CALLED DR. BALA EARLY the next day and offered to take the daytime shift. He accepted, warned me that the EKG machine had a malfunctioning lead and hung up.

The clinic was hopping. Sunburn with blistering on a middle-aged man’s bald head; jellyfish sting on a ten-year-old boy; the old favorite, poison ivy, resulting from a boisterous bachelor party; and a mom who had slammed her finger in a car door. It was good to be busy. I x-rayed the lady’s finger, splinted it, admired her well-behaved seven-year-old daughter. The jellyfish sting was no problem, just a little itchy, so I gave the kid’s mom some cortisone cream. A prednisone prescription for the hungover bachelor, and some lidocaine cream for the sunburned baldy, with advice on wearing a hat.

Things slowed down in the afternoon, and I called a few patients to check on them, filled out some paperwork, dictated my cases and closed up. On Saturdays, the clinic closed at five. It was a beautiful day, clear and dry after last night’s rain, and Route 6 was packed with tourists. I got home and changed into my running clothes, Digger staring fixedly at my sneakers and wagging maniacally. He knew what sneakers meant. I pulled a T-shirt over my head (Free Your Inner Lance) and headed out for a leisurely run.

I was now a proficient runner in that I didn’t have to stop every thirty yards to vomit, wheeze or collapse. Granted, I would never be a natural athlete, and my stride was short and slow, but I had actually come to enjoy running, the fresh, salty air, the time with my dog, and, best of all, the smugness I felt when I was done. Today, the breeze rushed overhead, the sun beat down in bright, cheerful beams. I could hear the song of the beach as I ran down Ocean View, the cries of the gulls and shrieks of children mixing with the roar of the waves, waxing and waning with the breeze.

Now that I had no distractions, my thoughts of Joe, kept energetically at bay for the past twelve hours, returned with a sodden thump. Now what was I going to do the next time we saw each other? Pretend nothing had happened? That would be tough. I loved him, for God’s sake. I had sunk a lot of time, money and effort into getting him to notice me. And he had! So what the hell had gone wrong?

I finished my run and went inside, sweaty and irritable. I sat grumpily in my living room, not even feeling motivated to shower. Katie would be working. Curtis had put up with me enough last night. Maybe I would drop in on my parents…but then my mom would want to know how dinner had gone, and I’d have to tell her that I’d been stood up. Perhaps a drive into Boston to see Janette? Nah. Traffic was too heavy, and I lacked the energy. Clearly, I needed more friends. Maybe Sam would want to catch a movie.

Digger leaped up as if shot, barking maniacally as he jumped against the back door. I heaved myself out of my chair, running a hand through my sweaty hair. It was probably my dad, dropping by to see if I needed any man-things done around the house.

Joe Carpenter stood on my back porch.

All coherent thought drained from my head. I opened the door mechanically, and Digger launched himself at Joe, still barking. Joe bent and patted his head, grinning at me, and Digger quieted.

“Hi, Millie,” he said with a chuckle.

“Joe,” I breathed.

“You forgot, didn’t you? Wow, I can’t believe it.” He straightened up and shook his head. “Millie, Millie, Millie. You invited me for dinner, remember?” He wagged a finger at me. “Bad girl.”

“But…but…” I stammered. My brain refused to accept the horror that was dawning: Joe here. Me, sweaty and flushed. Joe here. Wrong day. Of course, he had gotten the day wrong…but he was here. And oh, God, I looked…

“Can I come in?” Joe asked, his dimples flashing again.

“Oh! Of course, sure.” I backed up and let him in. Digger followed, his nose glued to Joe’s work boots, sniffing with religious fervor.

“Joe, it was—you actually—” I said. A light flared in my brain. “God, I did forget. I’m so sorry.”

“That’s okay,” he replied amiably. “Can I stay?”

“Yes! Sure! Uh, just let me, you know, I just got back from a run…” I cringed mentally, knowing how I looked—and smelled.

“Sure. Take your time.” He looked around the kitchen. “So nothing’s cooking, huh?”

“Um, no. But I can whip us up something after I jump in the shower.” Again I winced, knowing that the most elaborate thing I’d ever whipped up was toast. Thanks to Sam last night, there were no leftovers, either.

“Sure, whatever. Got any beer?” I nodded and Joe opened the fridge and helped himself to a Corona.

“Make yourself at home. I’ll be quick,” I said, trying to back out of the kitchen in a dignified manner. I bumped into the door frame, then turned and fled to the bathroom.

In a frenzied manner, I peeled off my T-shirt, sports bra, shorts, shoes and socks. I avoided the mirror. Shit! But thank God! He hadn’t blown me off; he’d just had the wrong night. All that money and time, down the drain—or, more accurately, down Sam’s esophagus. Don’t worry about it, Millie. He’s here.

I leaped into the shower without waiting for the water to heat up and doused my damp head. Furiously lathering shampoo into my hair, I mentally went over what to wear, what to do with my hair, how much makeup I could put on without taking forever. Joe had turned on the stereo and had one of the Cape’s classic rock stations tuned in—Black Sabbath blared over the speakers, a far cry from last night’s carefully chosen CDs. Frantically, I toweled off my hair. Blowing it dry would not work…didn’t want to give Joe the impression that I was a high-maintenance kind of woman.

I slapped on some moisturizer, mascara and lipstick, yanked on my robe and leaped across the hall to my bedroom. From the closet, I pulled on some cropped jeans and a sleeveless button-down shirt, brushed my hair out and slapped on a hair band. Thank God for hair bands. Was I ready? No. Shoes. I grabbed some sandals and stuffed my feet into them. Looking in the mirror on the back of my door, I took a few fortifying breaths.

Your man is here, Millie, I told myself. Nothing has changed. Calm down. This is a big night. Not what you had planned, but still. Joe Carpenter is out there waiting for you.

At least my house was clean. And there were still flowers on the table, making it seem like I always had flowers on the table. Joe smiled as I came into the kitchen. He was standing at the stove, stirring. His jeans looked soft with age, slightly torn at each knee, and he wore a blue T-shirt. I had never seen a more beautiful male in my entire life.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yup,” I said, getting a beer out of the fridge.

“I found this in the cupboard. I love this stuff,” Joe said. He was stirring a pot of macaroni and cheese, the really orange kind that comes in a box, which I kept on hand for Katie’s boys.

“Oh,” I said, the grocery bill from last night flashing through my mind. “That’s great.” Fattening, salty, pasty…pretty much Cheetos in a less crunchy form. Joe stopped stirring. Taking me by the shoulders, he gave me a quick, soft kiss. My stomach flip-flopped most pleasantly.

“I missed you,” he said with a little smile.

Oooh. “I—I’m just so sorry I forgot about this,” I stammered.

He looked at me sideways. “It is kind of a first,” he acknowledged, just sheepishly enough to be adorable. “I’m usually the forgetful one.”

Score another point for Dr. Barnes, ladies and gentlemen!

Dinner with a shelf life of three years wasn’t exactly the romantic meal I’d planned, but nevertheless, Joe Carpenter and I were together.

“How’s work going?” I asked as Joe shoveled in heaping spoonfuls of the glow-in-the-dark food.

“Great,” he answered. “Almost done on the new wing at the senior center.”

“That’s wonderful,” I answered, taking a swig of beer.

“How’s your work?” he asked.

“It’s good, too. Pretty busy these days.”

“What is it again that you do?”

I blinked. How could he not know that? Not to toot my own horn or anything, but a small-town girl who becomes a doctor and returns to her place of birth…Everyone knew me. “I’m a doctor, Joe.”

“Oh, that’s right. Hey, you want some more mac ’n’ cheese?” He smiled so winningly at me that I forgave him his lapse, though my befuddlement remained.

We took our beers out onto the deck. It was getting dark. God had obligingly sent us a beautiful sunset; fuchsia and lavender suffused the entire western half of the sky, and the stars were beginning to wink in the deepening blue of the east. I lit the citronella candles that dotted the railing and put one on the table between us.

“This is a really nice house,” Joe said, gazing skyward.

“Watch this.” In another minute, Nauset Light’s beam flashed across the tops of the trees.

“Wicked cool,” Joe said. He reached over and took my hand, moving a candle so our flesh wouldn’t singe.

Was there ever a more perfect moment? Joe and Millie. Millie and Joe. Mr. and Mrs. Howard Barnes request the pleasure of your company at the wedding of their daughter, Millicent Evelyn Barnes, M.D., to Joseph Stephen Carpenter the Carpenter…I squelched a giggle.

“What’s your house like, Joe?” I asked to distract myself from my silliness.

“Oh, it’s kind of a work in progress,” he answered, turning to look at me. “I’ll show you sometime.”

“That would be nice.”

“Have you watched that movie yet? The one you rented?” Joe asked. “That looked good.”

“No, I haven’t watched it yet,” I lied. “Want to put it on?”

“Sure. And can I have some pie? I saw it in the cupboard.”

Ten minutes later I was watching The Bourne Identity for the second time in twenty-four hours. But this time, Joe Carpenter was sitting next to me, his big work boots on my glass coffee table, his strong, tanned arm around me. My heart pumped furiously, sending the blood flow straight to my nether regions. His hand brushed the back of my neck, his fingers played in my hair. I turned my head away from the TV and looked at Joe. He looked back. We looked and looked, and this time I couldn’t squelch the giggle that rose up.

“Millie Barnes,” Joe murmured, a slow smile lighting his perfect face. “Why didn’t I ever notice you before?”

And then he was kissing me, warm and soft and just right, nice and slow. My hand went to his neck, and I could feel his pulse thumping against my palm. Slowly, smoothly, he eased me back so I was half lying on the couch, Joe on top of me. Matt Damon screeched out of Paris. Joe slid his hand under my shirt, along my ribs and I sighed against his mouth. His hair was so soft, like a baby’s, and I ran my fingers through it. Then his hand cupped my breast, his thumb scraping over the lace of my bra, and my hands clenched into fists.

“Is this okay?” Joe whispered.

It was hard to think with him lying on top of me, his hand where it was, the clean, sunshiny smell of him.

“Millie, I really, really want to go to bed with you,” he whispered, kissing my neck.

“Okay,” I croaked.

SEVENTY-FOUR MINUTES LATER, Joe Carpenter was sleeping next to me in my bed. And guess what? We were naked, that’s what! We lay spooned against each other, Joe’s breath tickling my neck, his arm around my ribs. He was sound asleep.

I, on the other hand…I wanted to jump up and create a Web site that told the world I had just shagged Joe Carpenter. Joe Carpenter and I had had sexual relations. We had known each other biblically. We had done it. I had done it, too—I got my man, just as I had dreamed.

On the other hand…oh, damn. There was no getting around it. It hadn’t been perfect.

Of course, the first time can be awkward. I had felt pretty self-conscious…being naked with someone as magnificent as Joe made me feel rather imperfect myself. At least the lights had been off and we could barely see. Not that I didn’t want to see him, of course.

That wasn’t the only thing, though. I mean, the kissing on the couch had been glorious. But as soon as I had flashed the green light, my body had tensed up. We’d gone into the bedroom, and everything had been fine, but I couldn’t seem to get out of my head and enjoy what Joe was doing to my body and what I was doing to his. I had been just too nervous to really be present. Instead, my brain had narrated the whole thing. “Joe is taking off his shirt. Joe’s neck is very smooth. Joe is a boxers man.”

Well, it was only the first time. If I had just sort of gone through the motions, that was to be expected, perhaps. And Joe hadn’t seemed to notice.

I turned so I could see Joe’s face. Awake, he was the most beautiful man on earth. Asleep, he was an angel. The moon had risen and now cast a white light that turned his skin marble. His eyelashes were so long, his lips full and generous, his cheekbones…everything about him was beautiful. His hair fell across his forehead, and I smoothed it away.

Yes, I reassured myself, things would be perfect between us. This first-time awkwardness would surely pass.

I HAD TO WORK IN THE MORNING, so I crept out of bed, grabbed some clothes and tiptoed to the bathroom. After I showered, I took Digger out, made coffee and peeked in on Joe. He lay on his back, half-covered by the white sheet, looking like an ad for Calvin Klein cologne.

I sat on the edge of the bed and put my hand on his warm chest. He didn’t stir. “Joe?” I said softly. He opened his eyes.

“Oh, hey,” he said huskily, pulling me in for a kiss, making me glad I had just brushed.

“I have to go to work,” I said regretfully, running my hand over his smooth shoulder.

“Okay,” he murmured, closing his eyes again.

Okay? Was that it? As if reading my mind, Joe opened his eyes again,

“See you later?”

“Sure,” I answered. “There’s coffee if you want it.” I kissed him on the cheek and left.

Things were going great, I thought as I drove to work. I hadn’t been overeager, hadn’t tried to pin him down for our next date. The mix-up in nights had actually worked out well, since it seemed as if I wasn’t fixated on Joe, when of course we all knew the truth. But it had fooled him, and I had actually come off looking pretty good.

I think I could now safely say that Joe Carpenter was my boyfriend.

THE CLINIC WAS ALWAYS SLOW on Sundays, and we had only a few patients that day. Jeff, our college-boy temp, greeted me sweetly and then immersed himself in his books, leaving me free to talk on the phone, starting with Curtis, who definitely deserved the first call. After filling him in on the mix-up and subsequent nooky, we giggled happily together like ninth graders.

“So when can we officially meet your new boy toy, princess?”

“I’ll let you know,” I said. “Soon, I hope. Maybe we can have drinks down here.”

“Oooh. Venture into Hetero-Land? Well, now, that could be fun. And we could see your house. What have you done on that lately?”

We chatted a while longer in the comfortable way of old friends, talking about trivial things like the new lantern that Curtis had found at the marine surplus store or the teak desk organizer that I had ordered from Target. Once again, I thanked him profusely for his moral support, undying friendship and wardrobe advice, all of which were of equal import, reminded him that he was due for a tetanus booster and blew kisses into the phone.

After hanging up with Curtis, I wandered into the reception area and chatted up Jeff for a few minutes. He handed me some insurance forms, and I went back to my office to fill them out. That took ten whole minutes. I picked up the phone and called Katie.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Katie, it’s—”

“Michael, get out of that cupboard right now! And don’t whine at me! I am on the phone! Hello?” she demanded in that schizophrenic way mothers of young children have.

“Having a bad day?” I asked.

“Oh, hi, Millie,” she said.

“Want me to call back?” I asked.

“You know, lately they just hate me talking on the phone,” she answered. I could hear the sound of a toy siren in the background, followed by a crash and then a wail. “I don’t want to hear it!” Katie tersely informed…me? No, the boys. “Okay, they’re locked out. How’s it going?”

“Oh, fine,” I said, smiling.

“Do I hear the purr of a satisfied woman?” Katie laughed. Her voice changed. “Stop banging!”

“I hope you’re not talking to me,” I giggled.

“No, you can bang all you like,” she answered. “Listen, you can hear that this really isn’t the best time. Do you want to have that overnight we talked about? I have a couple of days off this week.”

“Sure!” I said. “I’ll tell you all about some recent developments.” We consulted our calendars and made a date.

“Mil, I have to run,” Katie said. “But I can’t wait for our night out. Corey, do not hit the door with that thing! You’re making dents! I’ll call you tomorrow, Millie. Put that down! Bye!”

Joe was gone when I came home, his coffee cup in the sink next to mine. I gave Digger a long tummy rub, cleaned up his mess on the kitchen floor (hoping he hadn’t pooped while Joe was still in the house) and wandered around. Peeking in the bedroom, there was absolute proof that I had indeed accomplished my mission…rumpled sheets and a condom wrapper in the wastebasket. And oh, hooray! There was a note on the pillow!

Millie—See you soon.

Joe?

A man of few words. The smiley face was cute. A little dopey, but cute. I gave the note a kiss, then lay back on the bed, grinning like an idiot. Complete and total satisfaction radiated from me. Joe had spent the night. I grabbed the pillow on which his perfect head had rested and inhaled. After a few minutes of reverie and self-congratulations, I rose, poured myself a glass of water and went out on the deck. The phone rang the instant my bottom touched the seat.

“Hi, Aunt Mil! It’s Danny!” my nephew barked into the phone like the Irish setter that I suspected he was.

“Hello, Danny,” I grinned.

“Wanna go to the movies with my dad and me?” he asked. Now granted, most seventeen-year-old boys would not be caught dead going out with their dads and, God forbid, their aunts. But Danny was exceptional. He would probably start a new teenage trend in airing out aging relatives.

“Sure,” I answered, feeling a sudden bittersweet rush of emotion. A year from now, Danny would be getting ready for college, and an evening like this one would be a thing of the past. I could hear Sam’s voice low in the background

“Dad wants to know if you’d rather see Sisters Forever…the new Jackie Chan flick…Star Fighters or…what was that last one, Dad? Guerilla Politics, ‘an important documentary from one of America’s finest filmmakers.’”

“Jackie Chan,” I answered immediately.

“Whoo-hoo! Jackie Chan it is, Dad! We’ll pick you up in half an hour, okay?”

They arrived shortly, and I squeezed into the pickup’s front seat between them like a giant toddler. Once at the theater, Danny bounded to the concession stand while Sam paid for all three tickets.

“You don’t have to buy my ticket anymore, Sam,” I protested.

“Years of habit, Millie.” He smiled down at me as Danny returned, carrying a bucket of popcorn the size of a silo and a vat of soda that contained enough fluid to hydrate a human for a week. We found our seats, me again in the middle.

“So what made you boys think of old, decrepit Aunt Millicent tonight?” I asked as Danny waved to three girls a few rows in front of us. They giggled in response and began whispering furiously, casting playful glances back at Danny as he devoured the popcorn with shocking speed.

“Oh, well,” Sam said, looking a little bit embarrassed. “I just thought maybe you felt a little, uh, down after Friday night.” At my blank stare, he said, “You know, your friend canceling on you and all.”

“Oh!” I said. “Actually, we saw each other last night.” At the words, a blush warmed the tips of my ears as I remembered making out on the couch with the lovely and delicious Joe Carpenter.

“Millie’s got a boyfriend, Millie’s got a boyfriend,” my nephew chanted, tossing some popcorn at the girls, who shrieked obligingly.

“Children should be seen and not heard, Daniel,” I said, smiling as I said it.

“Really?” blurted Sam. “You’re seeing someone?”

“Try to conceal your surprise, Officer,” I said sharply.

“No, I just…you didn’t say anything, that’s all. So who is he?”

“Never you mind, Sam-I-Am,” I replied, enjoying my moment of mystery.

“I’m gonna say hi to those girls,” Danny announced as he unfolded his lanky frame from the seat. As soon as he was out of earshot, I turned to Sam.

“Did you talk to him about Rich Guy Prep?”

“Yup. He doesn’t want to go,” Sam answered, the relief clear in his eyes. “Doesn’t see any point in it. I did try to put it in terms of being an opportunity and all that crap.”

“Which he saw right through,” I surmised.

“Yup. Trish wasn’t happy, but I sure as hell was. I can’t imagine why she thought he’d want to leave his senior year, but he talked to her.”

“I’m glad,” I said, patting Sam’s arm. “We can’t have you rattling around in that house alone.”

“Well, it would have been okay, if Danny had a real reason for going, not just some new idea of Trish’s.” Sam smiled. “But, yeah, I was glad.”

“Good thing Danny’s so sensible.”

“Yup. Always been a smart one,” Sam agreed, nodding.

“And handsome,” I added.

“Just like his old man,” Sam said. I laughed. Danny returned to his seat and the previews started.

About halfway through the movie, which, I must confess, I was thoroughly enjoying, Sam got up and climbed over Danny and me, presumable to hit the loo. Danny leaned over to me.

“Can you keep a secret?” he whispered.

“I hope so,” I whispered back.

“It’s important.”

“Okay. What is it, big guy?”

“I need help on a college application,” he whispered, taking a quick look around.

“Sure,” I said. “Why is it a secret?”

“It’s for Notre Dame. Early decision,” Danny concluded. “I don’t want my dad to know in case I don’t get in.”

My eyes grew wet as I imagined Sam’s joy if Danny went to his alma mater. “If you don’t get in, there’s no justice in the world,” I said. “Of course I’ll help you.”

“Great. You’re the best, Aunt Mil.”

How was it that a compliment from a child, albeit a rather old, very tall child, could make me feel so humble? I squeezed Danny’s arm as Sam clambered back to his seat. He handed me a box.

“Milk Duds,” he whispered, opening his own. “It’s just not a movie without Milk Duds.”