Free Champagne and Lemon Drops: A Blueberry Springs Chick Lit Contemporary Romance by Jean Oram Page A

serious until I'm back in Dakota." He waved a Coke bottle
in her direction. "Drink?"
    She nodded. "Please." She let out a relieved
sigh. If she didn't want a city man and he didn't want a country
bumpkin they would remain perfect, platonic friends. Which was
great because she'd come to rely on his shoulder to cry and laugh
on when she had a tough day or simply wanted someone to sit with in
the cafeteria.
    "So, you're going to put your whole life on
hold?" she asked Nash, lightly touching his forearm. "Because
having your life on hold sucks the big one."
    "Well," he paused, considering her comment,
"nothing in life is guaranteed. I've seen how fast things can
change in a person's life." He glanced at her and said, "My life's
not on hold, but my focus is on my career." He continued, "I need
to gain as much experience as I can so I can leverage it when I
return to Dakota. I'm planning to move into administration."
    "Why?" She frowned. "You'll never get to
work with patients." From what she'd seen and heard, Nash had
talent combined with great instincts.
    "It's the next step up the ladder. You
should really consider finding more ways to move up with your own
career. You don't want to stagnate."
    Beth frowned at his
suggestion. "Yeah, maybe." Moving up the ladder was exhausting.
Despite the thrill of organizing her own outreach program, she
couldn't imagine doing this extra work all the time. She missed having her
whole weekend to chill out and relax like she used to do with Oz.
Today was the first full day off she'd taken since the info session
back in March and next week she opened the outreach, meaning her
life was suddenly going to kick into high gear.
    "The experience I'm getting here is great.
There aren't any specialists so I get to dabble in a lot of areas
before sending patients to Dakota."
    "But wouldn't you miss working with
patients? I can't see admin being a heart job."
    Nash shrugged.
    "But what about all those years of med
school? I mean... you've got talent. You won't get to use that in
an office."
    "Wouldn't be wasted. Good doctors make good
administrators. Usually." He smiled down at her. "But not always.
It is important to have someone in the position who understands
what it's like on the floor." He placed a hand lightly on her lower
back and directed them to the cash register where a few people were
lined up buying cones.
    Nash tilted his head toward the row of
farmers and town folk drinking coffee out of plain white cups at
the beverage bar at the back of the shop. "Think I should get some
local head gear?"
    Beth glanced at Nash's perfect hair, barely
mussed by the sunglasses perched on top of his head. All the men at
the bar wore caps, even though they were indoors. "Where are your
manners?" she called out to them.
    Hats popped off in unison as the men
realized she was speaking to them.
    Grinning, she shook her head and waggled her
finger at the men. A few smiled sheepishly while Nash stared at her
with a mix of mock fear and true awe. Laughing, she reached over to
the nearby hat rack and dusted off a cap that had been there for
ages. "How about this?" She turned it to face him.
    "Chevy?" he asked with distain. He spun the
wobbly rack. "Is there one that says BMW?"
    "Careful now!" she whispered. She glanced
around the busy shop like he'd said something offensive. The man
seriously needed to learn what was cool and what wasn't in a small
town. "If you want to fit in, it's either this one, or this one, or
this one." She added a green John Deere cap and a blue Ford hat to
her collection.
    Nash grimaced. "Maybe I can be an uprooted
city boy a while longer?"
    "Well, then how about this?" She held up a
hat advertising fertilizer, and snatching Nash's sunglasses, popped
it on his head.
    "Don't you let him go paying good money for
that hat, Beth," said a man joining the line behind them. "I can
get you one for free at the elevator. Got a whole box of 'em behind
my desk. Ranchers don't want 'em. They just want their