Page 1 of Paging Dr. Summers
“PAGING DR. SUMMERS,” I FAINTLY heard outside the hospital room door. Those were not the words I’d hoped to hear on my first day in Aspen Lake. I looked down at my scraped and bleeding leg wrapped in a light bandage as I shifted uncomfortably on the emergency room exam table, making the paper beneath me crackle. All the while, I breathed in a mixture of antiseptic and bleach.
My nasal passages had never been clearer. Too bad the smell couldn’t fix all the scrapes and bruises, not to mention my hurt ego. I think the last time I’d fallen off a bike, I was ten. And it wasn’t in front of a crowd or a frantic bike shop owner who insisted I get checked out at the ER and drove me herself. The sweet woman was waiting for me in the lobby. I saysweet, which I’m sure Annie was, but her act of kindness was probably more for liability reasons.
I tried to decline repeatedly, saying I was fine. Hospitals weren’t my favorite. I’d spent way too much time in them the last several years. While they were supposed to be places of healing ... it didn’t always work out that way.
And this little trip to the ER didn’t help my already-frayed nerves. I still couldn’t believe I’d agreed to this crazy summer adventure. But I’d promised my mom I would do it, and so there I was. Like I said, not the start I’d been hoping for.
At least I’d found the perfect bike, even if I’d fallen off it. Thebuttercream cruiser with a basket was the first item I could check off the summer bucket list Mom gave me—and made me swear to complete each item on it.
A knock on the door made me sit up taller. I’m not entirely sure why. The doctor probably didn’t care about my posture.
A gravelly, smooth voice accompanied the knock. “May I enter?”
Ooh, that had me perking up even more. I had a thing for voices, and the doctor’s was giving me visions of a young James Spader. So much so, I didn’t want him to come in, fearing I would be disappointed. I found voices rarely matched a person’s looks or demeanor. Even so, I sang, “Come in,” like the sexy voice on the other side of the door was making a social call and I wasn’t sporting scrapes and cuts and wearing a tank top and shorts covered in dirt and spots of blood.
The doctor entered, exceeding my expectations in the best way possible. He was even better looking than a young James Spader, and just as confident. So much so, all I could think was, wow. Like, so, so wow. The nurse should have given me a heads-up that the doctor on call was incredibly attractive. My head tilted of its own volition, making me tip to the side, trying to get a good look at him from every angle.
The doctor thankfully wasn’t wearing a white coat over his blue scrubs, so I got a full view of his well-proportioned physique, including nice broad shoulders and a tapered waist. His face was just as beautiful as his body, with stubbled cheeks and a nice layer of scruff a shade darker than his ash blond hair. Seriously, did a sculptor chisel his cheeks and jawline? And before he turned away from me, I caught a hint of his ice-blue peepers, which were nicely offset by his glowing tan.
I was glad the nurse had taken my vitals before the doctor walked in. I was pretty sure he was giving me heart palpitations—and my heart rate and blood pressure were already up for the mere fact that I was in a hospital.
Meanwhile, the doctor didn’t glance in my direction—not that he should have. But it would have been courteous, a touch of friendly bedside manner, to acknowledge my presence. Instead, he headedstraight to the sink on the far side of the room, the sound of running water filling the silence.
He grumbled above the splashing, his voice deep and smooth like a crooner’s. “I’m Dr. Summers.”
“Hi,” I said shyly. Attractive men made me almost as nervous as hospitals. Attractive doctors were even more nerve-inducing. “I’m Brooke Crawford,” I tittered like an idiot. “But you probably already know that. Anyway, it’s nice to meet you. I mean, sort of. I wish it were under different circumstances.”
Oh, my gosh. Had I just said that all flirty like I was at some singles’ mixer? My nerves had completely taken over. Not that what I said wasn’t true. I wouldn’t have minded one bit running into Dr. Summers outside of the ER, but he probably didn’t care to know that. And no doubt, even outside the hospital, his presence would render me just as incapable of normal human behavior as it did at the present moment. Unfortunately, when I got nervous or embarrassed, I tended to vomit words like my mouth had the equivalent of a bad stomach virus.
Still, I couldn’t help but think that Dr. Summers wouldn’t be a bad way to check off another summer bucket list item. Mom had written this bullet point in big bold letters—HAVE A SUMMER FLING. I wasn’t a fling kind of girl, but Mom said they were magical, and every woman needed one. Honestly, I’d had little time for any romance the last few years, and I missed it, even if it turned me into a giggling ball of nerves.
Dr. Summers turned his gorgeous head just enough for me to see his pinched brow. Apparently, he didn’t appreciate my comment.
“What I meant was, I’m just in Aspen Lake for the summer, and I’m hoping to make some new friends. Not that I don’t have friends or dislike my old friends. I have lots of friends, and I love them.” In fact, I was missing them already. Especially my best friend, Claire, who was babysitting my goldfish for the summer back in Nebraska.
Dr. Summers grabbed some paper towels and dried off his hands, staring at me as if he thought I needed a psych evaluation.
But did that shut me up? Oh, no. I just kept on word vomiting. “I’m in Aspen Lake because of my mom. She died earlier this year.” Myvoice warbled with emotion, but not even that was enough to get me to stop embarrassing myself in front of the insanely gorgeous doctor who obviously couldn’t care less about my life, judging by his blank stare.
“I’m totally coping, even though I miss her like crazy. She was the most amazing person. She was in a band called the Roxannes—named after her. It was an all-girl band, and they did shows all over the country, and one summer they played at the Strawberry Festival here in Aspen Lake. Mom said this town was magical, and I needed to come see it for myself. So, unbeknownst to me, she’d been saving a large sum of money that my dad—who I’ve never met and hardly know anything about, mind you—gave her for me.”
I didn’t even know the man’s name. Mom had refused to tell me, claiming he should have been man enough to find me and tell me himself. She had insinuated that the money was like hush money. I guessed whoever he was, he wasn’t father-of-the-year material. However, anytime I could get her to talk about him, I’d gotten the feeling he’d been the love of her life and despite him having broken her heart, she’d always thought fondly of him.
Regardless, I still couldn’t believe she’d kept the money a secret. We could have used it over the years, especially after she got sick. She’d explained that she’d always meant for the money to be for me and me alone and that I had to use it for something epic.
“She made me promise to use the money to spend the summer here, and she gave me a bucket list to fulfill. One of the items on the list was to buy a bike with a basket to ride around town.” I took a breath and held up my scraped arms and lifted my bandaged leg. “I fell off said bike. Well, technically, I haven’t purchased it yet, but I’m going to.”
Dr. Summers slowly stepped closer, as if he were afraid to get within striking distance. I didn’t blame him—I was coming off like a rambling madwoman. I pressed my lips together and begged myself to hit the brakes. This man didn’t need my life story, and I highly doubted he wished to be my summer fling. Which meant I just needed to get through the exam and pray I never saw him again.
Dr. Summers grabbed the rolling stool, sat on it, and pulled the laptop cart toward him, all while keeping a wary eye on me.
I nibbled on my bottom lip, doing my best not to speak unless Dr. Summers asked me a question. I figured he must have some, considering how long he’d spent reading my chart. What did the nurse put in my file? She’d seen me for all of five minutes. And I didn’t word vomit in front of her.
Maybe the doctor couldn’t believe a thirty-year-old woman would behave so oddly. Or maybe he was searching the internet to see if any psych wards were missing a patient.
The suspense of him not saying anything made me even more nervous. To keep from embarrassing myself again, I started reading the posters on the wall. That was a bad call. One of them showed what happens to your lungs if you smoke. My mom had been a big smoker in her rock band days, and she’d gotten lung cancer ... and had died from it.
Before I started to tear up, I blurted the first thing that popped into my head. “I’m a DJ—or at least I was. My show was calledThe Babbling Brooke Show. I bet you’re thinking that’s fitting, since I keep babbling. But normally, I’m not like this. I had really good ratings. People loved my show. It was all about classic rock and the stories behind the music and the artists.”
