Free Wishes and Stitches by Rachael Herron Page B

breezy, casual. Not like an asshole.
    â€œBruno,” she said as he walked away from the box half emptied on the shelf.
    â€œThat plus the amusing but rather disgusting doggy Heimlich you did on my filing cabinet equals this: I’m taking the rest of the day off.” He said the words over his shoulder, not waiting for confirmation or permission, and exited through the side emergency door.
    Naomi slumped against the counter. “I didn’t mean to say that.”
    â€œDidn’t come out well,” said Rig.
    â€œNope.” Naomi sighed.
    â€œWill he be okay?”
    â€œI sure hope so, because I wasn’t blowing smoke. He’s essential.”
    â€œHe’ll be fine. Anyone who can walk out like that has a backbone, and that’s a good thing.” Was that a laugh she heard in his voice? She hoped not, because if it was . . .
    â€œWhat’s down this hall?” he asked. “Restroom?”
    â€œYeah. And . . .” Naomi straightened. She’d make it up to Bruno later, and she’d make it good. But now she had to handle Rig. “And . . . your office. It was Pederson’s, but I doubt he’ll need it now. You might as well take it over.”
    The grin almost split his face. “Hot damn. Pederson did say I should use his. You know, I’ve never really had one of my own. I always used the front seat of rental cars. Or perched high over the ocean in small metal rooms with bad lighting .”
    Naomi opened the second door. “It’s . . . well, you can see that he hasn’t been around much.”
    Much? She was being generous. A thick layer of dust had settled on the edges of the bookshelves and on Dr. Pederson’s framed certificates. When she’d been in here to find Rig’s CV, she hadn’t opened the windows. But when Naomi pulled back the curtain, an actual cobweb was draped over the glass.
    â€œOh, God, this is awful. We have a cleaner, of course, but he always said for her not to go into his private space, and I haven’t had any need to.” Naomi brushed her hands off, slapping away the coating of dust she’d picked up just by pulling out the man’s chair. “I think I’ve . . . been in a bit of denial about him coming back. Somehow I believed him every time he called to say he’d be back in a couple of weeks.”
    Rig, still smiling, pushed open the casement window. “Ah. That’s better. When was the last time you saw him? In person?” Rig’s dark hair fell forward as he looked outside. The man needed a haircut. Doctors didn’t have hair like that unless they had a nickname that started with Mc and starred in a television hospital show.
    Naomi blinked, hard, and brushed off a chair with a piece of Kleenex. “If you’d asked me yesterday, I think I would have said about a month. Being in here, I’m kind of thinking . . . It might have been Christmas. I saw him at church, and that’s the only time of year I go.”
    â€œBut it’s the end of June.”
    Naomi shrugged.
    â€œWow. And you’ve been paying the bills with just your practice?”
    â€œMine, and I try to see as many of his patients as I can. As many as will see me. Some of them won’t.”
    Rig came around the side of the desk so that he was in front of it, nearer now to her. The air got heavy, and Naomi noticed again how he filled up space in a way that seemed to have nothing to do with his height or breadth.
    â€œYou’ve been working a double practice. For six months.”
    Rubbing the back of her neck, Naomi nodded. Maybe that’s why she was always so tired on the weekends.
    â€œWhat do you do for fun?” He pushed a pile of papers back and perched on the edge of the desk.
    â€œI work,” she said as she thought about her knitting basket at home.
    â€œAnd go to conferences?”
    Naomi straightened her spine and tried to