hard plastic chair staring down the one woman in Cedar Creek who seems determined to hate me, I can’t say I’m particularly able to appreciate it.

Joyce scowls at me, the click of her needles louder than any other in the room. Is she doing that on purpose? Some kind of weird tactic to assert dominance? She’s going to screw up her tension.

I don’t know why I ever agreed to run these sessions. When Agnes, the head librarian, swung by and asked if I’d ever consider taking over, it had seemed like a good opportunity to meet some new people, maybe drum up some business for the shop. Now I can’t help but feel like it was a trap. Agnes certainly seemed excited about handing off the responsibility.

“What are you working on?” I ask Andrea, the woman in her seventies sitting on my right. She’s knitting something involving a lot of cables, so intricate it’s making my head spin.

She picks it up, showing it to me more clearly. It’s a stunning cardigan in a deep maroon. “It’s for my daughter. She keeps trying to buy one like it, but those things in the stores just fall apart. This’ll be better.” She nods sagely.

“That’s a beautiful yarn, Andrea,” Joyce says from across the circle, smile fixed in place.

Andrea gives a tiny huff that I only catch because we’re huddled so close together. Huh. Maybe she’s also getting frustrated with Joyce? “That’s sweet of you to say,” Andrea replies with a subtle sniff.

“Where did you get it from?” Joyce tilts her head, the picture of innocence.

Andrea gives my knee a pat. “That store just outside Denver, I don’t remember the name.”