Love On Anchor Island: An Anchor Island Novel by Terri Osburn (world best books to read .txt) 📕

baked asparagus, and rosemary roasted potatoes waiting for us in my house. Along with an excellent Cabernet Sauvignon, and a classic cheesecake if we have room. All you have to do is come in, enjoy the food, talk a bit, and then leave whenever you’re ready. Nothing more.”

Jaw tight, she crossed her arms. “I dressed to go out.”

“With me,” he clarified. “And I think you look beautiful.”

Eyes hard, she said, “I don’t like games, Doc.”

Alex held up his hands. “No games. Just dinner.”

Toe tapping, she kept him waiting long enough to break a sweat.

“All right, but I’m taking home whatever’s left of the cheesecake.”

One cheesecake for an evening of her time wasn’t a bad trade. “Fair enough.”

When they stepped inside, he said, “The house is through the door on your right.”

Ignoring him, she stood in the reception area of the practice. “This doesn’t look like a doctor’s office.”

Intended or not, he took that as compliment. “My grandmother has a similar practice, and I used her office as inspiration.”

“Your grandmother is a doctor?”

“She is.” Alex opened the door to his private part of the house and waited for her to step through. “My grandparents live in Tunkhannock, Pennsylvania, not far from the Poconos. Can I take your coat?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Roxie slid the jacket down her arms to reveal bare shoulders above flowing sleeves.

Alex’s mouth went dry as he hung the coat on the rack inside the door and reminded himself that this was a dinner-only date.

“You can go ahead up,” he said, gesturing for her to take the stairs first.

At the top landing, she stepped into his kitchen and stopped. “You live here?” she asked.

A strange question. “I do,” he replied, stepping around her. “This is the kitchen, obviously. I don’t have a formal dining room, but the breakfast nook works well enough.” Alex pointed to the square table at the right end of the room. “The living room is to the left, and I’m assuming you’re not interested in the bedrooms right now.”

Still standing at the top of the stairs, she looked around with wide eyes. “This is nice.”

He liked his house but never considered it that impressive. “Thank you?”

She shook her head as if coming out of a trance. “I mean, this is really nice.”

Alex had splurged on a few extra upgrades. Reliable and maintenance-free quartz for the countertops. Black stainless-steel appliances. Ceramic tile flooring. Every choice had been for practicality and durability, which only made sense in a kitchen. He supposed there was an aesthetic appeal as well.

“Dr. Tobin didn’t live here when he had the practice,” Alex explained, stepping behind the counter and retrieving a corkscrew from the utensil drawer. “Between the size of the house and the view, the decision to make this not only my office but my home was an easy one. I started from scratch up here, but once the blueprints were finished, the renovation went quickly.”

Roxie ran a slender finger down the length of the island, which stretched nearly the length of the back wall counter. “Are you telling me that you designed this?”

“I had help,” he admitted. “Mia had a lot of input.”

The exploration stopped. “Mia?”

The cork gave way with a pop, and Alex filled two glasses. “Mia Stamatis. You met her that first night at Dempsey’s.”

“Yes, I know who she is. I thought you said you were friends.”

“We are friends. That’s why she helped me.” He carried the glasses to the table. “Have a seat, and I’ll get the food. I left it in the oven to stay warm.”

Roxie lingered near the island. “What kind of friends?”

The bowl of potatoes came out first. “What do you mean?” The asparagus was next.

“Friends like we-dated-but-now-we’re-friends friends? Friends-with-benefits friends? Friends-but-we-secretly-want-more-and-haven’t-had-the-nerve-to-say-so friends? Which is it?”

Alex placed the steaks on the stove. “Mia and I are just friends. We’ve never dated. There are no benefits. And neither of us do or will ever want more. Now can we eat?”

Tapping one black fingernail on the quartz, she kept a steady gaze on his face as if assessing the truth of his statements. Finally, she said, “Fine. Let’s eat.”

With a sigh of relief, he watched her stroll to the table and take a seat, hopeful he’d finally convinced her that Mia was not, nor ever would be, a threat. He didn’t flatter himself enough to call it jealousy. Roxie was suspicious for a reason. Hopefully, karma had taken care of whatever idiot had screwed her over. If not, Alex would willingly do the job.

Roxie had no reason not to believe him. But then, she’d had no reason not to believe Brendon, and look how that had turned out. Of course, Alex was not Brendon—despite sharing the same profession. If Alex had a wife, she certainly would have known about her by now. Married men didn’t typically bring dates home and cook for them. Plus, she’d lived next door to him for three weeks now and had seen only patients and Flora Meyer—Alex’s nurse per Beth—go in and out of the house.

This lingering insecurity bothered her. There hadn’t been many winners among the men in her past, but none had outright lied about a wife. The experience—both the betrayal and the way the locals had painted her a homewrecking slut—had left a mark. Roxie never wanted to feel that way again. She carried enough shame without adding the weight of something she didn’t actually do to her mental baggage.

“How do you know?” she said, unable to help herself.

“Know what?” Alex asked. He’d already filled her plate and had begun to fill his own.

“That Mia doesn’t have feelings for you.”

“I know.”

“You can’t possibly know. If she doesn’t think you feel the same way she does, she isn’t going to tell you.”

Alex set down his fork and rubbed his forehead before meeting her eye. “What I’m about to say can’t leave this room.”

That sounded ominous. “Okay.”

“Mia is gay.”

So maybe he could know. “Gay?”

“Yes, but she isn’t out, and if, or when, she chooses to come out is up