Chapter One Jameson’s POV

The day dawned like any other. Jameson woke up before his alarm, blinking into the semi-darkness. As the birds chirped irritatingly loud outside his window, he breathed in deeply, concentrating on inflating his lungs at the very bottom corners, then slowly releasing it. He did that two more times, then swung his legs over the side of the bed and turned off the analog alarm before it could go off.

Most people his age reached for their phones first thing in the morning, but Jameson hated being part of the news and social media addicted area he lived in. Everyone in and outside of DC walked around with egos that inflated or deflated with the amount of information, whether true or false, they held in their brains. 

There was a time when he played along. Especially in high school when debates would break out at the lunch table about who should get elected or whether America had the right to give or take away money from other countries or NGOs. Friendships were made and broken on who someone liked, voted for, or supported. If a war or a social issue became national, the lunch conversation could end up in shouting, or— three times during his high school years—in fists flying.

When he left DC for college Jameson was shocked to find out this wasn’t typical high school behavior in America. Sure, there were fights, but not usually about who the kids’ parents worked for on The Hill. Because attending high school outside of DC meant that many of the kids had a parent who either worked for administrations, the State Department, the FBI, or any other number of governmental organizations. 

The peace he found outside of DC had been life changing. And had always driven him to avoid being drawn back into the DC information ego hype.

That morning, like every morning, Jameson downed one cup of coffee from his single-brew machine, then changed into his running clothes. Just as he was slipping his earbuds in, his phone pinged. Only one person was up earlier than he was. His sister.

Open the door.

In two strides he was at his front door, opening it to his sister’s smiling face.

“Surprise! I gotta pee. Finish getting ready,” she called over her shoulder after plowing past him.

“What are you doing here?” Jameson asked. Just like when they were kids, Rhyder didn’t even bother to close the bathroom door. “Geez, Rhyder. Did you drink an entire pool? And why can’t you close the door behind you?”

“No time,” she said, laughing. “I almost peed myself just getting here. Those hydration drinks go right through you.”

“Doesn’t that mean you’re dehydrated?” Jameson asked as the sound of hand washing replaced the toilet flushing.

“Wouldn’t it mean I’m so hydrated that I don’t need more?” she asked, in front of him again.

Jameson shrugged. “No idea.

“Ready to go?” Rhyder was already bouncing on her toes, not showing her forty-two years in the least. “We gotta get ready for that marathon this fall.”

“Yeah right. That’s your thing,” Jameson scoffed as they made their way onto the street. Outside the air was already rising in humidity, promising another hot day. And it was only June. But summers in the DC area could get excruciatingly uncomfortable.

“Any news on the wife?” Rhyder asked in-between concentrated breaths.

“Cruel way to start the morning run, Rhyder,” Jameson said, shaking out his arms. His legs were a bit heavier than the day before, despite having rolled them out. And his shoulders felt tight. That was from needing a new pillow.

He hated getting old. Hitting forty seemed to have completely turned his body upside down.

Rhyder laughed. “I’ve never not been cruel, Jameson.”

Jameson pushed aside the whiny, old man voice and focused on his sister. “I believe Amita and I have a date to meet in a few weeks.”

“A date?”

“Not that kind of date.”

Rhyder’s shoulder relaxed and she returned her eyes to the road. “Good. So that means I can set you up with this girl who works with Simon. She’s a lobbyist for—”

“Don’t even bother to finish that statement,” Jameson said. A little too forcefully. He had to concentrate to get his breath back on track. “The last time you set me up, it was a disaster.”

“But that was back when you had first split,” Rhyder argued. “It’s been, what? Two years now?”

Jameson ignored her as they turned onto the Four Mile Trail. It was already spotted with other runners and cyclists. The last thing he wanted to do was think about his failed marriage, and failure to get a full divorce, during his morning run. The one thing he looked forward to these days.

Which sounded pathetic in his head. So he didn’t say it aloud to his sister. 

“How’s the government?” A lame question to change the subject..

“Still standing,” Rhyder said, her breath even now.

Jameson couldn’t believe his sister. She was a machine. There was barely a drop of sweat on her. He was almost soaked through at this point.

“Despite my boss.” She threw a glance at her brother. “I might not though.”

“You going to get out?”

“Hardly. What else would I do with my life?”

“Have some kids?”

Rhyder didn’t dignify him with an answer.

“I decided to sell the house,” Jameson said, moving the conversion away from dangerous territory. 

“Really?” Rhyder assessed his face for a moment before lifting her right palm in the air towards him. He assessed the distance before quickly smacking it with his. “Right on, little bro. Finally moving on, huh? You have a realtor yet?”

“Her name is Cathy. She’s coming next Monday to see the house.”

“Want me to be there?”

He rolled his eyes behind his running sunglasses. Rhyder still thought he was a teenager in need of a mother. “No,” he snorted, his voice coming out as exasperated as a teenager’s.

“Is Amita going to sign the divorce papers?”

  Irritation threatened to slow him down, so he pushed it away. Thinking about the lack of signed divorce papers did that to him. He and Amita hadn’t lived together for over two years now, but she still wouldn’t sign the papers. Something he would have to rectify soon.

“Don’t know,” Jameson breathed out. “At this very moment I don’t even care. I’m going to try to start to move on.”

“Good for you, little bro,” she said.

They ran the last few miles in relative silence, commenting only on the view from the hill that allowed them to look out over DC across the river before making their way back. They cut over into Rosslyn, Rhyder heading into her small neighborhood before Jameson got onto the Custis Trail and made his way to his own house just in time to have a cold shower, some toast and head to work. He was cutting it close today but that was the advantage of being the owner he supposed.

***

“You’re looking chipper today,” Beth said, his front desk and insurance specialist employee, as Jameson walked into the office just an hour later.

“Good run this morning,” Jameson said. It had made him happier. That and possibly the final decision to put the house on the market. Now that he’d told his sister, he would have to follow through. The fact that he’d been thinking about it for at least four months was conveniently left out of the conversation. For a reason. 

Beth handed him the schedule for the day with a shudder. 

“You’d like running if you gave it a chance,” Jameson said over his shoulder, smiling to himself when he heard Beth’s scoff. 

After a quick meeting with his staff, Jameson settled himself in the small room at the back that he called The Lab. It was in The Lab that he tinkered with his two TMJ prototypes, something he hoped to somehow get to market one day. His favorite time of day was the morning when he could spend an hour testing the volts, the vibrations, and the intensity. More than anything he needed to test it on subjects. But without funds to run a full test on actual subjects, there was little work he could actually do. After an hour his phone timer went off and he stood. The first cleanings should be done already which meant a few x-rays would be waiting for his assessment. And he had a nine-thirty crown to put in. 

As he put the finishing touches on Mrs. Holland’s crown, Beth popped in to let him know his bridge appointment had been moved and the time had been filled with a TMJ consult.

“Alright. I should be done here in about ten minutes.”

Mrs. Holland shifted nervously. She was clutching the arms of the dental chair for dear life as he zapped the glue dry. If he hadn’t practiced being extremely professional his entire life, he might have shaken his heard. Or clicked his tongue. Or asked her why she was so nervous. He was fixing her tooth, after all. 

But over half of dental patients were nervous. Crossing and uncrossing their ankles, tapping their fingers or gripping the arms of the chair. One, a few months ago, was able to pick through the pleather of the chair out of sheer nerves.

Just as he was ripping his gloves off, Brooke, a young dental hygienist, popped her head around the corner of the open cubicle. She pulled her mask down and smiled. She was always smiling. Always happy. “My patient is ready for her TMJ consultation.”

“Right. Of course,” Jameson said with a nod, a ping of self-pity tugging at his heart. Brooke was a beautiful woman in her early thirties whom he should want to date. But when Beth suggested it, Jameson couldn’t bring himself to ask her. Not just because she worked for him, but because he had no desire to date her. Or anyone for that matter.

But at some point, he would have to get over that, wouldn’t he? He was only forty and didn’t particularly wish to spend the next forty to fifty years alone.

Jameson shook the self-pity out of his head, grabbed a new mask and marched down the hallway to cubicle five.

“You should have a funny quote,” the patient said aloud as Jameson walked in. He glanced at Brooke as he put on a new mask. She shrugged.

“I’m sorry?” Jameson asked, glancing over the patient’s chart. Taylor Kessler. 

The woman startled at his voice. Her arms jerked upwards before falling down. Then she laughed. It was a beautiful laugh that he imaged belonged to a beautiful woman. Her hair was brown with natural red streaks that caught in the light. Her alabaster skin and slight tilt to her dark brown eyes told him of Asian ancestry.

But it was her mouth he couldn’t stop looking at. Perfectly shaped lips that spread into a smile that lit up her entire face.

She was more than beautiful. She was gorgeous.

Albeit, possibly crazy, as well. 

But he wasn’t there to assess if she was pretty or not. Jameson clamped down on his erratic thoughts and pulled the short stool under him before sitting. Crazy or not, she was his patient. And he loved helping TMJ patients find relief. Weirdly enough, he considered it the fun part of his job.

“I’m Dr. Bryant,” he said, looking down at the woman who turned to look at him. Her eyes flared wide for a moment before she masked whatever it was. He was almost certain it hadn’t been recognition. He didn’t recognize her. And his mask covered most of his face. Surprise then? But at what?

Her eyes no longer showing anything but neutral kindness, she smiled. An easy, lazy smile. He knew from her chart that she was thirty-eight, but he could have guessed she was early thirties with how smooth her skin was. 

Not that he should be looking at anything more than her mouth. Inside her mouth. Whatever.

“I’m Taylor Kessler,” she said, tilting her head at him, her eyes locking with his. “Although, I think you all should know that I hold a doctorate in poetry and librarian studies.”

Wit. At the dentist office. Jameson was impressed. Most people came in on the defensive, outright scared, or simply wanted things to move faster.

Well, he wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass him by. “If I ever have a problem with poetry or the library, I’ll be sure to call you.”

Taylor Kessler laughed again. Loud and free. And Brooke joined her. Jameson couldn’t help smiling as well. It wasn’t often he got such a good reaction for his pithy comments. 

And for a heartbeat of a moment, he wanted the conversation to go on forever. Forget the rest of his patients, he only wanted to sit with Taylor Kessler. He wanted to hear her laugh. Or at least talk.

“Did you have a question before?”

“About?”  Taylor tilted her chin and Jameson couldn’t help but look at her lips before dragging his eyes back to hers. “Oh! It wasn’t a question. I was saying your quote is boring. And generic. And unhelpful. You should get something funny. Shockingly funny. To keep us entertained while we wait.”

Jameson rolled the stool back and looked up. Then looked again at Taylor. “Do you always need to be entertained?”

She drew her chin back and he immediately regretted his tone. He had gone for dry humor, and clearly she hadn’t understood that.

But then she lifted one eyebrow, the corners of her mouth rising slightly. “More or less,” she admitted. “For me, you could put a history dissertation about the czars of Russia and I’d be entertained. More than with that quote. Maybe you could have trivia. Like those tablets you sometimes see in the back of an Uber.”

Now he noticed her neck. Smooth and long. And there was a faint smell of a perfume that he didn’t know, but that fit her exactly. Citrusy with a hint of jasmine, perhaps. Or some kind of flower. 

Jameson swallowed. He was again glad for the mask because he also couldn’t stop smiling. “I haven’t seen those.”

“Then you haven’t taken an Uber in a while.” 

She wiggled in the dental chair. So she wasn’t as comfortable as she let on. Still nervous like everyone else. 

“You’re right,” he said, pulling closer to look at the x-rays Brooke had pulled up on the screen.

“I’m sorry?”

“I haven’t taken an Uber in a while,” he said without looking back at her.

Taylor Kessler hummed, clearly happy with the answer. Which meant she liked to be right, then. Not that Jameson needed to know that. And it wasn’t knowledge he needed to tuck away, either. She was just a patient. He didn’t need to know her personality.

“I know what you’re talking about,” Brooke piped in. Irrationally, Jameson wished she wasn’t there and part of this conversation. He bit his tongue, literally, to remind himself he was acting dumb. “I took an Uber from the airport that had one of those tablets. It was fun to play. Made the ride go faster.”

“Exactly,” Taylor said, nodding firmly. “I think your other patients would prefer a funny quote.”

 She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, pain flashing across her face.

Jameson watched her. The pain in her jaw was most likely shooting up into her temples and possibly causing a tension headache across her forehead. “Are you having pain right now?”

She dropped her hand as though caught in the cookie jar.

“Yes.”

“Between 1 to 10?” he asked.

“I would say seven.”

That wasn’t good. “Do you mind if I do an exam?”

She said nothing, but sighed.

“Do you mind?” he asked, a circuit of panic at the thought that she might get up and leave without allowing him to help her ran through his chest. Not that he should care. Patients were free to choose to have him help. Or not. 

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you needed verbal consent.”

Brooke giggled. Jameson stared. She must be new to the area. Beth gave him a giant lecture two years prior about getting verbal consent and not touching anyone until they said he could. It was tiring, since he assumed they were at the dentist office for him to help them, but he also assumed Beth was right. She was always up on the current events of the changing culture. 

“I’ve been out of the loop for a bit,” Taylor said. “You have my consent.”

Jameson reached out, then hesitated. There was something in her eyes that made him want to draw her close. Hold her. Which was ridiculous. He was a dentist and she was a patient. So he forced his fingers forward.

Taylor Kessler closed her eyes, her pretty face visibly relaxing when Jameson touched her temples and gently felt for the tension around her jaw. And while he cared about every single patient, something about her made his chest swell with pride that he could bring her some relief. His thoughts imagined her smiling at him, free of the tension her TMJ was causing.

The thought was so unprofessional he jerked his hand away and snapped on the light. “Open, please,” he said, more forcefully than necessary. 

For the rest of the exam, he was able to keep himself detached. Distant from any feelings of well, whatever it was he was feeling. Attraction? Maybe. She was very pretty. That strange male protector thing? He had never been big into that, but there was some of it. Not that she needed his protection. What was he going to protect her from? A cavity? 

Jamesom swallowed an irritated sigh. With himself. Maybe he was tired. Perhaps the run had been too long. The places his mind was going were entirely wrong for the workplace. 

“What are you taking for pain right now?” he asked, trying to keep himself on the professional track.

“I rub eucalyptus on my joints, and I do breathing exercises—” Taylor said, locking eyes with him the instant she opened hers.

He held up a hand to stop her. “You’re not taking anything?”

“No.”

With the amount of tension she had and the way she had broken her back molar from grinding so hard, he couldn’t believe she wasn’t taking something. “I could prescribe you some.”

“If it becomes a debilitating headache, I take some pain killers. But usually, I can manage through the day with my pain.”

He couldn’t believe it. “But you wake up at seven?”

“Or higher,” Taylor said quietly.

Jameson narrowed his eyes at her, wondering if she understood how high seven was. Maybe she had a high tolerance. But then, it wouldn’t make sense for her to say seven. And if she didn’t want drugs, she must be telling the truth. “Do you snore?” he asked.

“How would I know that?” Taylor asked, rolling her eyes as though she were a teenager.

“Does your husband say anything?” Jameson asked, annoyed with himself that dread spiraled through him at the possibilities of her answer. 

“I’m a widow,” Taylor said.

That was not something he had prepared for. The most he had hoped for was that she wasn’t seeing anyone or was divorced. Not that he had hoped for anything. Because he hadn’t. That would be unprofessional. And he didn’t approve of him or his staff behaving inappropriately. 

Should he say he was sorry for her loss? Should he say nothing? He looked at Brooke who wore a face of professionalism behind her mask. No help at all. 

When too many seconds ticked past, Jameson continued the appointment as though Taylor had said nothing. She would need a proper night guard after the crown was made. For the moment, she should find a way to loosen her muscles and keep her teeth from touching.

“This type of mouth guard should work.”

Taylor took the box, studying it as though it were history homework, and Jameson finally forced himself to leave the cubicle. It wasn’t protocol for him to finish the appointment. That was for Brooke to do. And he was due to check on Jodi, the new intern.

Outside of the cubicle where Brooke and Taylor were still chatting, the air shifted completely. Breathing became easier. Which was stupid and not at all something that should have happened. Brooke told Taylor the date of her next appointment and the date stuck to his head like a nail forced into wood. 

Neither the date nestled into his memory nor the desire for two weeks to go by so he could catch a glimpse of her were proper thoughts. They were the thoughts of a teenager who didn’t know how to control himself. 

He was an adult. And was obviously tired from his run.

“Dr. Bryant? Are you ready?” Jodi asked, her braided hair swinging lightly as she leaned out of her space. 

“Coming straight to you,” he said, pulling off his gloves and mask. She handed him new ones, then turned the computer towards him as he rolled the stool up to the patient who was humming under his breath.

“How are you today,” Jameson glanced at the name at the top of the screen. “Mr. Ackerman?”

Jameson was able to get through the exam without thinking about Taylor Kessler. But the moment he entered The Lab, she filled his thoughts again. Which could only mean one thing.

“I need to get out more,” he muttered.