Page 59 of Meant for Mayhem

I finally made myself move, walking over to take the keys from his outstretched hand. Mikko held the door open, and I slid under his arm, looking inside the vehicle. Two-tone black and cream leather lined the interior, but it was the roses embroidered on the headrests that finally did me in.

This felt far more than you needed a car, so I bought you a car when he’d had so much customized to exactly what I would have chosen for myself. No, this felt like a husband choosing a present for a wife.

“Mikko.”

“Did I do something wrong?” He sounded far more nervous than someone who’d given me the best gift of my life should.

“No.” I cleared my throat. “It’s great. I love it.”

Mikko put his hands in his pockets, a small smile tugging at his lips. I shouldn’t have stared at them, at how the bottom one was fuller than the top, looking so damn kissable, but I did.

“Good. I hoped you would.”

I sank down onto the buttery leather seats, then listened while Mikko switched back into business mode, explaining how to adjust the seats and program it to my preferences, then ran through every safety feature available I hoped I’d never need.

“All set?” he asked.

I put hands on the steering wheel and looked out the front windshield. Anything to avoid looking at the man who was going out of his way to take care of me like no one in my life ever had before.

“Yes. I’m good.”

Mikko moved out of the way, and I closed the door. He tapped the glass once I started the engine, and I rolled down the window. The moment it was fully open, Mikko leaned down, elbows resting on the edge.

“Have a great day, wife. Tell me all about it when you get home.”

I was so thrown off by this entire morning I didn’t even have a snappy comeback ready. No, I was too busy focusing on the way my heart fluttered in my chest the longer his attention stayed on me.

Home.

What a dangerous word.

Denver traffic was awful on a good day, but I made it to the office by the Tech Center in time to reread my email from my mentor, Heather, for the millionth time before I had to go inside.

Today would be mostly onboarding tasks, but Heather had a great reputation as a pediatric speech pathologist, and I wanted to make a good impression. To show that I was ready for this.

I got out of the car, slinging my backpack full of toys, laminated cards, and games over my shoulder as I walked toward High Country Rehabilitation. My calendar invite was updated yesterday to bring me here instead of Little Voices Pediatric Therapy, but they were part of the same network. I assumed orientation was happening at the main office before they sent me to the clinic I’d signed up for.

The moment the sliding glass doors whooshed open, I knew I was wrong.

The walls were a muted beige, decorated with generic landscape prints that looked like they’d been pulled straight from a discount bin. The waiting room was quiet, save for the low murmur of a television mounted in the corner.

No bright murals.

No tiny chairs.

No bins of well-loved toys.

No finger paintings taped proudly to the walls.

This was about as far from a warm, welcoming pediatric clinic as I could imagine.

“Shannon?” a woman called from behind the front desk.

I pasted on a smile, trying to swallow my disappointment. “That’s me.”

She came around the counter wearing maroon scrubs beneath a charcoal zip-up jacket embroidered with the High Country Rehabilitation logo. I guessed she was in her early forties, her dark hair pulled into a neat ponytail and a pair of tortoiseshell glasses perched on her nose. She offered me her hand with an easy smile. “I’m Rebecca Ellis. Thanks for being flexible with the last-minute change.”

I shook it. “Of course.”