“Mrs. Hunter, I’m Nicholas Drayton,” he’d announced. “What can I do for you?”

She’d been momentarily surprised by both his sudden arrival and his appearance. She’d expected him to be older, but he looked close to her own age and, with a head of unruly sandy-colored hair falling to his collar, a golden tan, and green eyes that seemed to radiate warmth, he looked more like one of her mother’s hippie friends than a doctor.

“I read that you’ve never met a patient you couldn’t reach. I need you to reach my Katie,” she’d told him.

He’d considered her for a long moment and then he was glancing down at his watch. “If you don’t mind sharing me with a chicken panini, I’m all yours for the next hour.”

She wasn’t sure whether it was his quiet confidence that day, or his focused attention, but as she left his office with an appointment scheduled two days later, she knew if anyone could get through to Katie, it was him.

“Mrs. Hunter?”

Lina brought her mind back to the present, realizing Katie had taken the seat beside hers and Dr. Drayton was speaking to her. “Sorry.” She smiled. “I was a million miles away.”

“Shall we?” He held his hand towards his office.

“I really wish you would call me Lina. Is there some type of ethical rule against you using first names?”

“Something like that.” He watched her walk across his office and then slowly followed, lowering himself into a chair opposite her spot on the couch.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she teased. “Your reputation will remain above reproach.”

“I’ll take it under advisement.” A smile played at the corners of his lips. “I was pleased with our session today. I’m lowering her Prozac again.”

“So soon?”

“The goal is to have her medication free by the end of the summer.”

“I know. It’s just—what if she reverts back or—”

“She won’t.” He leaned forward and held out a slip of paper. “That’s the new dosage.”

Lina took the paper, glancing down at his barely legible handwriting. “You write like a doctor.” She laughed. “I mean, I know you’re a doctor. It’s just strange the way your handwriting fits the stereotype when the rest of you doesn’t.”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg casually over the other. “No? I don’t fit your vision of a doctor?”

“Not exactly,” she answered, looking up from the paper. “You don’t look conservative enough.”

“That’s probably because I’m not conservative, but I can assure you we come in all types.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, embarrassed she’d shared her thoughts aloud. “I shouldn’t generalize.”

“You can generalize all you like. No offense taken.” He smiled then, and she thought, not for the first time, how handsome he was. “Tell me about Katie’s week. Is she continuing to interact more with you and your husband?”

“If arguing is interacting, then yes.” She sighed. “She’s definitely interacting more.”

He laughed. “That’s actually positive. Katie is in the process of deciding who she wants to be. Part of that process will be rejecting beliefs she determines have been imposed by her parents. Expect more of that in the coming weeks. I think you could benefit from a book one of my colleagues just wrote.” He paused as he scribbled down the name of a book on his prescription pad. “Hopefully you can decipher my handwriting.” He winked at her as he held out another slip of paper. “This book offers methods for handling argumentative teenagers. It’s important to have a dialogue with her, to listen to her demands and if you don’t agree, logically explain why. No ‘because I said so’ or ‘this is the way it’s done in this house.’ She’s intelligent. Treat her that way.”