Holiday Kisses. Gwynne Forster

about this, Mr. Jackson, the Novocain could have numbed your toothache and you wouldn’t be feeling a thing. You want the needle, or would you rather take a pill and suffer for another hour?”

      “Some choice you’re giving me.”

      “Aw, come now. Don’t be such a baby.”

      “Baby! I’d like to see you deal with a tooth that hurts the way mine does.”

      “I’m not making fun of you. I know it hurts. Open your mouth please. I really should x-ray this first, but if I took the time to do that you’d be in pain that much longer. Close your eyes and keep your mouth open.” She didn’t dare let him see the needle. Men were such babies when it came to needles. She injected the Novocain quickly, but winced when he stifled a groan.

      “I’m sorry about that,” she said, “but that’s the worst of it.” Waiting for the Novocain to do its job, she took some digital X rays of his teeth and then studied the images.

      “Mr. Jackson, would you look at this. How long have you had this cavity?”

      “Quite a while. I didn’t have time to take care of it. I had to finish an important project. Besides, I dread seeing the dentist.”

      She told herself not to take it personally, but to think of him as a patient that needed help. Not that she expected it to work. “You need a root canal, Mr. Jackson, and it’s going to take a while.”

      “I don’t care how long it takes or how much it costs. I just want to leave here feeling no pain.”

      “Really?” she said. “I thought that only applied when you were three sheets to the wind.”

      He’d begun to relax, so she tested the area for numbness. He didn’t need to know that if it took longer than usual, she might have to give him another shot. “He raised an eyebrow and said, “Hmm. What do you know about three sheets to the wind? I’ll bet you don’t even drink.”

      “You’re right. I don’t, except for the occasional glass of wine at dinner and a cocktail on special occasions. Though I suppose you know that pleasure need not require alcohol. The best highs are enjoyed cold sober.”

      “I’m not going there,” he said, his speech slightly slurred from the effects of the Novocain.

      Now, what had she said to bring that on? She could tell by his expression that he’d taken her comment as a double entendre. Well, she wasn’t going there, either.

      With her body pressed against the arm of the chair to steady her hand, she began to drill. But the deeper she went, the worse it got. She stopped and stepped back from him. “I don’t see how you tolerated this.”

      “You still think I was being a baby?” he said, petulantly.

      “I wasn’t talking about the pain when I said that. And, yes, you were being a baby about the needle. Open your mouth, please.”

      He opened his mouth, and she resumed drilling. “Ow! Hey!”

      “My goodness. I touched a nerve. I’m so sorry. Rest for a minute.”

      “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” he asked in a disparaging tone.

      In light of the pain he’d experienced, she forgave him. “I’m a doctor of dental medicine, a DMD. And I certainly did not imagine all those years and student loans I spent studying dentistry. Open your mouth.” She quickly gave him another shot of Novocain and patted his shoulder. “I know it’s unpleasant, but at least I’m a dentist who cares that you’re in pain.”

      He looked intently at her for a long minute. “Yeah, I guess you do. Sorry if I’ve been giving you a hard time.” He tried to smile, and she could hear the sudden pounding of her heart.

      Around one o’clock in the afternoon, nearly four hours after he’d walked into her office, she removed the towel that covered his chest, gave him a cup of water and asked him to rinse his mouth. He did. “Bite down hard on that side,” she said. “It should be fine now.” She opened a can of Ensure, poured it into a glass and gave it to him with a straw. It’ll be a while before that Novocain wears off, so don’t try to eat for at least another hour, but this will hold you.”

      Craig stood and rubbed his hand gently over his left cheek. He stared down at her. “How much,” he asked.

      “My receptionist will take care of it. You’ll see her on your way out.”

      He paused. “I can’t thank you enough, Doctor. The patients with appointments this morning must be furious with you. Thanks again. His gaze swept across the room and came back to her. Lights danced in his large brown eyes.

      “You’re the definition of an angel,” he said, then winked at her and left.

      Kisha sat down in the chair where Craig had just sat. It wasn’t just that she was tired. She wasn’t quite sure why she was so exhausted.

      She knew Regine, her receptionist, would have him fill out the intake form and provide his personal information along with his payment. And for a fleeting moment, Kisha thought about using the information in his patient file to find out more about him.

      She’d been around plenty of attractive men. In Key West, where she’d lived before moving to Baltimore, it was not unusual to see good-looking guys wearing the skimpiest of swim briefs. She enjoyed looking at them—after all she wasn’t dead. But she had never reacted the way she had toward Craig Jackson. His eyes! She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. She’d love to experience what those eyes promised.

      Three months ago, Kisha Moran had had all of her belongings packed and shipped to number 118 Palely Place in Baltimore, Maryland. She said goodbye to the never-ending Florida heat, the floods and the dreaded hurricanes. She loved living in the Keys, especially the casual lifestyle of fishing, swimming and tennis. But after seeing the damage from one too many hurricanes, she’d had enough.

      Kisha had been concerned about opening her dental practice and starting all over again in a place where she didn’t know anyone. But Baltimore had a large African-American population and a number of institutions of higher learning. She planned to build her new practice by providing low-cost dental care, letting students pay on a sliding scale and offering free service to children from the poorest families.

      By mid-September, she’d settled in, had a respectable number of patients. Her practice increased weekly, thanks to the proximity of her office to Morgan State University and its large student population to which she offered a discount. Not all of her patients attended the university, but many of them did, and they proved to be her best source of referrals.

      Craig Jackson’s acquaintances thought of him as a loner, and to some extent, he was. In his undergraduate days at Howard University, his personality earned him the nickname of Stonewall. A brilliant, no-nonsense man, he was often brutally frank and always honest. Small talk annoyed him.

      At age thirty-three, Craig’s career was about to take off, or so he hoped. He anchored a local five o’clock TV news program and prided himself in writing all of its scripts. His habit of including a “human interest” segment in each of his daily programs made him a favorite with viewers.

      Back in his office at TV station WWRM, Craig cast a rueful glance at the chocolate bar, the refuge from desperate hunger, that he kept in his top desk drawer, and shook his head. If he had to choose between hunger pain and the return of that toothache, he’d welcome the pain in his stomach. He answered his phone.

      “Jackson speaking.”

      “Hey, son, how’s it going?”

      He knew his dad hadn’t called to make small talk, so he asked, “What’s up, Dad?”

      “I’m wondering how far you are from deciding that you want to be a lawyer after all. I just looked at a piece of prime office space that would be perfect for Jackson and Jackson. It’s—”

      “Dad,