Doctorshipped

I’m the absolute last remaining single woman in the entire town of Bordeaux. Okay, maybe not the very last. Just the last one with all her teeth, natural hair color, and the ability to remember where I set my keys. I decided years ago that I’m going to remain single until my dying day. I’ll infuse a new, hip meaning into the term “old cat lady.” I don’t need a man. I’ve got my bulldog, my cats, and some of the best friends in the world. My cup’s not half-full—It’s overflowing. My man-free life is going along fine until the day I walk into my new job as a part-time tutor to the daughter of the new doctor in town. The sight of this man is making my skin tingle and my breath hitch, and something very much like butterflies are erupting in my stomach. Butterflies! I don’t do butterflies over a man. My reaction doesn’t mean I need to change my stance on men. After all, Grant’s a broody, stern, cantankerous man. If I were going to start dating, it certainly wouldn’t be someone who obviously hasn’t smiled since he was forced to for school pictures. But then his daughter walks in the room, and his face lights up. That smile. Who knew swooning was a real thing? Still, I’m not dating. And that’s final.