Sisters in Love (Snow Sisters, Book One: Love in Bloom Series #1) (8 page)

Blake knew that the first year after
AcroSki's opening had been difficult for Sally. Their income hadn’t
taken off until after they’d paid back the bank loan they’d taken
to buy the store, but Sally had never complained. She’d supported
Dave, even with the late evenings it took to get the store off the
ground. She’d bring dinners for them when they worked late, and
she’d always included Blake. He needed to do this. For Dave. For
Sally. For himself.

Just as Blake reached for the knob, the door
swung open. A short, wide-eyed, heavy man—looking as startled as
Blake felt—stood before him. The man dropped his gaze to the
floor.

“She’s all yours,” the man said, as he
hurried past Blake.

Blake walked into the small reception area.
Four chairs, two on each side of the room, separated by an antique
coffee table, gave the room a homey feel. He stepped inside and
closed the door quietly behind him. Blake looked over a wooden
bookshelf filled with self-help books that sat against the far
wall, wondering if he’d made a mistake. He sat down in one of the
chairs. The room was eerily silent, save for a white noise machine.
He crossed his ankle over the opposite knee, then dropped it to the
floor. He checked his watch: 1:55. There was a door on the wall
opposite the entrance. He stared at it.
Dr. Snow is back
there
. What if she was really hot? Could he tell her about
himself? What if she was hideously ugly? Would that make it easier?
Or more difficult because she might feel bad about her own
looks?

He looked back at the entrance door. Every
fiber of his being willed him to rise and go out that door.
Just
go. Leave. This isn’t for you
.

Danica set a fresh notepad and pen on the
edge of her desk, then went to the door, smoothing her black pencil
skirt and colorful blouse. She opened the door and walked out
smiling, her typical welcome to new clients rolling off her
lips.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Snow.” Her smile faded. Her
heart pounded. It was
him
.

Blake laughed. “Well, this is awkward.”

Danica didn’t know what to say. She’d never
had this issue before. Should she tell him she couldn’t help him?
Why?
he’d ask. She’d answer,
Because I think you’re
really hot. Because all I’ve thought about for the past twelve
hours are your lips
. Shit. She could do this. There was nothing
between them. He needed help, and that was her job.
Grow
up
.

“Nah, awkward? Come on in. We’ll talk.” She
led him into the office, then realized she needed to give him an
out, just in case he was feeling as uncomfortable as she was.

Blake sat in one of the leather chairs
opposite the desk. Danica sat in the chair across from him. She
never sat behind the desk when meeting with clients, she found it
too much of a barrier. Though now, she wished she’d sat behind the
desk. A barrier might be nice.

“Okay, so, I’m a therapist. Surprise.” She
forced a smile. “You’re here for help, but given the recent,” she
elbowed the air, “and,” she lifted her ankle, “if you’re
uncomfortable, I can refer you to someone else if you’d like.”
Please don’t go. Go. No, don’t.
She didn’t realize she was
holding her breath until he answered.

“Actually, I think this might be good for
me.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

Reflectively, Danica noted his posture and
had to keep from jumping into the same protective position. She
caught herself looking at his arms and reached for the pad and pen
on the edge of her desk.

“How does this work?” Blake asked.

This, she could handle. “Well, I usually
start with my intake paperwork. Typical questions. And you’ll need
to fill out this information.” She handed him a clipboard with the
necessary disclosures. “Why don’t you fill that out first, and then
we can talk.” She moved to sit behind her desk, needing the barrier
more than she’d thought.

“Okay. Here? Or do you want me to fill this
out in the waiting room?” He stood.

“Wherever you want. They literally take just
a few minutes.”

For a moment neither one moved. The air
between them was thick—not uncomfortable, not electrified—just as
if a bubble had formed between them and neither one quite knew how
to maneuver around it.

“Okay, then.” Blake sat back down.

Danica turned her back to him and pretended
to look through the files on her credenza.
You can do this. Calm
down. Think, client. Client. Client
.

“Okay, that was easy.” He set the clipboard
on the desk, and Danica came back around and sat down. She flipped
through the paperwork.
Thirty-four, single, no meds, ski shop
owner, no history of anything unusual.
Danica cleared her
throat, thinking,
Except being a player, maybe.

She took a deep breath and blew it out
slowly. “Thanks. Blake, what are you here for? You said your friend
died?” She found herself slipping into her therapist persona easier
than she’d thought possible.

Blake looked down at his hands, then back up
at her.

God, he’s handsome
.
Stop
it!

“Yes, Dave, my friend.” He paused and looked
around her office. “Dave Tuft was my best friend. He died in a
skiing accident on Saturday.”

“Saturday?” She couldn’t keep the surprise
from her voice. “But you were at the bar last Saturday night. I saw
you, remember?”

“Avoidance,” Blake said with a straight face.
“It’s one of my…one of the things I need to work on. Look,” Blake
leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, “I’m not someone who
doesn’t see his own faults. I know I’m a…I’ve been a bit of a…”

Danica raised an eyebrow, secretly
reassessing what she thought of him by his honesty. She had little
tolerance for lies, although in this case, lies might make her job
much easier. She’d instantly be turned off by lies, while honesty
was harder to resist.

“Well, I’m
that
guy.”

Come on. You can do it, Blake
. “That
guy?” Danica was not going to spoon-feed any client, including him.
Especially him. She couldn’t wait to hear if he fessed up to being
the person she saw him as.

“
That
guy. You know. The one who dates
a different girl every night. The one who accidentally hits a woman
in the nose, then looks at another woman while she’s standing there
bleeding.”

So, he did know what he was like. “Before we
talk about all of that—and we will talk about all of that—I’d like
to get an idea of your familial background.”

Blake groaned and leaned back in his
chair.

“I’m not a therapist who believes that you
need to relive your childhood in order to make progress, but I do
like to know what you’ve experienced, so I can better help you.”
She pulled off her normal speech without a hitch.
That was
easy
. Danica squeezed her pen so tight that her knuckles stung.
This was where the bad guys came out. Molestation, emotional abuse,
any of the triggers from childhood could bring even the strongest
man to tears—or to aggression. She watched for the telltale signs
of the latter while he answered.

“I know I have to talk about this, but it’s
difficult.” He took a deep breath, and Danica watched a brief look
of pain pass through his eyes. “My mom left when I was three.”

“Have you seen her since?”

Blake shook his head. “She didn’t leave a
forwarding address. I lived with my father.” Blake looked out the
window, his eyes serious, as if he was contemplating something.
When he turned back toward Danica, she saw the same softness she’d
caught a glimpse of when he’d first elbowed her in the café. “He
did the best he could. Worked two jobs, spent time with me. I’m not
a kid who was ignored or abused.”

That helps
. She waited patiently for
him to continue. All clients had this lull in admission. Danica
knew better than to prompt them. How they continued was often very
telling.

“I don’t see him much. He moved away, and
I—”

Danica waited, listening to the faint road
noise filtering in through the closed windows. She waited until his
discomfort with the silence became evident in his fidgeting. She
was used to this. Blake fidgeted. She waited.

“Hell, I don’t know. There’s no real reason
we don’t see each other except probably that he’s old and I’m
selfish.”

Yes! One point for being self-aware!
She nodded, hiding her enthusiasm for his honesty and wondering
what he might be hiding. Everybody was hiding something.
    “Okay, so no mom growing up, and Dad was a good
guy. That’s all I need for now to be able to move forward.” She set
the clipboard down on her desk and relaxed a bit, steepling her
hands beneath her chin. “Tell me about Dave.”

Blake’s eyes went from serious to sad, then
settled on something in between. “He was my business partner. We
skied together.”

Danica nodded, waited.

He looked down, then spoke softly. “He would
egg me on, with women, you know? But then, in the same breath, he’d
hint that I shouldn’t be doing what I was doing.” Blake locked eyes
on Danica. “He’s the reason I’m here. He gave me your number before
he…before the accident.”

“Well, he sounds like a good guy. I’m sorry
that you lost him. That must be very painful. Do you want to talk
about the accident?” Danica felt herself warming to him, like she
had to Keith Small, a previous client. An alcoholic who went to
every AA meeting with the hope of actually changing, even though he
still went home and drank. It had taken over a year of working with
him, but he’d eventually gone through rehab and was now living a
sober lifestyle. She saw the same hope in Blake’s eyes. She’s seen
that look many times before. While tragedy was a major catalyst,
few clients actually remained steadfast in their path to change
after the initial shock of losing someone wore off.

Blake shook his head. “Not really.”

She could barely take her eyes off of him.
How could one man be so attractive?
“Okay, Blake, what would
you like to share with me?”
My bed? Jesus Christ, where did that
come from? This is not a good idea.

“My other…habits.” He leaned back again,
crossing his arms. “This is weird, isn’t it? Talking about this
stuff after you’ve seen me with those women? I mean, if this is
awkward for you, we don’t have to talk about this.”

“Blake, this is my job. I see you as a
client, and I’m happy to help you with these issues. But as I said
when you came in, if you are uncomfortable, please, by all means,
let me refer you to someone else.” Danica should have felt
relieved; instead she felt competitive. She was damn good at her
job, and she vowed to treat him like any other client. No more
dirty thoughts. Danica didn’t see him as a client yet, but she’d
push past her sinful stirrings and remain on the professional side
of that ominous, thin, gray line that every therapist had to
respect. She could be his therapist. She was the best therapist in
town, at least she liked to think so.

Blake looked at her, nodding, considering. He
leaned forward, then back again. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Listen, I’ve helped—for lack
of a better word—
players
before. While that might be
something you want to work on, I feel like there’s more here than
just what you do in your spare time. You've lost your friend,
someone who obviously meant a lot to you. Maybe that’s where we
should start, when you’re ready.”

“Maybe. But I’m not ready.”

“Okay. Do you want to continue today’s
session? We have another fifteen minutes. Or we could end today’s
here and you can take some time to figure out if you wish to
continue with me.”

Blake stood, and Danica fought the urge to
reel off her credentials: PhD in clinical psychology from Boston
University, undergrad degree from Tufts.

He shook Danica’s hand with a firm grip.
Danica stood tall, her shoulders back, queen of her therapist
domain. “I’m glad you came in.” Then she added, just to solidify
the professional relationship, “I’ll drop your bill in the
mail.”

Blake nodded. “Thank you,” he said, and
headed for the office door. He stopped before opening it and said,
“It was nice to see you again.” He smiled, and Danica felt her
professional posture slipping away. She cleared her throat to
settle her nerves.

“Yes, you too. And I’m sorry about your
friend.” Danica watched him walk out the door, and when it was
firmly closed, she collapsed into her chair, letting out a long,
relieved sigh.
Blake Carter
. Her nerves tickled with
delight. He was right there, in her office. Is this what all the
fuss was about with Kaylie and Belinda? That heat that began in
your thighs and traveled up to your chest, feeling like it might
explode? Now she understood. She stood and paced, her arms crossed,
a smile painted across her cheeks. Her cell phone rang, reeling her
excitement in like a fishing line.

She picked up the phone.
Kaylie
. “You
won’t believe who was just in my office,” she gushed.

“Arnold Schwarzenegger? Kate Middleton? Dane
Cook?” Kaylie laughed.

“Blake Carter.”

“What? Why?” Kaylie asked, suddenly drained
of her enthusiasm.

That’s when it hit Danica like a brick in the
face. She either had to get ahold of herself or drop him as a
client—if he even ever came back. “I can’t tell you. I shouldn’t
have even said anything. Damn it.” What had she been thinking? It
would be a challenge, but she was up to it. She was not the kind of
therapist to lose her license over a blip of bad judgment.

“What the hell, sis? I tell you
everything.”

Danica heard Kaylie’s hurt through the
telephone line. “No, I mean, I can’t reveal why he came, just that
he was here.”

“Oh my God, really? Are you going to see him
as a client? Isn’t that wrong or something?” Kaylie’s voice turned
serious.