Mandy opened a drawer and took out a first aid kit. Throwing the blood-soaked paper towel in the trash, she bandaged him up enough to keep him from bleeding all over his car. Enjoying her touch, Danny let her. When she was done, her hand lingered on his arm, and her blue eyes darkened, like she was interested in more than his cut. He leaned in, but Mandy jumped back, nearly tripping over her feet in her haste to put some space between them.

Awkward. “Mandy—”

“You’d better go. You’re bleeding through the bandage.” She opened the door. “Are you sure you’re all right to drive?”

“Don’t worry. I’m used to doing things one-handed.”

The drive to Doc’s office took all of three minutes, most of which was spent at the town’s single traffic light. Not much time to contemplate Mandy’s skittishness. But one thing was clear. He needed to take whatever might happen between them slower.

The clinic was on a side street just three doors from the main intersection of town. The barn-red two-story was almost nauseatingly quaint, with its fresh white trim and flower boxes spilling over with purple-and-white flowers. The front door opened in to a small waiting room decorated in castoffs. Thirty-year-old chairs and tables too ugly for Goodwill but not old enough to be antiques vied for space. An old wooden teacher’s desk in the corner was empty.

A white-coated Dr. Chandler appeared in a doorway. “Come on back.” He turned and disappeared.

Danny walked down the short hallway, passing a tiny room with a desk and bookshelves. The doc’s office? Danny hesitated. A few thick volumes stacked on the shelf closest to the door caught his attention: Sleep Disorders, Inherited Prion Diseases, Psychiatry Today, Neurological Disorders that Affect Sleep. Heavy subjects for a family practitioner. Dr. Chandler had been researching Nathan’s disease. Had he known about the family history before December? Had Dr. Chandler treated Nathan’s uncle? Did he know who Nathan was sleeping with?

“Mr. Sullivan?”

“Right here.” Danny followed the doctor’s voice to the next doorway, which led into a small examination room. “Slow morning?”

“I don’t officially open for another hour, which is why I’m the only one here.” The doctor gestured to the usual padded table. “Let’s see it.”

Danny sat. Paper crinkled under his ass.

Doc washed his hands and donned gloves. Then he slipped on a pair of half glasses and unwound the tape. Blood started flowing as soon as he lifted the bandage. “Definitely needs stitches. How’d you do this?”

Danny stared at an eye chart on the opposite wall. “Cutting up a melon.”