“If he builds like his sister bakes, the thing will be done in three days and delicious a la mode.” She plucked her backpack from a hook on the wall. “I thought we settled this yesterday. I’m really not worried.”

Still twirling the stethoscope, he propped one shoulder against the doorframe. “Hey, when will you put a picture of us on your desk?”

“When we’ve had a second date.” She balled her fists and plunked them onto her hips. “Move. I’ll be late.”

He snorted a laugh. “What, like he has a clock?”

“He’s Amish, not prehistoric.”

Pressing the head of the stethoscope to his chest, he inhaled deeply, puffed his cheeks, and released an explosive breath.

She lifted her brows. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Will you live?”

Forehead furrowed and eyes narrowed, he paused. “I believe so.” Relaxing his features, he slipped an arm around her waist. “It’s you I’m worried about.”

“Like I said. I’m not.” She leaned into his elbow and flashed a smile she hoped put all fears to rest. All his fears, anyway. While absolutely certain Jonas would never harm her, she did wonder what they’d talk about for twenty minutes in the car. Not to mention for the remainder of the gazebo consultation. She swallowed hard.

Jerking back, he thrust out a stiffened finger. “You gulped.”

The guy didn’t miss a trick. “I had saliva.”

“I’m a doctor. I know a gulp when I see one. I can take off the afternoon.”

Though still a tad overbearing, his concern was flattering. She darted a glance at the office wall clock. If she didn’t get going, she really would be late. With a peck on the cheek, she slid from his grasp. “You’re very sweet, but we both know you can’t.”

“You’re right, I can’t.” He slumped in the doorway. “But you could reschedule—I’m off Saturday.”

“What? Just, like, text him?” With a grin, she elbowed his ribs. “Get out of my way.”

He straightened, still obstructing her path. “We certainly don’t want to keep Mister Amish Man waiting.”

She shoved again and wriggled halfway out the door.

“Mister All-Beard-And-No-Moustache—hey, why don’t they have moustaches anyway?”

“Richard.” His name came out a laugh.

He grabbed her around the waist and drew her close. “Mister I-Don’t-Drive-So-I-Rely-On-Beautiful-Redheads-For-Rides.”

“Goodbye,” she hissed in his ear.

His body convulsed in a ticklish spasm.

Seizing the opportunity, she broke free and slipped into the hall.

“Maybe I should grow a moustache just to spite him,” he called.

“Sure thing, Magnum.” She pushed through the double doors and into the noonday sun.

Look out, world. I’m taking an Amish dude for a ride.

Chapter 8

Chapter 8