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 Silver Fake
A HOT OVER 40 ROMANCE
STELLA BANKS
Copyright © 2023 by Stella Banks.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and
retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
V.01
Cover Design by Angela Haddon
 Contents
1. Lisa
2. Lisa
3. John
4. Lisa
5. John
6. Lisa
7. Lisa
8. John
9. Lisa
10. John
11. Lisa
12. John
13. Lisa
14. John
15. Lisa
16. John
17. Lisa
18. John
19. Lisa
20. John
21. Lisa
22. John
23. Lisa
24. John
25. Lisa
26. John
27. Lisa
28. John
29. Lisa

About the Author

Also by Stella Banks
CHAPTER 1
 Lisa

“BOY, YOU SURE GOT A LOT OF BALLOONS FOR SOMEONE YOU HATE.”
Denise is grinning from ear to ear, and even on this video call, I can see the devious twinkle in
her eye.
I press the button to flip the camera around so she can see my face.
"The balloons came in a pack," I explain with a laugh. "And can we focus, please? I can't tell if
this banner looks straight." I turn the camera back around.
"The banner looks perfect. " Denise takes a bite of her sandwich. "Mr. Grizzly is going to love it."
"He'd better love it," I snort, adjusting the last balloon. "This party is costing the firm a small
fortune."
Not to mention my lunch break.
I glance around the expansive banquet hall of the La Rubia Hotel. Nobody has ever thrown me a
surprise party. And if they did, it wouldn’t be in a place this nice.
Large, ornate chandeliers hang from the ceiling. The tables are draped in crisp white linens and
adorned with elegant floral centerpieces. A grand piano sits on a small stage in front of floor-to-
ceiling windows, offering a breathtaking view of the city skyline.
It’s honestly a bit over the top. But when you work for the most successful law firm in Houston,
money gets thrown around after a win as big as the one my boss just had.
"And I don't hate him." I fiddle with the banner one last time, then step back to admire my
handiwork. "He's not even a bad guy. He's just...grumpy."
I've been John Barton's legal secretary for a year and a half now, ever since he started at Carter &
Folkes. His brilliance in the courtroom is undeniable, but he's a far cry from my last boss, who retired
with all the fanfare of a beloved patriarch.
I've always considered myself a people person. I love connecting with the attorneys I work for,
understanding their needs, and working to meet those needs. But despite my best efforts, there's a cool
distance in John's demeanor that I can't seem to penetrate. It's why I gave him the nickname Mr.
Grizzly.
One night, after too many glasses of wine, I made the mistake of telling Denise that I thought John
was handsome.
Needless to say, she's been teasing me ever since.
Denise wiggles her eyebrows at me. "He's just grumpy because he has a crush on you."
I roll my eyes. "My boss does not have a crush on me." I run my fingers through my hair to put it
into a ponytail.
“Yikes,” Denise frowns. “What happened to your hand?”
 I hold up my hand to the camera.
“Oh, this? I was opening some decorations and accidentally sliced my palm with a box cutter. I
promise it's not as bad as it looks. The hotel just didn't have any smaller bandages in their first aid
kit."
Denise eyes my hand skeptically. "Do you think it's going to ruin our plans for the weekend? I
love going to the beach, but I would hate for you to be in pain."
"Nah, we'll just have to drink more wine," I tease. "No little cut is going to stop me. The beach is
happening, bandage or not."
"That's the spirit! What time are you heading this way?”
“As soon I get off work. My suitcase is already in my car, so I’m heading straight there after I
leave the office.”
Denise frowns. “You’re not staying for the party?”
I look around the ballroom and sigh. “I don't think so. Mr. Grizzly isn't much of a surprise party
fan. I don’t want to be here if he’s going to be his usual grumpy self after I put in so much work to do
all this for him.”
"As long as you're sure." Her eyes light up suddenly as she changes the subject. “Did I mention I
saw Jessica Rose at H-E-B the other day?”
I groan internally.
Jessica Rose is a famous matchmaker from California. Ever since she opened her new office in
the Barton Beach Hotel, it seems like everyone in Texas can't stop talking about her.
Denise, of course, has been insistent that I give it a try. It's been five years since my divorce, and
while I've grown comfortable with my independent life, Denise seems to be on a mission to nudge me
back into the dating scene.
I give her an unconvincing smile through the camera. "You did, actually."
"Oh, okay. I wasn't sure if I told you. Anyway, have you had a chance to check out her website
yet?"
"I looked at it."
The truth is, I opened the link and skimmed the homepage, but I didn't delve deeper. The whole
idea of a matchmaker seems outdated and a little desperate.
"And? What did you think?"
I take a moment before responding, considering my words.
"I'm...considering it."
Denise wiggles her eyebrows at me. "You should do more than just consider it. What's the worst
that could happen?"
I smile at her words. "But I'm not sure about paying for this matchmaker service. It seems kind of
desperate."
"Oh please," Denise scoffs playfully. "You deserve the best and sometimes that means investing in
yourself to find it."
I laugh, shaking my head at this role reversal.
Just last year, I was the one prompting Denise to let go and give love a chance. She stubbornly
refused, resisting the idea of romance. But then her birthday rolled around and Brett Cooper swept
Denise off her feet. After only six months, Brett moved to Barton Beach and bought Denise her dream
beach house.
Love has a funny way of making us eat our own words.
Denise squeals, and I nearly drop my phone.
 “Oh, sorry,” she says. “I’m just so happy for you. You have so much to give, and I want you to
have a chance to share yourself with someone who is just as great as you.”
I smile at her. “You’re my best friend. I think your assessment might be slightly biased.”
“That’s why we’re friends.” She smiles brightly. “Now we just need this matchmaker to find
someone equally worthy. I hope you packed enough date clothes, too. Because If this matchmaker is
as good as everyone says, you might have a boyfriend before you leave Barton Beach.”
I laugh, rolling my eyes at her optimism. "I've packed enough clothes, don't worry."
Denise purses her lips. “I’ll check when you get here. If we need to, I’ll take you shopping, or you
can borrow one of my dresses.”
I shake my head because I know there’s no reason to argue with her. Besides, I don’t mind if she
wants to dress me up if I go out on a date. Although, I do think she’s overestimating how quickly
things might happen.
Looking at my watch, I realize I’ve only got fifteen minutes left before I’ve got to be back at the
office for a meeting.
"I've got to run, Denise. My lunch break is almost over, and I've got a meeting I can't be late for," I
say, glancing at the clock again. "But don't worry, I will text you as soon as I'm on my way."
Denise's laughter fills my ear. "Alright, go back to work. Just don't forget to say goodbye to Mr.
Grizzly before you leave." she pauses, a playful lilt in her voice. "Something tells me he's going to
miss you while you're gone."

I step off the elevator with three minutes to spare. The conference room is just up ahead, and I
quicken my pace to make it on time.
The litigation department is having a mandatory team meeting in the conference room, and I can’t
be late. John would never let me live it down. Punctuality is important in our business, and John sets
high expectations. It’s fine with me though, because I also have high expectations for myself.
I've been a legal secretary at Carter & Folkes for over twenty years. And even though it wasn't
part of my initial plan, I've grown to love my job. I also take it seriously and strive to give my
absolute best in everything I do.
As I walk into the conference room, I'm relieved to see that John isn't here yet, just groups of
associates chatting among themselves. I quickly take my seat at the long table and pull out my
notebook.
As I'm settling in, the door opens again and in walks Melissa Jones with her trademark radiant
smile.
Melissa is a senior partner and co-chair of the litigation group with John. She and I started on the
same day at the firm twenty years ago - I was her secretary when she was a new associate. I've
worked for a few other lawyers since then. But Melissa and I have stayed close. I couldn’t be prouder
of how hard she has worked to get to where she is today.
She spots me, her smile widening, and strides over to the empty seat next to me. As she sits down,
she cringes and points to my bandaged hand. “Ouch. What happened?”
“Box cutter versus hand. I guess you can see which one lost.”
She makes a cringing face. “Ouch. Did that happen setting up for the surprise party?”
“Yes, but it’s not that bad. The bandage makes it seem worse than it is. There wasn’t any time to
stop for proper first aid, so this has to do for now.”
Melissa frowns. “Do I need to make an excuse to steal you away this afternoon so we can finish
setting up?"
I shake my head and smile at her. “Nope. Everything is done. I just need you to make sure John
gets to the party on time.”
I don't know why I'm telling her this. Melissa is one of the smartest people I know. If anyone
could come up with a way to get John to a surprise party without him knowing about it, it’s her.
Melissa grins. “Don't worry. John thinks he’s meeting with a potential client at the hotel tonight.
You know he’d never miss a chance to make more money.”
"You're right about that," I reply. "John will be there with bells on if he thinks there's a business
deal waiting for him."
A slight frown tugs at the corners of Melissa's mouth.
"It's a shame though. You've put in all this effort for John's party, and you won't even be there to
enjoy it." She pauses for a moment, then continues, her expression shifting to a more playful one. "Are
you excited for your vacation? You must be thrilled to escape this chaos for a while."
I nod. "It's been way too long since I saw Denise. And I can already hear the beach calling my
name."
Melissa leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "So, aside from hanging out
with Denise and lounging on the beach, any fun you're looking forward to?" She winks at me, her
smile as infectious as ever.
"Actually, I do," I reply quietly. There is a pause before I finally confess, "I'm thinking about
going to see a matchmaker while I'm there."
Melissa's eyes widen, and a sudden burst of laughter escapes her.
"A matchmaker? Really?" Her surprise gives way to a wide, excited grin. "Well, this is
unexpected. But I'm thrilled for you. It's about time you let someone else into that big heart of yours."
“Yeah. I’m still happy on my own. But I think I might be open to dating again.”
Melissa's grin turns into a thoughtful look. “Have you mentioned the matchmaker to John?”
I wrinkle my nose. "John and I never talk about personal stuff."
"Right," she says, an amused twinkle in her eyes. "Of course not."
I give her a puzzled look. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Melissa waves her hand dismissively. "Never mind." She looks down to check her phone.
“Speaking of your boss, I’m surprised he’s not here yet.”
I huff. “I’d be scolded for showing up on time to the meeting instead of early. But I guess those
same rules don't apply to him.”
Melissa chuckles softly, a knowing smile on her face.
"Don't be so hard on John," she replies. "You know he always runs on his own time. Besides,
without you to keep him in line, he'd probably forget his own head if it wasn't attached. It's why he
values you so much. You're his anchor in this crazy world."
As our laughter fills the air, I let Melissa's words marinate in my thoughts.
It's true that I've been an anchor of sorts for John, and in return, navigating the tumultuous seas of
litigation alongside him has helped me grow professionally. But her words also hint at something
more - a deeper bond between John and me that I hadn't fully acknowledged.
Just as I'm about to ponder this further, Melissa's gaze shifts towards the door, a mischievous grin
spreading across her face.
"Speak of the devil," she murmurs.
CHAPTER 2
 Lisa

MY BACK IS FACING THE DOOR WHEN J OHN WALKS INTO THE CONFERENCE ROOM.
I don’t even need to see his face to know he’s in a bad mood.
John Barton is not the type of person who shows up to anything at the time it's supposed to start.
He's always early. The fact he's arriving now means something went wrong during his trip in Boston.
I hope everyone has their files in order if that's the case. John won't cut anyone slack while he’s in
a mood like this.
I can hear the deliberate thud of John's footsteps as he walks behind my chair, each step echoing
with an undercurrent of frustration. The sharp scent of his aftershave wraps around me like a warning
as he finally comes into view and walks around the conference table to the only open seat, which
happens to be directly across from me.
For a moment, I can't help but get lost in how handsome he is.
John's appearance is always immaculate, but today, there's a raw edge that makes him even more
stunning.
His thick hair is flecked with grey and a little tousled as if he just ran his fingers through it in
frustration. His striking blue eyes are icier than usual, and the sharp lines of his handsome face cast
dramatic shadows under the bright conference room lights. Despite his travels, his tailored suit is
perfectly pressed and fits him like a glove, emphasizing his broad shoulders and thick thighs.
Today, John Barton doesn't just look handsome – he looks like a force to be reckoned with.
I start making a mental list of everything he’s had me working on the last couple weeks, trying to
think of anything that may set him off. I was really hoping for an easy day today before leaving for my
vacation. But I guess I’ll just have to wait and see. Something tells me it’s going to be a long meeting.
John's eyes briefly meet mine before they zero in on my bandaged hand.
Instantly, his frown deepens.
The muscles in his jaw flex, and I see him fighting the urge to ask me what happened. I look down
at the bandage and feel myself blush. He’s probably unhappy that I showed up to the meeting looking
unprofessional since it could reflect poorly on him.
I quickly tuck my injured hand under the table, out of sight. That seems to be enough for him to
forget about it because he pulls his laptop and files out of his briefcase. As he does this, Melissa rises
to her feet, clearing her throat to attract everyone's attention.
"Alright, let's get this meeting started," she announces, her confident voice cutting through the
tension like a knife.
"Before we begin with our regular agenda, I think I speak for all when I say, we should
acknowledge the efforts of a certain team member who has done an outstanding job last week," she
says, her gaze shifting across the table, finally resting on John.
The room falls silent, all eyes turning to follow Melissa's gaze.
"John, your phenomenal work on the Patterson case has not gone unnoticed," Melissa continues.
"We all want to express our congratulations on your big win. It was a challenging case, and the way
you handled it was nothing short of impressive."
John's eyes soften a bit, the corners of his mouth turning up in a small, appreciative smile.
"Thank you, Melissa, I appreciate the recognition," John says, his voice firm yet restrained. "But
we're here to focus on the tasks at hand. So, let's not waste any more time."
His gaze sweeps the room, a clear indication that he's shifting gears.
"I'm going to go around the room now, and we'll discuss everyone's assignments. I want updates
on all ongoing projects and need to hear plans for the upcoming week. Let's start with you, Tom..."
One by one, each lawyer goes over their assignments. Melissa and John both take notes even
though I’m recording the meeting minutes. They are both meticulous like that. It’s why they are two of
the youngest partners this firm has ever had.
Fortunately, as we go around the room, most team members seem to have a solid handle on their
assignments.
Until we get to one of the junior lawyers, Ethan Gordon.
Ethan is the newest attorney on our team and the typical hotshot type. He's only twenty-five but
thinks he knows way more than he really does. I try to give him advice on his work product and how
to impress John, but Ethan never listens. Instead, he treats me like I'm beneath him because I'm a
secretary.
The audacity of it all would have irked me in my earlier days, but twenty years in the firm has
taught me a thing or two about people like him. Arrogance and lack of respect never end well at this
firm. And watching Ethan strut around, oblivious of the impending reality check, makes it all the more
amusing.
"Mr. Gordon," John says as his eyes narrow on Ethan. "You seem a bit flustered. Can you please
share the status of your assignment?"
Ethan gulps visibly, his hands trembling as he flips through his papers. The silence stretches, and
John folds his hands together, and I can tell that he's getting impatient.
“My apologies, Mr. Barton. I didn’t realize we would have to present our cases at this meeting,”
Ethan says.
John pins him with a glare. “I sent out this agenda a week ago.”
Ethan swallows hard, clutching his papers tighter. "Yes, sir... I... uh... have been focused on
working on the case. I've been... um... going through the details, cross-referencing facts, and... and...
preparing the requisite documents." His voice grows softer with every word, and he avoids making
eye contact with John. "I assure you, I... I am making progress."
John motions around the room. “Do you think everyone else in here had free time? Your
colleagues are working on multiple cases at once. Yet you have one assignment and come
unprepared?"
“I am prepared, I just left my notes in my office. I can tell you the gist of where I’m at with the
case.”
“The gist.” John repeats Ethan's words like he's trying not to laugh. He glances over at Melissa,
who just shakes her head and starts scribbling furiously in her notebook.
“Mr. Gordon, the 'gist' will not win cases for our clients.," John says in a stern voice. "The law is
not about the gist. It is facts and data. I would suggest you learn to better manage your time before our
next meeting if you don’t want this to be your last assignment with our team.”
Ethan glances at Melissa like he’s hoping she will save him from John, but she gives him her own
hard stare.
"Ethan, this firm expects the utmost professionalism from each of its associates. Being unprepared
for a meeting, especially one of this importance, is unacceptable," she states sternly. "Our clients trust
us with their lives, their businesses. If we can't trust you to come prepared for a simple team meeting,
how can we trust you with their cases?"
His face is so red he could be mistaken for an apple.
Ethan's voice is shaky as he responds, "If it would help, I could come by your office after the
meeting, Mr. Barton, to discuss my progress in detail."
John waves his hand dismissively, not bothering to look at him anymore. "That won't be required,
Mr. Gordon. Give Lisa whatever notes you have in that folder of yours. From now on, everything
related to your cases goes through her before it comes to me."
Ethan snaps his head towards me, surprise written all over his face.
"Why should I report to Lisa?" His voice is laced with indignation.
John leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Because, Mr. Gordon," he replies,
his gaze fixed on Ethan, "Unlike you, Lisa knows how to give me what I want."
I feel my cheeks burn at John's words, and I quickly avert my gaze from Ethan's shocked face,
focusing instead on the notes in front of me.
To be honest, John didn't say anything that I didn't already know. He has always treated me more
like an equal than a secretary. His respect for my work and capability has given me the confidence to
exceed my own expectations and become the best at what I do.
Most secretaries I know are more like babysitters, their work often trivialized and undervalued.
But it's different with John. He relies on me, not to take care of his menial tasks, but to support him in
doing what he does best - winning cases. He's smart, capable, and always in control, yet he
acknowledges and appreciates my contributions. This dynamic has transformed what could have been
a mundane secretarial job into an engaging and fulfilling role for me.
But still, to hear him openly voice his respect for my work in front of the whole team leaves me
slightly taken aback, a warm flutter in my stomach.
Ethan keeps looking from John to me like he wants to say something. Probably argue that a
secretary can’t do a better job than him. But the longer he hesitates to hand the paperwork over to me,
the colder John’s icy blue stare becomes.
“Is there a problem?” John says to him.
“No, of course not. Here's the file, Lisa,” Ethan nearly tosses the file in the air, trying to give it to
me. “I’ll email you the electronic copy.”
I nod. “Thanks.”
Fortunately, the rest of the meeting goes smoothly. Everyone seems to have a good handle on their
cases, and after about twenty minutes, the team is dismissed to go back to work.
As the team starts filing out of the conference room, I gather my papers together and make my way
toward John. We've established a quiet routine of debriefing after every meeting. It's a routine we've
never really discussed, but it's key to keeping things running smoothly.
As I approach John, I give him a warm smile. "Good afternoon, John. How was Boston?"
I deliberately keep my tone light, but as soon as John's eyes flick up to mine, I can tell he knows
that I'm really asking why he was late.
"It was busy," he says, his gaze far away in thought, presumably still focused on the meeting. He
pinches the bridge of his nose before adding, "And we got held up at Logan."
I stare at him, waiting for details, but he doesn’t offer anything. Instead, his eyes lock on my
bandaged hand again. His frown turns into a deep scowl that makes lines crease on his forehead.
And then, to my surprise, he reaches out and touches my wrist.
“What happened to your hand?” He turns my hand over, inspecting the bandage.
I can feel the warmth of his fingers through the fabric. It's the first time John has ever touched me
and a jolt of electricity shoots up my arm.
“It’s nothing.” I pull my hand away and hide it behind the files I’m carrying so he’ll stop looking
at it. “I’m fine.”
The last thing I need is for him to drill me about what happened. The partners will not be happy if
he manages to learn about his surprise party before tonight.
His eyes meet mine, and I see how he wins his cases. Who could withstand the pressure of his
stare?
“I didn't ask if you were fine. I asked what happened.”
“It’s just a little cut, but I couldn’t find a bandaid before the meeting. It’s really nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing.”
“I promise I’m okay.”
He’s quiet for a few minutes before he peels his eyes away from my hand. “If you got hurt on the
clock, you should report it to Human Resources.”
That makes more sense. Maybe he’s not so much worried about me as he wants to make sure
everything is handled by the book if this is a workplace injury. He’s just being his usual lawyer self.
Just as John is about to say something else, Melissa steps in between us, her arms folded across
her chest.
"I hope you don't have too much more work planned for Lisa, John," she quips, her tone laced
with a hint of sarcasm. "She's about to go on vacation."
John's gaze snaps from me to Melissa, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "Vacation?" he asks, his
eyes darting back to meet mine. "You never go on vacation."
I clear my throat nervously. "You approved it weeks ago."
Melissa chuckles, the sound echoing lightly throughout the quiet room. "Believe it or not, John,"
she says, giving him a friendly nudge with her elbow, "people actually do go on vacation." Her eyes
twinkle with amusement as she delivers the gentle reminder, the corners of her mouth curving into a
knowing smile.
John's eyes narrow, his gaze studying me closely. "Are you going by yourself?" he asks, his tone
almost unreadable as he waits for my response.
His words are innocent enough, but the way he’s looking at me and the cutting tone of his voice
makes me feel like I’m being interrogated. I’m probably overthinking it. He’s a lawyer, after all. It’s
just how he’s used to asking questions. He’s probably still in a mood after whatever got under his skin
at the meeting he had earlier today.
"I mean, I'm going to see my friend. But yes, I'm going by myself."
I half expect him to ask me where I'm going but he doesn't. He just stares at me. The sharp cut of
his jaw ticks like he’s holding back something he wants to say, which isn’t like him. John usually
doesn’t hold anything back.
It can’t be more than a few seconds, but it feels like forever. Then he turns away from me, grabs
his laptop, and turns for the door. Without looking back, he says, “Have Ethan’s brief on my desk by
five p.m.”
 His abrupt departure leaves me standing there, my heart pounding in my chest. With a last
lingering look at the door John had disappeared through, I turn and make my way back to my desk.
CHAPTER 3
 John

I HAVE NEVER BEEN MORE DISTRACTED DURING A MEETING THAN I WAS TODAY.
Lisa sitting across from me with that bandage wrapped around her hand was almost too much for
me to handle.
As I walk back to my office, I can't help but mull over the questions bubbling up within me.
Did she hurt herself or did someone hurt her? Has she seen a doctor? And why is she keeping it a
secret?
The fact she wouldn’t tell me what happened has me grinding my teeth together. A part of me
wants to confront her again and demand that she tell me what happened.
And that doesn’t make any sense at all.
I don’t know why this is bothering me so much. Lisa said she was fine and that should be the end
of it. Yet even now, I find myself wanting to get a good look at her hand to make sure she's really fine
for myself.
When I get inside my office, I close the door behind me and take a deep breath. I need to focus on
work, not on Lisa's mysterious injury.
I try to push all thoughts of Lisa out of my mind and concentrate on my tasks for the day. But every
time I catch a glimpse of her through the glass walls dividing our offices, my attention is drawn back
to her.
I groan inwardly, frustrated with myself for a whole host of reasons. This entire day has been a
shit show, and each passing second is only driving me further over the edge.
Ever since I won the Patterson case, the phone seems to be ringing off the hook every other
second. New clients are calling right and left, all hoping to secure the services of the lawyer who
pulled off the impossible. I knew success would come with challenges, but this is far beyond what I
had anticipated.
I was in Boston for a meeting with a potential client earlier today, and things went well. But on
the way back, my flight was delayed, then canceled, then rebooked. Somewhere along the way, the
airline also lost my luggage.
When I got back to Houston, the driver took a wrong turn which got us unnecessarily snarled in
traffic on U.S. 59. And just when I thought I was going to get a break, our jackass new associate was
utterly unprepared for a meeting, forcing me to play bad cop.
It's not usually my style to publicly reprimand associates. I know everyone at the firm thinks I'm a
grump, but even I remember what it's like to be a young lawyer. I've made more mistakes in my career
than I can count, and I've been fortunate enough to have mentors who gave me feedback without
tearing me down.
 But Ethan deserved what he got. He's arrogant and entitled and thinks he knows everything. He
also talks down to Lisa. And if there's one thing I can't stand, it's a lawyer who thinks they're better
than everyone else just because they have a law degree.
Ethan needs to learn that disrespect has consequences. And if I have to be the one to teach him that
lesson, so be it. Especially since Lisa is way smarter than he'll ever be.
Melissa once told me that Lisa got accepted to law school a while back but decided not to go. She
wouldn’t tell me why. And I didn't ask. I’ve tried to stay out of Lisa's personal life because that’s a
rabbit hole I know I’ll get lost in if I dive too deep.
But I do know a few things about her, though.
I know that she's in her early forties. I know that she's divorced. I know that she likes pink gel
pens and shrimp cocktail. I even know she likes to visit Barton Beach to see her best friend. I’ve
considered telling her it’s my hometown, but it never seems the right time to bring it up. I don’t want
her to think I’m eavesdropping or anything.
I also know that she's gorgeous as sin.
Lisa has the kind of beauty that can't be ignored, even in a crowd. She has honey eyes and dark
hair with whispers of gray that she never attempts to hide, although it's almost always pulled back
into a clip. Her curves are exactly where they should be, and even though she always dresses
tastefully at the office, you can tell she has a great body.
Most men my age are obsessed with youth. But not me. I love women my own age. There's
something sexy about a woman who's lived a bit, experienced the world, and come into her own.
Women in their forties have a certain allure that younger women just can't match.
And Lisa is the epitome of that allure.
I drop my head back against my chair, trying to get the image of Lisa on vacation in a bikini out of
my mind. I refuse to be the boss who lusts after his secretary.
My cell phone rings on the desk, and my dad’s face lights up the screen. I smile, grateful for the
distraction. I swear that old man always knows when I need him to call.
"Hey, Dad," I answer, my voice infused with warmth. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
“Johny boy." My dad's voice is deep and gravelly. "How's the workin' man's life treating ya?"
I chuckle. My dad never fails to amuse me with his old-timey expressions. "It's been a chaotic
day, to say the least."
"Your mom and I heard about your case on the news. I know you worked your tail off for that
Patterson win.”
“Thanks, Dad. Tell Mom thanks for me, too.”
My mom is just as great as my dad, even if she is technically my stepmom.
I think I’ve always loved her a little more for that very reason: because I’m the son she chose to
love and not one she was obligated to love by blood. She’s truly the best. She and my dad are a big
part of my success. Without their love and support, I doubt I would have made it this far in my career.
"Anyway," my father chimes in, pulling me from my thoughts. "I'm calling to see what day you're
heading down to Barton Beach for the wedding,"
I quirk an eyebrow. "What wedding?"
"Angela's wedding."
"Who's Angela?"
My dad gives me a disapproving sigh. "Angela Reynolds. You know, the mayor's daughter. The
mayor's wife came by the hotel earlier. She told your mom that you RSVP'd for Angela's wedding six
months ago. They're looking forward to seeing you."
 Shit. I let out a low groan as the memory resurfaces.
Last year, I ran into Angela's mother at the grocery store in Barton Beach. She was her usual
chatty self, gushing about Angela's upcoming nuptials. Seeing that my parents have a lot of dealings
with the mayor's office from their hotel business, I'd played along, showing polite interest and
offering congratulations.
I hadn't expected it to end with me being invited to the wedding. I remember dismissing it lightly
at the time, figuring it was one of those casual invites people toss out in conversation that don't really
mean anything. When I got the formal invitation in the mail a few days later, I had tossed it aside
without much thought.
But now I remember that I asked Lisa to RSVP for me. She always takes care of things like that
for me when I'm too busy to bother with them myself.
"Right," I say with a grimace. "That wedding."
"She also said you were bringing a date."
I nearly choke. "A date?"
My dad doesn't seem to notice my shock. "I know the wedding is on Saturday," he continues. "But
your mom and I hoped you would come down a few days earlier. It's been months since we've seen
you. And we want to meet your girlfriend."
I lean back in my chair, rubbing my temples as I struggle to process this latest curveball.
In all of my forty-six years, I’ve never introduced a woman to my parents. I've dated women here
and there, but a serious relationship has never been in the cards for me. It's just never seemed like the
right time or the right person. My parents have never pushed the subject, always respecting my
privacy and choices. But I know they worry.
"I'd love to come down earlier, Dad," I say, doing my best to sound casual. "But my girl has a
demanding job. And it's already Wednesday. I'm not sure she can get away on such short notice. Let
me discuss it with her and see what we can arrange. I'll keep you posted."
Hopefully, my vague response will put him off the topic.
My dad gives an amused snort. “Oh, I’m sure a persuasive lawyer like you can convince her.
Remind her how beautiful the beaches are here this time of year.”
I scrub my hand across my jaw and exhale a silent sigh, my mind already churning with the
beginning stages of a potential crisis. My parents never ask me for anything. And even though it's
ridiculous that I'm even feeling stressed over this, I don't want to let them down.
"I'll see what I can do, Dad."
"That's my boy!" My dad responds, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. "Can't wait to meet this
special lady."
I scratch the back of my neck, a small smile pulling at the corners of my mouth as I lie through my
teeth.
"She's looking forward to meeting you too. She's heard so much about you and Mom. She feels
like she already knows you."
“That’s great, son,” he says. “Just be sure to call before you get here. You know how your Mom
likes to have a meal ready when you come for a visit.”
"Sure thing, Dad," I respond. "I'll call you as soon as I have our itinerary sorted out. Love you
both."
I end the call, setting my phone down on my desk as the weight of my predicament sinks in.
A date. Where am I supposed to find a date? My social life is practically non-existent, much less
a dating life. I've always been a workaholic, but I never imagined it would come back to bite me this
way.
My mind instinctively drifts towards Lisa. I can almost see her, sitting at her desk in her
immaculate pencil skirt and blouse, her glasses perched on her nose as she efficiently manages my
life.
When she RSVP'd for me, did she really think I had someone special to bring? Her trust in me is
almost palpable, and I can't help but feel a pang of guilt. I've never shared anything about my personal
life with her, yet she never hesitates to manage mine with such finesse.
With a sigh, I push back from my desk and get up to poke my head out my office door.
A few feet away, Lisa is sitting at her desk, her bandaged hand flying as she scribbles on top of
Ethan's memo with one of her pink gel pens.
"Hey, Lisa?" I call out, my voice calm despite the storm brewing in my mind.
Lisa looks up, her face lighting up with a sweet, welcoming smile. "Yes, John?"
For a fleeting second, her smile kindles a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. I clear my
throat and push the feeling away.
"I need to cancel my meetings for the rest of the week," I say, striving to maintain a casual tone.
"An urgent matter has come up, and I need to go out of town."
"Understood," Lisa nods, her fingers already moving to reschedule my appointments. She clicks
around on her computer for a few seconds. Then she suddenly glances up and gives me a strange look.
"Um, by the way, are you still meeting with your client tonight as planned?"
"Yes," I confirm, grateful for her diligence. "I'll keep that meeting."
With that, I retreat back into my office, closing the door behind me. I take a deep breath, my mind
racing with possibilities.
---
Fortunately, the rest of my day takes a turn for the better.
After flipping through my contacts with no luck. I ultimately decide to table the issue of my non-
existent wedding date and focus on problems that I can actually solve. I lose myself in a flurry of
phone calls, emails, and document reviews, each one bringing its own unique challenge.
Before I know it, the office is bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, and my watch reads
almost 7 p.m.
I gather my thoughts and my files, slip into my coat and head for the door.
The office is practically deserted now, the hustle and bustle of the day replaced by an eerie quiet.
Lisa's immaculate desk is empty and I know she's already left for her vacation. However, in her usual
efficient manner, she has already completed the first part of Ethan's memo. The file is neatly packaged
and left on her desk, ready for my perusal.
I admire her diligence for a moment before grabbing the file and sliding it into my briefcase. Then
I turn off the light in my office, leaving the building behind as I head to my awaiting car. The
destination for tonight's client meeting is the posh La Rubia Hotel.
The La Rubia is a high-end hotel known for its impeccable service and luxury suites. Melissa, my
partner, arranged the meeting here. An odd choice, but fitting for a client of their stature, I suppose.
As I drive over, the day's stress slowly starts to fade into the background, replaced by the comfort of
routine. I mentally prepare myself for the meeting ahead, another problem that I can tackle head-on
and solve.
The hostess greets me with a smile. “Good evening, Mr. Barton."
“Good evening. I’m meeting some clients here. Could they have already been escorted to the
conference room?”
 She smiles brightly. “Yes, they arrived moments ago. Allow me to escort you back.”
The young woman moves from behind the desk and I follow her. I’ve met other clients here
before, so I’m confused as we pass by the front conference room without stopping, but perhaps we got
our booking in too late and are set up elsewhere. After a minute, she stops in front of a set of large
wooden doors.
“They’re just in here,” she says.
She walks off smiling as she goes, and I pull open the heavy ornate doors. Several voices fill the
air at once.
“Congratulations!”
Applause rings out as various familiar faces from work smile back at me, their expressions a
mixture of excitement and pleasure at catching me off guard.
I chuckle. "Thanks, everyone. But it was a team effort. I couldn't have done it without all of you."
The applause subsides, and I'm pulled into a round of hearty handshakes and friendly back slaps.
My eyes instinctively search for one particular face.
Lisa's.
I look around, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. But she's nowhere to be found. Of course. She's on
vacation. I knew that. And yet... a part of me had let hope blossom – hope that she would be here. I
push those thoughts aside, forcing a smile as I join my colleagues in the unexpected celebration.
Melissa walks around the front table and clinks her glass to mine.
"Congratulations on the Patterson win," she says, a self-satisfied smirk pulling at the corners of
her lips.
"And congratulations to you. You did an incredible job keeping this secret. I didn't suspect a thing.
You're quite the mastermind."
Melissa moves so she’s standing by my side and points around the room. “It’s gorgeous in here,
isn’t it?”
“Yes. It’s very nice.”
“Just wait until they serve dinner. It should be out soon. Prime rib and lobster for the main course.
Lisa said it was your favorite, and since the firm gave her an unlimited budget to put together this
party, she wanted to be sure she pulled out all the stops for you.”
My eyes go to her. “Lisa planned all this?”
She nods, her sharp eyes never leaving mine. “Yes. All the way down to the matching china and
name plates for seating. And all on her own free time during her lunch breaks.”
She takes a sip of her champagne, then tilts her head and points at me.
“You might want to consider that the next time you decide to give her a last-minute assignment the
day you know she’s leaving for vacation.”
“She left work on time.”
“Only because she worked her ass off to fix Ethan’s file.”
Melissa doesn’t wait for my response. I’m sure she sees exactly what she was hoping for in my
eyes, and my stiff frame. God, I really am an ass. Lisa did all this for me, and I repaid her by dumping
someone else’s work on her lap hours before she was scheduled to leave for vacation.
I pull out my phone and bring her up in my contacts to call and apologize. She put this party
together and she should be here.
Instead of pressing send, I just stare at her name like a fool for several minutes, then I put the
phone back in my pocket. The workday is already over and she’s probably making the drive to Barton
Beach. I imagine I’m the last person she wants to hear from right now.
 This vacation of mine might be just what I need. Some time with my family, away from work to
get my head on straight. A little time away could be just what I need. I’ll get this dinner over with, and
then I’m getting my stuff together and hitting the road.
CHAPTER 4
 Lisa

“I CAN ’ T BELIEVE THIS IS YOUR VIEW EVERY MORNING ," I SAY, SITTING DOWN IN A DECK CHAIR.
Denise walks out through the sliding glass doors behind me, a red coffee mug clasped in both
hands. "I know, it's something, isn't it?"
She settles down next to me and looks out at the water. "I love starting my day out here. It's so
peaceful and calming." Then she pokes me in the ribs. “Aren’t you glad you came here for vacation
instead of Miami Beach?"
“Definitely,” I laugh. “Miami doesn’t hold a candle to this place.”
It's Thursday morning, the first official day of my vacation. And Denise is right. I can’t think of
any place I would rather be than in Barton Beach.
I was never much of a beach person until Denise moved here last year. Growing up, I was always
more of a mountain girl. But now, I can't get enough of the salty air, warm sand, and crashing waves.
The fact that Denise's beach house is incredible is also a huge plus.
She has always dreamed of owning a home on the water, and this place delivers big time.
It's got a beautiful deck that stretches the length of the house, overlooking the Gulf. Like most
houses near the water, it’s also on stilts, painted a fun sea green color with a full deck that wraps
around the entire house.
I smile at my friend and reach over giving her arm a squeeze. Denise looks so happy here and that
makes my heart warm. She deserves this kind of happiness. If anyone has worked hard for it, she has.
And I don’t know anyone who does more for the people she loves than Denise. She’s my best friend,
but she’s really more than that. She’s family.
“Yoo hoo!” A tinkling female voice calls out.
I turn around and grin.
Denise’s younger sister, Sheila is walking out onto the deck through the sliding glass doors. Sheila
is a nurse at Barton Beach General hospital and works third shift. Her blonde hair is pulled back into
a messy bun, and she’s wearing scrubs with little blue teddy bears on them. She also has a pink
stethoscope hanging around her neck.
“Morning, ladies,” Sheila calls out with a friendly wave as she walks over to us. “I just got off
and I heard Lisa was in town. I thought I would stop by and say hello before I hit the hay.” She leans
down and gives me a hug. “How was your drive in?”
I sigh. “Eh. It was okay.”
Awful is more like.
Traffic, road work, and a few detours added hours to what should have been a straightforward
drive. By the time I finally pulled up to Denise's house, my eyelids were heavy and my body was
crying out for rest.
As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out like a light. And fortunately, after a deep sleep that
was more refreshing than I could have predicted, I'm ready to face the day.
Sheila sets her things down and sits down next to me, her voice dripping with mischief.
”So, have you met the infamous matchmaker yet?" She folds her arms and tilts her head, shooting
me a playful smirk. "Denise has been talking about it for weeks. Seems she's quite excited to play
cupid for you."
Denise tosses a blueberry at Sheila. “It hasn’t been weeks. You make it sound like I’ve been
hounding her.” She puts a hand on my shoulder and smiles. “I just want my friend to find someone to
care about her.”
“That’s why I’ve got you.” I smile back at her then look at Sheila. “But I did decide to set up an
appointment. I’m actually meeting with them later today.”
Sheila raises an eyebrow, curious. "So, how does this matchmaker thing work?"
I shrug, taking a sip of my coffee. "Well, there was an application I filled out. I had to talk about
myself, submit a photo and list what I'm looking for in a man."
Denise turns to look at me, intrigued. "And what did you say?"
I take a moment, then reply. "I said I'm looking for someone kind, loving, and understands the
importance of family. Someone who loves to laugh and doesn't take themselves too seriously. Oh, and
a love for the great outdoors wouldn't hurt either." I smile, looking out at the sea.
Denise furrows her brow, a flicker of concern crossing her face. "Did you have to tell them that
you're divorced? I remember when I tried those dating apps before Brett. I always hated talking about
my divorce."
It's not a comfortable question, but it's Denise, so I knew it would come up eventually. I hesitate,
look at the swirling cream in my coffee, then nod quietly. "Yeah, I did. I also wrote that I'm looking
for someone who thinks I'm enough as is. Someone who accepts me the way that I am."
A tear rolls down my cheek as soon as I say the words.
It's been more than five years. But for some reason, my divorce is still really hard to talk about.
When my ex-husband Tanner and I got married, we promised it would be for better or worse. But
it turns out, Tanner wasn't prepared for the worst. He always wanted a family, kids running around,
the whole package. We tried hard, but the kids never came. At first, Tanner tried to be understanding
and supportive, but eventually, it wore away at him.
He started to resent me for not being able to give him what he wanted. And in the end, we just
couldn't make it work.
Looking back, I can see that we were probably never meant to be. We were too different in the
things that mattered most. But it still hurt like hell. I know I need to move on. I need to find someone
who will love me for me and thinks I'm enough just the way I am. Someone who doesn't view me as a
failure but as a woman who went through a lot and came out stronger on the other side.
"Sorry," I sniff, annoyed with myself, as I wipe the tear away with the back of my hand. "I don't
know why I'm crying."
Denise wraps her arms around me, squeezing me tight. "Don't worry," she whispers, patting my
back comfortingly. "You are enough, and you will find someone who sees that."
Sheila reaches out, giving my hand a gentle squeeze.
"You're an amazing, strong woman. Any guy would be lucky to have you in their life." She flashes
a reassuring smile, her eyes twinkling with warmth. "And remember, 'Mr. Perfect' is out there
somewhere, waiting to be hit by the Lisa love-train!"
 She then playfully nudges me, her tone lightening up, "Speaking of love trains and matchmaking
games, have you talked to Mr. Grizzly about your little venture into the realm of professional
matchmakers?"
Sheila's question leaves a ripple of laughter in the air, effectively diffusing the heavy mood.
I snort as I dab at my eyes with a tissue. “No way. John Barton is the last person who would care
about something like this."
Both of them go strangely silent.
They lock eyes with each other, and I swear their jaws nearly land on the deck.
I laugh nervously. “Are you two okay?”
Denise speaks first. “Mr. Grizzly's real name is John Barton?”
“Like, the John Barton?” Sheila echoes.
They are both staring at me with wide eyes like I just announced that Santa Claus doesn’t exist. I
shake my head at them.
"Um, I don't know what you mean by 'the' John Barton," I say slowly because they look like they
are ready to go over the edge. “But yes, that’s my boss’s name.”
“I can’t believe you never told me his full name before.” Denise crosses her arms, putting on a
full phony pout like I’ve wronged her somehow.
“I didn’t think it was relevant.”
Sheila shakes her head. “You do realize where you’re at right now, don’t you?” Lifting a brow, I
just stare back at her in question until she says, “You’re in Barton Beach.”
“And?”
Denise throws her arms in the air dramatically. “John’s last name is Barton. I live in Barton
Beach. How have you never made this connection?”
“Barton is a common name," I reply. "I never assumed there would be a connection. Plus, John
knows that I visit here. And he's never mentioned that it's his hometown. It could just be a
coincidence.”
Denise lets out a soft chuckle, shaking her head incredulously. "If it's the John Barton I'm thinking
of, it's not a coincidence. We went to high school together." She takes a sip of her coffee, her smile
widening. "Even back then, he was grumpy. It makes sense he's a lawyer now."
"The Bartons are practically royalty here," Sheila chimes in. "The town is literally named after
them. And they run the Barton Beach Hotel. I can’t believe you work for the John Barton and had no
idea about this."
I can't believe it either.
John Barton, my boss, is a part of the family that this town is named after. It feels...surreal. All
this time I've been coming to Barton Beach, falling in love with its charm, appreciating the peace it
offers me, and I had no idea that my boss has roots here.
I feel a strange sense of connection. And confusion. Why has John never mentioned it to me?
"This is... a lot to process," I finally manage to say.
"Do you think John will be in town this weekend?" Sheila asks.
I wrinkle my nose. "Why would he be in town?"
"The Mayor Reynold's daughter, Angela, is getting married. Everyone in town is going to the
wedding. I figured maybe he would be there too."
I shrug, unsure. "Maybe? I don't know."
“Did John know you were coming to Barton Beach?” Denise refills my mostly empty mug while
she waits for my answer.
 I nod, taking a sip of the freshly poured coffee. "Yes, I always tell him when I'm coming here. He
knows I visit Barton Beach frequently. But, like I said, he's never mentioned any connection."
Sheila interjects thoughtfully, "Well, perhaps he's not coming then. You would think if he was
vacationing in the same town as you, he would at least let you know."
I shrug. “John doesn’t really share things about himself or his life. All we talk about is work
unless I bring up another topic, and he’s pretty quick to bring our discussions right back to work stuff
when I do.”
Sheila makes a scrunched up face. “He sounds like a blast.”
That makes me laugh.
“He’s really not a bad boss. I’ve had worse. And I think he respects me professionally. He just
doesn’t share personal details.”
Even as I say it’s okay, I can’t help the annoyance I feel that John has never once shared that my
favorite vacation spot is his hometown. I shouldn’t care, but it’s nagging me for some reason. What
are the chances John is either in or on his way to Barton Beach now? Will I run into him while I’m
here?
Suddenly it dawns on me - a memory from just before I left for vacation. John had asked me to
clear his meetings for the rest of the week because he had to go out of town on urgent business.
"Oh my gosh," I groan, slapping a hand to my forehead. "John did tell me he was going out of
town. He said it was an urgent business matter. I didn't even think to ask where he was going."
Denise gives me a comforting smile, reaching over to pat my hand gently. "Let's cross that bridge
when we get to it. No need to worry about the 'what ifs' right now," she says. She then glances at her
watch, her eyebrows furrowing slightly. "Isn't it almost time for your meeting with the matchmaker?"
I blink, momentarily taken aback. I'd completely forgotten about it in the midst of all the John
revelations. "Oh, right. Yes, I'm supposed to meet her in about an hour."
Denise stands up, her coffee cup still in hand. "Well then, let's go inside and help you pick out the
perfect outfit. It's my turn to be your fashion fairy godmother."
Sheila suddenly lets out a wide yawn. "I think that's my cue to head home and get some sleep,"
She gets up from her seat and gives Denise a warm hug. "Thanks for the coffee, sis. It was just
what I needed." Then she turns to me. "Good luck with the matchmaker. Can't wait to hear all about
it."
CHAPTER 5
 John

"WELL, WELL, WELL, IF IT ISN ' T THE MOST FAMOUS LAWYER IN THE LONE S TAR S TATE."
I break into a smile as I turn towards my best friend Wyatt Anderson's familiar voice.
It's Thursday morning and I just walked into the lobby of my parent's hotel in Barton Beach.
Despite the unresolved details of the wedding date, I decided to heed my parents' request and make
the trip down here early.
And I'm glad I did.
Barton Beach is one of those places where you can't help but feel relaxed. The sun is shining, the
ocean breeze is refreshing, and everything seems to slow down just a little bit. I've only been in town
for a half hour and I already feel like I’ve left all my work-related stress behind.
Wyatt walks up to me and gives me a back-slapping hug. "What brings you to paradise,
counselor?" he asks with a sly grin.
Wyatt and I go way back. We've been best friends since his family moved to Barton Beach from
Wyoming when we were both just fifteen. His parents had fallen in love with the beach and the
relaxed pace of life here and decided to make the move. As for Wyatt and me, we quickly formed a
bond that's withstood the test of time and distance.
Back then, Wyatt started off working as a bell boy at this very hotel. It was a humble beginning,
but he had his sights set high. Through sheer determination and hard work, he worked his way up the
ladder. Now, he's the general manager of the hotel, a long way from the bell boy he used to be.
Wyatt, however, isn't like any of the other hotel general managers in town. He's not your typical
suit and tie kind of guy. He sticks to his roots, perpetually clad in flannel and jeans, regardless of the
Texas heat. That, along with his thick beard, makes him stand out in a crowd. But that's just Wyatt for
you, always comfortable in his own skin and unafraid to be himself.
Laughing, I shake my head and reply, "I'm here for Angela's wedding. According to Angela's mom,
I apparently RSVP'd months ago. And since Angela's mom told my mom I was coming, I'm now I'm
obligated to attend."
Wyatt snorts. "Well that certainly explains a lot."
"Explains what?"
Wyatt smirks. "Why your mom has been talking all day about you finally having a girlfriend."
I groan.
I should have seen this coming. My mom has always had a flair for the dramatic, turning minor
news into headline-worthy scoops. This, combined with her innate talent for broadcasting every tidbit
of my personal life, makes for a deadly combination. It is one of her many charming attributes, but
right now, it feels like anything but.
 I can already imagine her, eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, telling anyone who'd listen about her
son's 'serious relationship'. There's no doubt in my mind that by the end of the day, half of Barton
Beach will be under the impression that I'm about to announce an engagement. Just the thought of it
makes me cringe.
I turn to Wyatt. "The girlfriend situation is... complicated," I admit, my tone indicating that I'm not
quite ready to delve into the details. "We'll have to get into it later. But have you seen my parents by
the way? I texted my dad earlier to say I was on my way and I was expecting him to be here."
Wyatt looks around like he’s checking for anyone who might be close by, then leans in and says
quietly, “We had an issue with one of the guest rooms. Apparently, a newlywed couple broke the
shower door off the hinges during some... extra curricular activities.”
Chuckling, I reply, "Got it. That sounds like quite a situation."
Wyatt grins, "It is. Your parents went to the hardware store to see what they could do to fix it in a
hurry. But I'm sure they'll be back soon though."
"In that case," I say, "I'm going to head up to my room and drop off my stuff. I'm starving and I
need to get some food."
I try to pick up my suitcase but Wyatt beats me to it, smoothly grabbing the handle. "Here, let me
take that for you, Counselor," he says, tossing me a keycard. "Go grab some food. I'll drop your bag
off in your room."
I blink at him in surprise. "I can carry my own bag."
Wyatt waves off my protest with a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about it. I need to check
something on that floor anyway," he says. Then, with a glint of humor in his eyes, he adds, "You can
pay me back with a drink later at the Silver Coop. And while you're at it, you can fill me in on this
new girlfriend situation of yours. Consider it a fair trade."
"Deal," I laugh, clapping him on the back before making my way towards the hotel's restaurant,
the Shore Kitchen.
I walk through the lobby, taking a moment to glance around the sprawling resort that Barton Beach
Hotel has become. It's nearly unrecognizable from the small oceanside inn I knew growing up.
Back then, it was a charming, if slightly rustic, establishment with a handful of rooms and a small,
friendly staff. A far cry from the luxury behemoth it is today.
My eyes drift over the elegant décor, the sparkling chandeliers, and the sophisticated clientele
busily milling around. The transformation is nothing short of astonishing. It's pretty amazing, really,
how my parents, especially my mom, had this incredible talent for business. She saw this little hotel
and, with some smart investments, transformed it into a top-notch destination.
The busy staff, the happy guests, the perfectly maintained grounds - they all tell a story of years of
hard work, determination, and a touch of adventure. And it makes me really proud. I'm proud of my
parents, proud of what they've accomplished, and how their efforts have not only transformed the
hotel but the whole neighborhood.
As I continue my journey through the lobby, my eyes land on the Jessica Rose matchmaking office.
It's a quaint little setup located right in the middle of the hotel lobby. An attractive banner hangs in
the front, announcing "Find Your Soulmate Today with Jessica Rose!" in bold, vibrant letters.
A tug of curiosity begins to stir within me.
I've never been the sort of person to resort to a dating app or service to find a partner. On the rare
occasions when I've sought the company of a woman, I've never had trouble finding someone willing.
However, given the short notice and my current circumstances, maybe this office could point me in the
right direction for a date.
 Decision made, I stride up to the matchmaking office, where a pleasant-looking young woman is
sitting at the reception counter.
"Hi," I greet her, "I was wondering if I could speak with Ms. Rose."
The woman looks at me with a polite smile. "I'm afraid Ms. Rose's appointment book is full for
the day," she says apologetically. "She's quite in demand, you see."
"I understand," I reply, trying to keep the disappointment from my voice. "Could you possibly let
her know that John Barton is here? Maybe she can squeeze me in?"
A flicker of recognition flashes in her eyes. "Of course, Mr. Barton," she replies, her tone more
respectful. "I'll let Ms. Rose know right away."
While she goes to inform Jessica Rose of my presence, I take a look around the office. It's
tastefully furnished, with comfortable chairs and a coffee table laden with magazines. The walls are
adorned with framed photographs of happy couples, no doubt successful matches made by Ms. Rose.
Despite my cynicism, I can't help but feel a tinge of hope.
I can still hear the man talking so I head towards the back and see a table and chairs. The
sideview of the man comes into view first. A twenty something blonde guy who looks like he’s still
spending his parents money based on his gaudy designer choices and accessories. He’s leaning into a
woman with his hand on her thigh and he’s talking a mile a minute about himself.
Stepping around the corner I freeze as soon as I see the woman this jackass is trying to impress.
Lisa is sitting stiff as a board, her legs turned away from the guy even though he’s trying to pull her
back with a hand on her thigh. My blood boils. I can feel heat surging through my limbs wanting to be
released in the form of an attack to get this man’s hand off Lisa. Who the hell does this guy think he is?
My hands ball into fists at my side and I have never wanted to punch anyone more than I want to
punch this guy right now. Lisa is practically flinching away from his touch, and this idiot is scooting
closer to her. There’s no way he can’t see how uncomfortable she is. I can feel the tension radiating
off her.
My feet move of their own accord, carrying me forward towards the two of them. I’m trying to
breathe and convince myself to be rational before I rip this guy’s head off.
I don’t do that, though. Lisa would probably kick my ass if I did.
I have no claim on her aside from being her boss, and that holds no bearing here. Still, there is no
way I am walking away and leaving this asshole alone with her. Especially not while he’s still got his
hand on her thigh.
I move right in front of the two of them and Lisa looks up, her eyes landing on my own. Lisa and I
have always remained professional at work. She’s never asked me for anything that wasn’t work
related. Right now, I can feel her asking for my help with just the look in her eyes.
Maybe I’m confusing the look she’s giving me. Maybe she’s just upset to be seeing me here while
she’s on vacation and supposed to be getting time away from me. Worry filters through me that she
will be pissed seeing me here, or embarrassed that I found her here at this matchmaker’s office.
Instead I first see relief. Then there is a silent plea in her gaze and I know she is not happy about this
guy touching her and talking her ear off about how cool he thinks he is.
The guy talking her ear off pauses his monologue about himself long enough to look up at me and
cock his eyebrow like I’m the problem here. That’s when I get a good look at his face and recognition
kicks in. Nelson’s family consider themselves rivals of my family. I can’t believe he’s even inside the
Barton Hotel. His dad would probably disown him if he found out.
Unless he’s here to scope the place out to try to steal ideas to take back for the hotel his family
owns on the other side of town. No matter how hard they have tried over the years, they have never
been able to beat the Barton Beach Hotel or Shore Kitchen for best hotel and restaurant. I wouldn’t
put it passed him to be here to take my parent’s and Wyatt’s ideas and try to implement them as his
own at his family’s property.
It wouldn’t be the first time. Even growing up, Nelson never got anything the honest way. If there
was a way to cheat or find a faster and easier way to do something, Nelson was always going to find
it.
There was one thing he wasn’t going to get starting right now. That is Lisa. She might be too polite
to tell him to piss off, but I’m not. He can steal hotel and tourist attraction ideas all he wants, but he’s
not stealing Lisa.
Lisa takes my offered hand, but Nelson doesn’t remove his hand from her thigh right away. Every
bit of restraint within me is being used not to knock him away from her. My eyes drop to Nelson’s
hand on Lisa’s thigh and narrow. Then that asshole flexes his fingers, gripping her thigh like he’s
challenging me and all rational thought flees my mind.
With Lisa’s hand in mine, I lean down and put an arm behind her and pull her up until she’s in my
arms. Her eyes flash up to meet mine and I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile but I don’t let
her go. Instead I pull her close to my side, wrapping an arm around her waist and holding her tight.
Then I meet Nelson’s irritated glare and I give him my best exaggerated smile.
Then I open my mouth and speak without thinking, laying claim where I have none.
“Hi Nelson. It’s been a long time. I see you’ve met my girlfriend.”
CHAPTER 6
 Lisa

MY MOUTH FALLS OPEN AS I WATCH MY BOSS STRIDE ACROSS THE MATCHMAKING OFFICE WITH A
thunderously possessive look on his face.
For a second, I feel like I'm hallucinating.
Did John Barton just call me his girlfriend?
Yes, that has to be it. I'm hallucinating. Or maybe having a hot flash.
Because there is no other explanation for what is going on here.
For the last eighteen months, John has always been the grumpy and emotionally unavailable boss.
And now he's claiming me as his? This is the sort of thing that only happens in the movies, not in real
life.
I feel a knot begin to form in my stomach. While the rational part of my brain is telling me I should
correct him immediately and put a stop to whatever this is before it gets out of hand, another part of
me is secretly intrigued.
So I decide not to say anything.
All too quickly, John steps between me and Nelson. Instinctively, I take a step back, but John
steps forward and snakes his arm around my waist. My heart beats faster as I try to make sense of
what's happening.
John brushes his lips against my ear.
"Trust me," he whispers.
Then his voice booms loud enough for Nelson to overhear us. "Hey babe. I missed you."
Even though I know it's probably just for show, my skin tingles at John's words. His voice is
surprisingly husky when he says it. I look up, and he's staring down at me like I'm the most important
thing in the world.
And then, before I even realize what's happening, John Barton, my crazy, grumpy, possessive
boss, cups my face with both hands, bends down and kisses me.
At that moment, the entire world disappears.
His lips are firm and soft as he slants his mouth over mine. He runs his tongue along the seam of
my lips, coaxing them apart. My legs have gone boneless at this point, but John just grips me harder,
holding me firmly against the hard wall of his chest.
I'm pretty sure that Nelson's gotten the message at this point, but John just keeps going. Like
everything else, his kiss becomes insistent and demanding, urging himself deeper until I hear myself
let out a little moan.
After what feels like forever, John finally pulls away. I look up at him, searching his eyes for
answers, but all I see is the familiar intensity that always seems to shimmer there whenever we're
together.
Nelson, meanwhile, looks like a deer caught in headlights, his wide-eyed gaze darting between
John and me as his hands start to shake. All of his bluster from earlier is notably absent, and honestly
it's more than a little funny.
"Nelson," John says brightly in a condescending tone. "Good to see you. It's been a long time.
How's your family?"
A mixture of confusion and panic crosses Nelson's face. I haven't known Nelson for long, but I get
the feeling that John is the last person he wanted to see right now. He clears his throat and starts to
stammer.
"I thought she was--I thought---"
"Glad to hear it," John interrupts dismissively before Nelson has a chance to answer. "But you'll
have to excuse us for the moment." He beams down at me. "I've got a lunch date with this gorgeous
woman and I don't want to be late."
The warmth in his smile makes my heart flutter. John takes my hand and leads me away from the
lobby before Nelson has a chance to say anything else.
As we walk towards the elevator, John is silent and brooding. But he doesn't let go of my hand.
The hotel lobby is also busy, with plenty of guests milling about. Multiple sets of eyes turn to look at
us at once and I can practically feel the speculation buzzing in the air. I try to focus on the marble tiles
beneath my feet, but his touch is electrifying and overwhelming.
Luckily, as we arrive at the hallway housing the elevators, we find ourselves alone.
I pull myself out of my haze long enough to snatch my hand out of his. "John, what in the--" I start
to say.
But he cuts me off and takes my hand again.
"Upstairs." He says the word without looking me. "We'll talk upstairs."
As the elevator doors close behind us, John releases my hand to press the button for the rooftop
balcony. But to my surprise, he laces his fingers back through mine as he settles back against the wall.
The air around us is thick with tension. I watch as the numbers light up, one by one, marking our
ascent. John leans against the wall, his eyes staring straight ahead. I have no idea what he's thinking
right now. So I take a deep breath and cross my arms over my chest, determined to confront him as
soon as we get outside.
But then a few seconds later, the elevator doors slide open. And the breathtaking sight before me
leaves me speechless.
The view of Barton Beach from this height is nothing short of magical. An endless expanse of blue
water glitters under the radiant sun while palm trees sway gently in the breeze. Out in the distance,
small boats bob on the gentle waves while seagulls soar overhead.
For a moment, as I stare out across the water, I forget about everything - about the matchmaker,
about Nelson, about John and his unexpected claim - instead I'm reminded of why I decided to come
here on vacation in the first place.
Behind me, someone clears their throat.
"Excuse me, Mr. Barton. Would you like to start with a beverage?"
I turn around and see a waiter standing behind us. He appears to be in his early twenties, with an
earnest expression on his tanned face and a neat row of freckles dusting his nose.
"Your usual champagne is already chilling on the table," the waiter continues. "But we have a
wider selection if you and your date would prefer something else."
I can feel my cheeks warming at the implication he gestures to a table that has been set up on the
terrace for two.
The table has been carefully arranged with white linen and silver cutlery. Chilled shrimp cocktail
sits delicately on a bed of crushed ice next to a tray of canapés topped with smoked salmon. And, as
promised, at the center of it all, a bottle of champagne sits proudly in a bucket.
John gives the waiter a friendly smile. "My usual will be great, thanks. Lisa will have the same."
The waiter nods in response and then pours two glasses before disappearing back down the
elevator, leaving us alone once again.
John walks over to the table and pulls out a chair. "Have lunch with me." He says it in a casual
tone, but there's something in his voice that's unyielding.
"Not until you tell me what's going on."
John looks down at the straps of my heels digging into the flesh of my swollen feet and frowns.
"Lisa, please sit down."
I blow out an exasperated breath. But then I deflate and sit down anyway. There's no point in
standing around glaring at each other all day when we have more important things to discuss. John
pushes in my chair and sits down across from me.
For a moment, the two of us sit in an awkward silence. John eyes me intently, almost daring me to
ask questions. Finally, I break the tension and take a sip of champagne.
"So," I start cautiously. "Care to explain all this?"
John gives me an amused smirk. "What, the food?"
I glare at him. "You know I'm not talking about the food."
John sighs then inhales deeply, his jaw clenching as if he's gathering his thoughts - or bracing
himself for my reaction.
Finally, he says, "Look, I'm sorry about what happened downstairs. I got...a little carried away."
"A little carried away? You told Nelson that I was your girlfriend."
"He'll get over it," John chuckles.
"You can't just go around telling people I'm your girlfriend. You're my boss. What if the firm finds
out?"
John shrugs. "I had to say something to get Nelson off you."
I raise a defiant eyebrow at him. "You do realize that Nelson and I were visiting a matchmaker,
right? What if I wanted him on me?"
John's eyes snap up to meet mine. "Did you?"
His stern expression catches me off guard. I clear my throat as my cheeks flush pink.
"No, of course, I didn't," I reply softly. "But that's not the point."
John's shoulders relax. Then he reaches across the table to spoon some shrimp onto his plate.
"You should try this shrimp cocktail by the way. It's delicious."
He holds out his plate and I reluctantly take a piece of shrimp, my stomach growling in response.
Finally, I break the silence. "You can't distract me with food forever you know."
To my surprise, Johns's expression softens and he gives me a warm smile. "I'm not trying to
distract you. I'm saying thank you."
Now it's my turn to quirk an eyebrow. "Thank me for what?"
"For the party at the firm," John answers, his eyes meeting mine. "I know you were the one who
organized it. And I'm also thanking you for how hard you worked on the Patterson case. You went
above and beyond, and I wanted to show my appreciation. So, thank you, Lisa."
His voice is sincere, and I find myself taken aback.
"You're welcome," I reply.
 We spend the next few minutes eating in silence, but somehow it doesn't feel as awkward
anymore. As we eat, I can feel something shift between us. It's almost like John is finally comfortable
enough to relax around me.
A woman's shrill voice comes from behind us.
"John Alexander Barton! What's this I hear about you having a girlfriend?"
I turn around just in time to see an older couple stepping out from the elevator. The woman is a
petite lady with snowy white hair styled into a neat bun, her blue eyes twinkling with mischief as they
land on John. Beside her, the man sports a matching mop of white hair, his face lined with age but
brightened by an easy-going smile.
John rises from his seat, a panicked expression flickering across his face before it's replaced by
his usual mask of professional calm. "Mom. Dad," He says brightly. "What are you doing here?"
The woman, apparently John's mother, saunters over to our table and gives him a hug. "We're here
to meet your new girlfriend, you silly goose," She reaches over and pinches me on the arm. "Your
father and I got back from the hardware store and all of the staff is buzzing about it."
John shakes his head and groans while his father chuckles and pats him on the back.
"Are you going to introduce us to this lovely young lady?"
John gives me a look and I give him a faint nod. Then he clears his throat. "Of course, sorry.
Mom, Dad this is my girlfriend, Lisa."
John's mom immediately lights up at the introduction, her eyes sparkling even brighter. She
extends a slender hand towards me, her sea of pearl jewelry clinking softly.
"It's so lovely to meet you, Lisa. I'm Nancy, John's mother," she gushes, her warm grip firm in her
enthusiasm. She then turns toward Bill, linking her arm through his. "And this is my wonderful
husband, Bill."
Bill, a tall man with a strong build despite his age, breaks into a broad smile, his eyes sharing the
same warmth as Nancy's. He reaches over to shake my hand, his grasp kind but solid.
"Nice to meet you, Lisa. John's spoken quite highly of you. We're both very pleased to finally meet
the woman who's captured our son's heart." The sincerity in his voice coupled with Nancy's
contagious excitement makes it impossible not to feel welcomed.
We may have just met but I can already tell John's parents are wonderful people, and I cannot
bring myself to burst this bubble for them. I stand up and gesture to the empty seats at our table.
“You should join us,” I say. “The view is really beautiful out here, and I was hoping to meet you
both soon so I’d love it if you could sit with us for a bit.”
As if by magic, follows in behind them bringing an extra set of chairs.
“Oh, thank you,” Nancy says.
Bill pulls a chair out for her before sitting himself, and I sit back down once they’ve joined us.
John’s eyes find mine and he slowly reaches his hand across the table and puts it over mine. With a
gentle squeeze of my hand, he gives me a small smile. Combined with the soft look in his eyes I am
sure he’s trying to silently thank him for going along with his lie.
“I can’t tell you how happy we were when John told us he was bringing you to the wedding,”
Nancy says. “We weren’t sure we would get to see you so soon, though. He was worried you couldn’t
get out here before the wedding.”
I smile through the deep breath I have to take to keep my mouth shut so I don’t say what I’m
thinking.
I thought him calling me his girlfriend was some spur of the moment thing to make his parents
happy, but they knew I was coming? I didn’t even know I was coming. Not here or for this. I certainly
hadn’t planned on seeing John on my vacation; the vacation I took in great part to put some space
between the two of us.
Flashing John a smile, I say, “He didn’t know I was going to be here today. When he told me he
was coming a few days early I thought it would be nice to just show up and surprise him.”
“It was a great surprise,” John says, and there’s something intense in the way he’s looking at me
that makes me swallow hard. He couldn’t really mean that, could he? No, of course not. Yes, we were
having a nice conversation over lunch, but that doesn’t mean he wanted to run into me. Does it?
“If you need anything else for your room just let us know,” Bill says. “Wyatt probably set it up
with John’s preferences in mind not knowing he’d have company. So whatever isn’t in there that you
need just let us know.”
I swallow the lump growing in my throat. Shit. We are in our forties and I’m his girlfriend. Of
course, they think we're staying here together. Grabbing my glass, I suck down some water a little too
fast.
“It’s a little hot out here, isn’t it,” I say, trying to play it off.
“Oh, yes,” Nancy says. “The view is beautiful, but the Texas heat is something else.”
Bill motions out towards the water. “Give it a few minutes and the wind will be blowing over that
water and you’ll be ready for John to run up to your room and grab you a sweater.”
I laugh, not sure what to say since John certainly won’t be able to grab anything of mine from his
room.
“So Dad,” John says, and I’m praying for a topic change, “Wyatt told me you had to run out to the
hardware store so you could fix someone’s shower?”
“Yeah,” Bill says. “Crazy kids broke the shower door somehow.”
“Oh, darlin’,” Nancy says, putting her hand on Bill’s knee under the table. “You remember what it
feels like to be young and in love. They just got a little carried away is all.”
Bill leans over and whispers something in Nancy’s ear and the way she blushes I’m pretty sure
he’s just reminded her he knows exactly what it feels like. When I look up at John he's already
grinning at me.
“See,” I hear Nancy say, “they know what I mean.”
Bill laughs, and leans back in his seat with his arm around Nancy. “You guys should come to
dinner with us tonight.”
“Oh, yes,” Nancy says. “We’d love the chance to get to know you, Lisa, and learn about how you
two started dating. John has kept you a secret until now, so we want to know everything.”
“That sounds great, Mom,” John says, “but we already have plans for tonight.”
“Oh, I understand,” Nancy says, but the way her face falls I can see she’s sad and it’s hard for me
to not override John and tell them we can make it tonight, but I know that would be wrong.
“We can have dinner tomorrow night,” John says, “if that works for you guys.”
I look at him with a tight-lipped smile and Nancy brightens right back up. I guess seeing his mom
sad over dinner isn’t something he could withstand either. How am I going to explain this to Denise
when I’m supposed to be spending time with her for the next few days?
I know she told me I should try to meet a man while I’m here, but I don’t think she was hoping I’d
run into Mr. Grizzly our first time out of the house and wind up stuck entertaining him and his family
for the rest of my time here at Barton Beach.
I smile at his mom and dad and say, “Yeah, dinner would be great tomorrow.”
“Great,” Bill says.
“I can’t wait to get to know you,” Nancy says, her eyes on me.
 “Me too,” I say, and it really isn’t a lie. I might not actually be John’s girlfriend, but in the few
minutes sitting here with his parents I already know I like them, and a part of me does want to get to
know them better, even if this is all a bad idea.
Bill stands and holds his hand out, helping Nancy up. “Sorry we’re rushing off,” Bill says. “But
I’ve still got to get that shower door replaced before we have our dinner, or the next guests check into
that room.”
“Oh, of course,” I say, standing to tell them bye.
John gets up and walks around giving his mom and dad a hug.
“Call us tomorrow so we can get a time a place set for dinner, okay,” Nancy says to him.
“I will Mom,” he says, then kisses her cheek.
“See you both tomorrow,” Bill says.
I wave bye and stand still watching them walk away. Once they are out of view I turn to John.
“What the hell?”
John opens his mouth to reply, but a sudden ringing from his pocket cuts him off. He retrieves his
phone and glances at the caller ID, his face immediately taking on a more serious expression.
"Fuck," John says, tension creeping into his voice. "It's Victor."
Victor Folkes. The words sink into me like stones in still water.
Victor, the firm's managing partner and a perpetual thorn in John's side. Ever since John started at
the firm, their relationship has been hostile at best. Victor has never made it a secret that he sees John
as a threat, constantly trying to undermine him and discredit his work. It's like a never-ending chess
match, with Victor always looking for a chance to put John in check.
If Victor is calling John now, trouble must be brewing. Watching John step away to take the call, I
can't help but feel a surge of apprehension.
"You should take it," I tell.
John brushes his thumb across my cheek and, to my surprise, place a kiss on my forehead.
"I'll call you later, we'll talk about everything, I promise," he says over his shoulder, already deep
in conversation as he walks away.
CHAPTER 7
 Lisa

AFTER I LEAVE THE BARTON BEACH HOTEL, I WALK OVER TO THE S UGAR BREEZE BAKERY TO FILL
Denise in on everything that just happened with John.
Denise inherited Sugar Breeze two years ago after her mom passed away. It's a quaint little gem,
nestled amidst the hustle and bustle of the Barton Beach Boardwalk.
Her mom, Sylvia, was famous for all of her delicious cakes and pies. And people from all over
Texas still travel to Barton Beach just to experience the magic of Sylvia's secret recipes.
When I arrive, the line is already out the door. I'm happy to see that the place is packed with
tourists brunching lazily throughout the dining room.
There was some major drama last year when Denise's crazy brother tried to get the whole place
shut down. But fortunately, it all worked out. Thanks to Denise's boyfriend Brett, Sugar Breeze is
back in a new location and more popular than ever.
Denise is behind the counter at the front, putting a fresh tray of muffins into a glass display case.
Her brown hair is tucked neatly into a navy blue Sugar Breeze cap, while her pink apron is dusted
lightly with flour.
I ring the little bell on the counter and she spins around, a huge Cheshire grin on her face.
"How did it go?" Denise wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. "Did you find your future husband
yet?"
I sigh heavily, already feeling the weight of everything that I have to tell her. "Not exactly." I say,
trying to prepare her for what's to come.
"What do you mean, 'not exactly'?"
"I mean it's a long story."
"Uh oh," She frowns and unties her apron. "I can already tell that this story is going to need a
mimosa to go with it."
I laugh. "Since when does Sugar Breeze serve mimosas?"
Denise's eyes sparkle mischievously and she walks around the counter. "Since the new manager I
hired added them to the brunch menu and we doubled our profit in a month."
She leads me to a cozy table by the window before giving my shoulder a comforting squeeze.
"Now, wait here. I'm going to let my servers know that I'm going to take my lunch break now. Then
you can tell me all about it."
As I sit at the table, glancing out at the picturesque view of the bustling boardwalk, I shake my
head and groan.
Visiting a matchmaker at my age is bad enough. But being John’s fake girlfriend? The whole thing
is beyond ridiculous.
 If someone had told me a few days ago that I would be sitting in Sugar Breeze, preparing to tell
Denise about my fake boyfriend, I probably would have laughed in their face. I can almost hear the
sitcom laughter track playing in the background.
After a few minutes Denise walks over to the table carrying two giant champagne flutes and a
plate with what looks like an entire cake on it.
“A whole cake just for the two of us?” I chuckle as Denise slides into the booth across from me.
"I'm still full from lunch."
“You haven’t tried it yet," She says with a grin as she cuts me a slice. "You’ll thank me when you
do.”
I grab one of the forks slid under the edge of the cake and take a big bite. It’s a red velvet cake,
admittedly my favorite, but the minute it hits my mouth I close my eyes as the flavor takes over my
mouth.
“Mmm,” I moan around the fork. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”
Denise flashes a bright smile. “Told you.”
She takes a bite herself and rinses it down with a sip of her mimosa. Then, pointing at me with her
fork, she says, “Okay, it’s time for you to spill. What happened that's got you looking so distressed?”
I take a deep breath and launch into my story. "So, as you know, I went to meet with the
matchmaker at the Barton Beach Hotel," I begin.
Denise nods, sipping her coffee. "Right. Jessica Rose."
"Well, while I was waiting in the lobby, I met this slimy guy named Nelson who was trying to hit
on me."
"Nelson Fitzpatrick?" Denise interrupts, her face twisting in disgust. "Gross. He's been trying to
snag an older woman since he was in college."
"But before he could make a move, John walked in."
Denise's eyes grow wide. "Wait, John Barton saw you at the matchmaker's office?" Then she
practically cackles with glee. "Oh boy, this is too good."
"And that's not all. He sort of..." My left eye twitches a little as I brace for impact. "He sort of...
told Nelson that I was his girlfriend. And then he kissed me."
Denise's jaw drops, and I can see the shock and confusion written all over her face. "Wait, what?
Why?"
I explain everything, telling her about the possessive way John reacted when he saw me with
Nelson Fitzpatrick, about him taking me to lunch and meeting his parents and his desperation for a
wedding date. Denise listens closely, asking questions and making shocked faces at all the right
moments.
When I finish, she sits back and takes it all in. "Wow. That's... a lot. And you're okay with all of
this?"
Shuffling in my seat, I say, “I mean, I don't really have a choice at this point. I don’t know if you
ever met his parents when you knew him back in school, but his mom got to me. She was so thrilled
when he said I was his girlfriend that I couldn’t tell her he was lying.”
Denise nods. “I never met them in person. But everyone always said they were the nicest people
you’d ever meet.”
“They are, and his dad is head over heels in love with his mom." I take a sip of mimosa. "They’re
honestly adorable.”
Denise takes another bite of her cake. “It’s probably going to be hard for them when they find out
the truth though. I mean you and John aren't actually dating.” She eyes me curiously. "Right?"
 I look away from her, chewing my lip. “Of course we aren't actually dating. John's my boss,
remember?"
Denise snorts as she takes another sip of her drink. "Oh, I remember."
"It's all just for show," I continue. "John's going to tell his parents once the weekend is over."
"Of course he will."
I decide to ignore the sarcasm in her tone and instead look down at my outfit. "Although, I guess
I’m going to have to go shopping for something to wear to the ceremony.”
Denise’s smirks mischievously as she reaches for another piece of cake. "You should tell John to
take you shopping. I'm sure he wouldn't mind splurging for his fake girlfriend.” Then she winks at me
and grins. "Especially if it means getting a chance to see you with less clothes than you're wearing
now."
I shake my head. "No way, that would be against the rules."
Denise bursts out laughing. “This story is getting better by the minute." She takes another sip of
her drink. "Tell me more about these rules.”
I clear my throat, embarrassed. “Well, there’s just a few. We can hold hands, but no kissing. I'm
also going to get dressed his room. But we aren't going to sleep in the same bed.”
Denise whistles. “Wow, that sounds like it could get complicated. Have you told John about these
rules?"
"Not yet, but I plan to."
Denise raises an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smirk. "Sounds like a fascinating arrangement
you've got there. But John's always been one for a challenge," she says, taking another sip of her
drink. "I'm sure he won't mind playing by the rules."
I frown, looking down at my half-eaten slice of cake, my appetite suddenly gone.
"It's just... I don't know, Denise," I say. "This whole thing. It feels like I've jumped into the deep
end and I can't swim."
Denise reaches across the table, patting my hand sympathetically. "Hey, it's just a few days. You
can play pretend for that long, right?"
"I guess," I reply, trying to sound more confident than I feel. “Are you sure you're not upset with
me about this? I mean, I came here so the two of us could catch up.”
Denise looks genuinely surprised at the question, then bursts into laughter.
"Upset with you? Honey, you're providing the best entertainment I've had in weeks! Besides, it's
not every day your best friend starts dating her grumpy boss," she grins, emphasizing the last word
with a playful nudge, "even if it is pretend. Just remember, it's an adventure. It might be messy and
unexpected, but it will certainly be a story to tell. Enjoy the ride and know that I'm here for you, every
step of the way."
I reach out and give my best friend a hug. "You're right. It's an adventure. And really, what's life
without a few wild stories?"
Denise pulls back from our hug and holds up her mimosa for a toast. "To wild stories and
unexpected adventures," she declares, the twinkle in her eye reflecting pure mischief. "And to you, my
dear, for starring in your very own romantic comedy. Remember, if it all goes belly up, at least it'll
make a really good book one day."
After I left the bakery, I decided to make the most of the beautiful day and actually enjoy a little bit of
my vacation.
It was perfect.
I went to the beach and sat in the sand, listening to my audiobook. Then I took a leisurely walk on
the boardwalk and people-watched. It was a nice change of pace for me. Usually, I'm all work and no
play.
Now it's almost 7:00 p.m. and I'm lounging on Denise's back porch waiting for John to call me.
Denise and Brett have gone out for the evening, leaving me with the house to myself. With only the
low hum of the fridge and distant lullaby of the ocean for company, the house feels almost too quiet.
But a part of me is grateful that Denise isn't here to see how worked up I'm getting over John.
I'm a little embarrassed that I'm getting so worked up over this fake relationship, but I can't help it.
I've been single for so long, and the idea of having someone to share things with is appealing. Even if
it is all a lie.
But now, I have this nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach. I feel bad about lying to John's
parents. They were so excited to meet me, and I don't want to disappoint them. And what if John tells
them the truth eventually? How embarrassing would that be?
I'm also worried about my own emotions. I haven't been in a serious relationship in years, and I
don't want to get hurt. I feel a little foolish for getting so caught up in how John made me feel when he
kissed me. What if it was all an act on his part?
My thoughts are interrupted by my phone ringing. It's John, and my heart rate spikes. But I put on a
nonchalant tone when I answer.
"Hey there," I say. "How's it going?"
"Eh," John’s voice comes through the phone, sounding a bit weary. "I'm a little exhausted, to be
honest. The partnership call went way longer than expected. You know how Victor is. But I'm taking a
break now. How did you enjoy the rest of your day?"
"It was relaxing, actually." I reply. "I spent some time at the beach, walked around, and just took
in the sights. It was a nice change of pace." I pause, then add in a lighter tone, "So, I guess we're
really doing this whole fake girlfriend thing?"
"If you're still up for it. Once the wedding is over, I promise I'll tell my parents the truth."
A sudden, unexpected sensation makes my stomach drop. For some reason, the thought of ending
our fake relationship is making me feel uneasy. I try to shake off the feeling, and change the subject.
"Speaking of the wedding, I was actually going through my suitcase earlier. I realized that I don't
have anything to wear," I tell him.
John laughs lightly, a sound that sends a shiver down my spine. "How about this - let's make a day
of it tomorrow? I'll pick you up from your friend's house. We can go shopping together, find you a
stunning dress. And then go to dinner with my parents. You can spend the night in my suite
afterwards."
My eyes grow wide and I swallow hard. "Spend the night?"
"Yes, spend the night," he repeats, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. I feel a flutter of
anxiety.
"Not in the same same bed, of course," he adds quickly. "There's a couch in my suite. I'll sleep on
that while you sleep in the bed."
There is a moment of silence, and I can imagine him holding his breath waiting for my answer.
I swallow, my throat suddenly dry.
My mind is racing. I have to admit, the idea of spending the night at John's place, even though it's
Another random document with
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—The principal reason for attack upon this nerve is spasmodic
torticollis, or wryneck. It is exposed through an incision along the
anterior border of the sternocleidomastoid muscle, extending two
inches downward from the ear. The nerve is found a little above the
level of the hyoid bone; or, again, it may be found by an incision along
the outer border of the muscle, opposite its centre, just above which it
will be detected (Fig. 405).
The Deep Posterior Cervical Plexus.—When operation upon the spinal
accessory has failed to relieve long-standing and serious spasmodic
torticollis, Keen has suggested to divide the first, second, and third
cervical nerves. The operation is difficult and not always successful;
still it is worth trying. A transverse incision is made below the level of
the lobe of the ear, the trapezius being divided and dissected up until
the great occipital nerve is found. It is followed after the necessary
division of the complexus until its origin from the posterior division is
reached. The suboccipital or first cervical nerve, which lies in the
triangle close to the occiput that is formed by the two oblique muscles
and the posterior rectus, is excised. The exterior branch of the
posterior division is found lower down, and should be divided close to
the bifurcation of the main nerve (Fig. 406).
 Fig. 405 Fig. 406

Exposure of the spinal accessory Incisions through which the various

nerve alone: a, digastric; b, jugular
veins; c, sternomastoid muscle; d,
spinal accessory. (Marion.)
nerves in the neck may be sought: a,
facial; b, facial and hypoglossal; c,
facial and sp. acces.; d, spinal
accessory; e, cervical plexus; f,
brachial plexus. (Marion.)

The Cervical Sympathetic.—The cervical sympathetic is a most

complicated nerve trunk, furnishing
fibers of various functions to the skin, and to the deeper parts fibers
which are vasomotor, vaso-inhibitory, pilomotor, and secretory in
function. It supplies the various glands, the upper viscera, the heart
and bloodvessels, and connects with nerves below, which supply even
the genital organs and the non-striped muscles of the body. The upper
part has a very important oculopupillary function, as it supplies the
dilator pupillæ, the non-striped part of the elevator of the upper lid,
and the orbital muscle of Müller, i. e., a small bundle of non-striped
muscle which lies behind the globe and projects across the
sphenomaxillary fissure at the back of the orbit. (By contraction of this
muscle the eye may be pushed forward.) It also supplies the
submaxillary gland, the cutaneous bloodvessels, and the sweat
glands of the head and neck. The pupil dilating fibers arise in the
medulla, run backward in the lateral columns of the cord to the
ciliospinal centre, emerge through the anterior roots of the first and
second dorsal segments, and enter the inferior cervical ganglion,
thence passing upward through the sympathetic trunk to the orbit.
Therefore ocular and other symptoms are produced not only by
lesions of the external trunk, but also by lesions within the cord at the
level of the upper dorsal segments. These nerves may be injured
anywhere in the neck, or compressed by inflammatory deposits or
new-growths, or even by cicatricial tissue at the apex of a tuberculous
lung. Many cases of phthisis show inequality of the pupils. One nerve
may be injured in operations on the neck, the result being slight
drooping of the lid and flushing of the face, as well as excessive
perspiration on the injured side; the corresponding pupil being smaller
than the other because of paralysis of the dilators, but contracting to
light, as the third cranial nerve which supplies its sphincter is
unaffected. The eye will then sink back somewhat, owing to paralysis
of Müller’s muscle, and thus permit a nearer closure of the lids. These
oculopupillary symptoms are pathognomonic of paralysis of the
cervical sympathetic. Cocaine will not dilate a pupil whose dilator has
thus been paralyzed. The area of skin supplied with sweat fibers by
the cervical sympathetic includes the corresponding side of the head,
neck, shoulder, and upper part of the trunk (Fig. 407).
When the cervical sympathetic is unduly stimulated we have
dilatation of the pupil, exophthalmos, widening of the palpebral
aperture, delayed descent of the upper lid when the patient looks
downward, all of which can be imitated or produced by dropping into
the eye a solution of cocaine, which stimulates the nerve.[47]
[47] Stewart, Some Affections of the Cervical Sympathetic, The
Practitioner, February, 1905.

The surgical sympathetic is attacked surgically for three widely

variant conditions: epilepsy, glaucoma, and exophthalmic goitre—the
first, because of its vasomotor control of the vascular supply of the
brain; the second, because of the relation of the nerve to the orbital
circulation and nutrition; and third, because of its relations to the
thyroid and the heart. In the latter case it is especially desirable to
remove the lower cervical ganglion and the first dorsal, if it can be
reached, although the procedure here is exceedingly difficult.
 The tachycardia of Graves’ disease is due apparently to irritation of
the accelerator nerves of the heart, which come from the sympathetic,
or else to paralysis of the regulator (pneumogastric) supply. The
former spring from the lower part of the cervical cord and the upper
dorsal segments, and pass to the third cervical ganglia and to the first
dorsal, terminating in the cardiac plexus.
The operation described below is practically that advised by
Jonnesco, more or less modified by other operators, and may be
varied to some extent to meet the exigencies of particular cases. Thus
whether it shall be done through one or two incisions will depend on
the will of the operator. It is made about as follows: A long incision is
made along the posterior border of the sternomastoid. The latter may
be either retracted forward or its fibers separated, in order that the
fascia on its inner side may be reached and separated from the
deeper muscles. This fascia should be divided as high as the base of
the skull. The upper ganglion of the cervical sympathetic lies on the
inner side of the anterior tubercle of the transverse process of the
second and third vertebral processes, resting upon the muscles
covered by this fascia. The ganglion, being recognized by its shape,
and the sympathetic trunk being thus identified, the nerve should be
divided and made free, as high as possible and just beneath the base
of the skull. (See Fig. 408.)
 Fig. 407

Diagram to illustrate the relations of the cervical sympathetic and the mechanism of
the various disturbances following lesions of its trunk. (Stewart.)
 The lower end is to be exposed by continuation of the first incision,
or by another beginning 1 Cm. above the clavicle and extending along
the posterior border of the sternomastoid for 4 or 5 Cm. The platysma
should be entered and the tissues separated upward until the fingers
can meet in a channel thus made by connection with the upper
incision. The tissues should also be loosened downward until a point
has been reached behind the clavicle. They then should be widely
retracted and the inferior thyroid artery sought. The middle cervical
ganglion is found inside of its curve. Occasionally this ganglion is
replaced by a plexus, or the main trunk may pass behind the artery. At
this level it is to be seized and its upper divided end pulled down and
out through this opening. The nerve trunk should then be followed
downward. The artery should be freed from any plexus of sympathetic
fibers around it, all of which should be destroyed, and especially those
fibers which constitute the middle cardiac nerve, which pass to the
inner side. The main trunk is to be drawn down beneath the artery and
then followed downward and outward to the lower ganglion, where it
lies behind the clavicle, on the neck of the first rib, between the
scalenus anticus and the longus colli. The ganglion and the trunk
should be separated from the efferent and afferent branches which
connect with it, as well as from the vertebral artery; being thus made
free it is again drawn outward. Here one should divide especially the
cardiac branches which form the lower cardiac nerve, as well as the
vertebral branches which have so much to do with controlling the
supply through the vertebral artery. The ganglion, after being
identified, should be finally removed. The nerve should be traced still
farther down to the first thoracic ganglion, which has much to do with
supplying the heart, and this also should be separated and destroyed
(Fig. 409).
 Fig. 408 Fig. 409

Sympathectomy. Exposure and removal Sympathectomy. Seizure and removal

of middle and upper ganglia. (Marion.) of inferior ganglion. (Marion.)

It is rarely necessary to provide for drainage after the operation,

unless the retraction and laceration of tissues have been very great.
My own preference is to make one long incision along the posterior
border of the sternomastoid, by which the dissection is facilitated and
the operation made less complicated and difficult. When done for
glaucoma on one side it will be sufficient to attack one nerve, but
when for epilepsy or for exophthalmic goitre the operation should be
bilateral. When for epilepsy or glaucoma it is not so necessary to
remove the lower cervical ganglion; this is indicated rather in those
cases where it is desirable to control the accelerator nerves to the
heart. The operation has given good results in all three affections
named, yet it is one of considerable difficulty. It would be made
extremely difficult by the presence of a large goitre, and in such case it
would probably be better to extirpate the thyroid rather than to attack
the nerve. (See Glaucoma, Epilepsy, and Exophthalmic Goitre.)
 CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE SPINE, THE SPINAL CORD, AND THE PERIPHERAL
NERVES.

SYRINGOMYELIA.
The term syringomyelia implies irregular dilatation of the central canal of the
spinal cord, having a congenital origin, tending to relative increase later in life,
with corresponding disturbance of function, the latter including paresthesiæ,
loss of sensibility to heat and cold, more or less motor impairment and
disturbances of nutrition, more noticeable in the region of the joints than
elsewhere, the latter having been already considered in the chapter on the
Joints. The dilatation is by no means regular, may occur in various regions of
the cord, and attain a size permitting encroachment upon, and even atrophy of,
the structures of the cord itself. When functional disturbance, especially
paralytic, has become very pronounced a few surgeons have ventured to
expose the cord by a laminectomy, and endeavored to make a more or less
permanent opening with drainage of the dural cavity. Thus Keen has operated
twice, Abbe once, and Munro three times, including twice on the same patient.
Only in this last instance was any permanent relief obtained, and this was at
the expense of a second operation. It is doubtful if any of the peculiar joint
lesions of this disease will be in any way affected by operation for this purpose.

TUMORS OF THE SPINAL CORD.

Tumors of the spinal cord may be classified as follows (Krauss):
1. Tumors springing primarily from the envelopes of the cord: (a) Tumors of
the vertebral column, and (b) tumors of the meninges, the latter including those
arising from the external surface of the dura, or from the periosteum of the
spinal canal, i. e., extradural tumors, and those from the inner surface of the
dura and the other membranes, that is, intradural tumors.
2. Tumors developing in the cord proper, intramedullary. These are generally
gliomas and do not present so much the symptoms of cord tumors as of
syringomyelia.
Vertebral tumors may be carcinoma (secondary), endothelioma, sarcoma,
osteosarcoma, as well as the non-malignant and cartilaginous or osseous
tumors, and parasitic cysts, i. e., echinococcus. The sarcomas are the most
common of all.
Symptoms.
—The symptoms of tumor of the spinal cord depend upon the part involved and
differ according as it involves the cervical, thoracic, or lumbar portions or the
cauda equina. They are to be classed as root symptoms and cord symptoms.
Root symptoms include pain, paresthesia, and hyperesthesia. The pain is
usually persistent, burning, and severe, affecting one side or the other, if the
tumor be laterally placed, or both sides if central. The pain follows the
distribution of the spinal roots rather than the course of the intercostal nerves,
i. e., is more horizontal and less oblique. These pains persist and have the
characteristic feature of not presenting painful points on pressure. They are
commonly referred to the abdomen, and may thus give rise to serious mistakes
in diagnosis, e. g., they have been regarded as due to hepatic colic, dry
pleurisy, appendicitis, etc. Pain may assume the girdle character, which is
usually accentuated by movement, and is frequently accompanied by herpes
zoster. The greater the involvement of the posterior roots the more painful the
condition. When the anterior sensory roots are involved pain may be wanting
and the disturbance assume a type of paresthesia, with final anesthesia, in
which case the patient would at first complain of numbness and prickling
sensations. There is sometimes noted a zone of hyperesthesia on the proximal
side of the anesthetic area, or this zone, if not hyperesthetic, may be replaced
by a condition of uncertainty of sensation.
The cord symptoms are the reliable ones, varying according to the segment
involved. The portions of the cord where lesions can be best localized are, for
instance, the third to the fifth cervical, including the origin of the phrenic nerve;
the fifth to the seventh cervical, where the posterior thoracic nerve comes off;
the seventh to the eighth cervical and first thoracic segments, where originate
the dilator nerves of the pupil. The upper border of the anesthetic area points to
a lesion of the next or second higher spinal segment than the level really
represents. The lowest level of the lesion corresponds to the highest level of
the sensory disturbance. The level of the segment area of the skin of the back
does not correspond to the level of the spinal segment involved, the latter being
higher up. The point of greatest sensitiveness over the spine is in many cases
a good guide to the segment involved, but is applicable only where the lesion is
posteriorly placed. The absence of pain or tenderness along the spine means
little or nothing, but their presence has great significance.
Diagnosis.—The diagnosis of a cord tumor covers, according to Krauss, a
first or subjective period, indicative of irritation along the posterior
roots, and is characterized by pain and paresthesia. This is followed in time by
a second or objective period which points to invasion of the spinal cord,
characterized mainly by weakness and later by paralysis, with disturbed tendon
reflexes. Diagnosis early is extremely difficult, for pain and disturbances of
sensation are produced in many ways.
Treatment.—The treatment of spinal-cord tumors is purely surgical and
should be instituted promptly so soon as diagnosis has been
made. Only in tumors of syphilitic origin will internal treatment be of any avail.
The therapeutic test having been made, should it seem wise, and proved futile,
the case should be regarded at once as surgical. According to Krauss’ statistics
nearly 40 per cent. of all operated cases have resulted in recovery, while in 35
cases of sarcoma 8 have resulted in recovery and 6 in improvement. This is
really a more gratifying statement than can be made with regard to brain
tumors, and should be regarded as lending encouragement to surgical
procedure.
The operative details will be discussed later in this chapter.

THE PERIPHERAL NERVES.

The remarks made concerning the surgical affections of and operations upon
nerves contained in the previous chapter, pertaining to the cranial nerves, will
apply equally well to the peripheral nervous system.
Constant pressure as well as contusions of nerves will cause more or less
paralysis. The surgeon occasionally sees manifestations of this kind in the so-
called “crutch paralysis,” due to pressure upon the brachial plexus by the use of
crutches, and in another form so generally associated with administration of an
anesthetic as to be called “ether paralysis.” It is another form of pressure
paralysis due to indifference in letting the arm, for instance, hang over the edge
of an operating table during anesthesia or operation. It does not call for
operation so much as for electricity, massage, and similar measures. Extreme
consequences of nerve and vessel injury are portrayed in Fig. 410.
Tumors of nerves are both benign and malignant, the former assuming the
fibromatous type oftener than any other, and frequently involving more than
one nerve trunk, attaining also considerable size and impairing or destroying
function by pressure. In addition to the true fibroma of nerve sheaths we have
the peculiar type of fibromas of nerve stumps seen after amputations, and the
multiple neuromas, again largely of the fibromatous type, which involve many
and in rare instances nearly all the peripheral nerves. Cases are on record
where as many as 1600 small and large tumors have been found, strung like
beads upon wires, along all the peripheral nerves throughout the body. Another
variety of fibromas of nerves involves those of the skin and produces small
painful subcutaneous nodules, although these may attain a considerable size.
Within the past few years there has been a much better familiarity with that
form of growth known as plexiform neuroma, in which entire nerve trunks are
involved, so that they become elongated, thickened, and tortuous, and
resemble a varicose condition of the veins. The plexiform neuromas are found
in any part of the body; they produce little or no pain, but lead to disturbances
of function, as well as to peculiar irregular swellings that may be mistaken for
lymphangioma, and which are often accompanied by pigmentation of and
growth of hair upon the overlying skin. (See chapter on Tumors.)
 For the various purposes already mentioned different nerve trunks and
plexuses are made accessible for operation by the following methods.
The Brachial Plexus.—The brachial plexus is reached through an incision
similar to that for ligation of the subclavian artery. After opening the deep fascia
the nerves are sought and found behind the subclavian vein and lying around
the artery. This plexus is stretched especially for the relief of choreiform spasm
or painful nervous affections. The various nerves of the upper extremity, after
leaving the brachial plexus, are made accessible to operations for grafting or
suture as below. (See Fig 406.)
The Median Nerve.—The median nerve lies in front of the brachial artery and is
exposed through an incision as if the artery were to be tied in its course. It may
also be found on the inner side of the tendon of the palmaris longus, where it
lies beneath the deep fascia.
The Ulnar Nerve.—The ulnar nerve is reached through practically the same
incision as the median, when it is sought in the middle of the arm, but is farther
back. It lies near the surface, just behind the inner condyle, between it and the
olecranon, and at the wrist it is on the radial side of the tendon of the flexor
carpi ulnaris.
 Fig. 410

Gangrene (mummification) of arm resulting from injury to nerves and vessels. (Preindlsberger.)

The Musculospiral Nerve.—The musculospiral nerve is found between the

heads of the triceps, where it lies in the groove which winds obliquely around
the humerus.
The Radial Nerve.—The radial nerve lies to the outer side of the radial artery,
three inches above the wrist. Should any of the nerves of the arm or forearm
have been cut by an accident which has produced an incised wound they
should be sought for in the wound if fresh, and in the neighborhood of the scar
if older, and should be reunited by suture, as already described.
The Great Sciatic Nerve.—In the lower extremity it is the great sciatic nerve
which is usually made the subject of operation. An incision midway between
the great trochanter and the tuberosity of the ischium, by which the lower
border of the gluteus muscle is exposed, will enable the surgeon to identify the
biceps, to divide the deep fascia, and find the sciatic nerve at the outer border
of the muscle. It is sought for the purpose of nerve stretching, and it may be
pulled completely out of the wound, while the entire weight of the limb may be
suspended by it.
The Tibial Nerve.—The tibial nerves may be exposed through incisions identical
with those indicated for ligation of the tibial arteries.
The Anterior Crural Nerve.—The anterior crural nerve lies in Scarpa’s triangle,
near Poupart’s ligament, on the outer side of the femoral artery.
Tetanus should be treated by injecting antitoxin into the main nerve trunks,
as well as into the spinal canal. The individual nerve trunks of the brachial
plexus may be exposed in the upper arm, where the point of the hypodermic
syringe needle may be inserted into their substance. The same expedient may
be employed with the sciatic or anterior crural trunks, through the incisions just
described. The same measures may be used in cocainizing the nerve trunks,
as suggested by Crile and others, and described in the chapter on Alterations
of Blood Pressure (p. 181).
Abbe has suggested to treat certain cases of inveterate neuralgia of the
peripheral nerves by an intraspinal division of the posterior nerve roots.
There has been added to the standard operations on nerves another
measure. This consists of grafting by means of foreign material; using a section
of nerve trunk removed freshly from some animal, or inserting catgut loops
between nerve ends which shall serve as trellises upon which the growing
nerve tissue may arrange itself. Powers, of Denver, has, for instance, reported
the implantation of four inches of the great sciatic nerve of a dog into the
external popliteal of a man. The results seemed to be good so far as sensation
was concerned, but negative as regards motion. Probably no method of nerve
grafting will give so good results as the utilization of a part of the nerve itself to
be operated upon, by partially detaching and turning back a portion of its
central end and uniting it to a similar flap made from the other end. Various
operators have made use of different materials for the purpose of forming a
tube around the nerve ends, and thus excluding other tissues. For this purpose
cargile membrane is perhaps as serviceable as any. When all other measures
fail the method by long catgut sutures may be adopted.

DISLOCATION OF NERVES.
A few of the nerve trunks may be displaced by injury in such a way that they
are liable to subsequent redislocation. The condition is recognized by the
mobility of the nerve trunk under the skin, by peculiar sensations when the
trunk is irritated, and often by tingling sensations referred to its distribution. The
condition is most common in connection with the ulnar nerve, just behind the
inner condyle. Should nothing else give relief the trunk should be cut down
upon and retained in place by suture or by fixation of other structures around it.
 WOUNDS OF THE SPINE AND CORD.
Penetrating Wounds.—Penetrating wounds of the spine occur both in
military and in civil practice. Sometimes the vertebræ
alone are injured; occasionally the spinal canal will be opened, with little injury
to the bone, only the cartilage suffering. All such injuries are serious in
proportion as the cord itself may be injured. Such injuries may be direct or
indirect. Should a large vessel have been divided the cord may suffer from
pressure of clot, and should this injury occur high in the spine, death may be
caused by pressure. The severity of such an injury is generally estimated by
phenomena pertaining to the nerve supply of parts below the wound. Should
anything indicate partial or complete division of the cord, or that a single nerve
trunk has been divided, then an operation is indicated for relief of symptoms,
and for nerve or cord suture except in those instances where destruction
seems to be too complete to warrant it.
Gunshot Injuries.—Gunshot injuries vary from small punctures and
penetrating wounds to extensive laceration. The lower the
injury the lower the mortality, other things being equal. Such injury to the
cervical region generally proves quickly fatal. The symptoms here are not
essentially different, save that the bullet may have done still more harm by
passing beyond the cord, and that to the signs of a penetrating wound may be
added those of a traumatic hemothorax or some other serious complication. It
is necessary to distinguish between mere stiffness of the back and
disinclination to use certain groups of muscles and absolute loss of motility. The
former may indicate contusion and the latter severance or pressure. After some
perforations cerebrospinal fluid will escape. In one instance I opened a spinal
canal for perforating gunshot wound with complete paralysis, and found not
only that the bullet had divided the cord but had passed through the vertebra
into the lung beyond. A very curious phenomenon presented in this case is that
when the passage was well opened air passed backward and forward through
the spinal wound, the patient thus partly breathing through his back.
PLATE XLVI
 Intraspinal Hemorrhage, mostly
Subdural, with Minute Subpial
Ecchymoses.

The effect of pressure from hemorrhage is practically the same whether it be

intradural or extradural, or occurring within the structure of the cord itself. The
presence of blood in the spinal canal is known as hematorrhachis, and when
occurring within the cord itself is termed hematomyelia. The typical symptoms
of sensory and motor paralysis, which serious pressure upon the cord always
produces, occur when produced by mere presence of fluid more slowly than
when due to the introduction of a foreign body or to comminution of the bone.
Diagnosis is then much facilitated if by the personal history it can be learned
that there was an interval after the reception of the injury and before the
occurrence of paralysis, during which the patient had reasonable use of the
parts later paralyzed. This interval may be one of but a few minutes’ duration or
may have extended over several hours.
When, on the other hand, such an interval lasting several days has been
noted, then the intraspinal lesion must be either one of acute degeneration or
of suppurative character. (See Plate XLVI.)
The question of operation in spinal hemorrhages will frequently be raised,
and is to be decided in part by the intensity of the symptoms and in part by the
character of the injury. Incomplete paralysis would indicate a lesser degree of
pressure and justify a hope that the outpoured blood may be resorbed. This
hope may be further encouraged should symptoms improve. On the other hand
symptoms of complete paralysis, indicating serious and extensive pressure
upon the cord, would justify a laminectomy, and make it even more
encouraging than though it were done for a crushing injury. The more serious
cases, then, of spinal hemorrhage would seem to justify exploration.
Until very recently it has been held that a complete cross-division of the
spinal cord must necessarily be followed by a hopeless paralytic condition, plus
the changes due to ascending degeneration of the upper segment. The results
of laboratory experiments have made this quite plain, and therefore it was a
startling innovation in surgery when Harte could report an experience
contradicting all that we had learned to believe in this regard. In spite, then, of
the fact that experimental suture of the cord after its division had not been
successful in animals we are now confronted by three more or less successful
cases reported by American surgeons, Estes, Harte, and Fowler, where the
spinal cord was sutured after division, with at least partial recovery of function.
In Harte’s case the operation was done three hours after injury; in Fowler’s
case ten days had elapsed. Fowler used chromicized catgut sutures in the cord
itself, with separate sutures of the dura with the same material, the principle
here being the same as in nerve suture, and the effort being to do as little harm
as possible with the needle and the suture material. After a simple division
there is but little tension, and the ends of the cord are easily approximated.
It has thus been proved that there is at least some possibility of regeneration
of the cord after such destructive lesions; but the cases which permit of or
justify this measure will be rare, although it is gratifying to learn that there has
been so much encouragement afforded by experiences reported.

THE SPINAL COLUMN.

SPINA BIFIDA; SPINAL MENINGOCELE.

Spina bifida is the result of a congenital defect in the construction of the
spine with incomplete closure of the spinal canal. The defect lies in the
posterior arches of the vertebræ; the bodies are rarely involved. For this reason
these lesions are centrally placed, i. e., in the middle line. The essential feature
of a spina bifida is protrusion of the spinal membranes, and they are, to all
intents and purposes, spinal meningoceles. These tumors sometimes have
only the thinnest of skin coverings; at other times they will be covered by
considerable masses of overlying fat or fibrous tissue.
These congenital tumors when more definitely described should be classified
as—
1. Meningocele, where there is simply a protrusion (hernia) of the dura, which
may be lined with some branches of the vertebral nerves;
2. Meningomyelocele, where some portion of the spinal cord proper is
included within the sac;
3. Syringomyelocele, where the central canal of the cord is dilated into a cyst
of some size, over which the structures of the cord proper are more or less
thinly spread out, the whole being covered with the spinal dura.
The first form is by far the simplest and most amenable to treatment. The
other forms are much more serious, and the third form is hopeless so far as
operative surgery is concerned.
The greater proportion of these cases occur in the lumbar region, at least 70
per cent. being met with in the lower region of the spine, including the sacrum.
It occurs occasionally in the neck and in the mid-dorsal region.
Fig. 411 illustrates the general appearance of such a tumor. The opening of
communication may be very small or may involve the arches of several
vertebræ. So with the tumor itself, it may be small and almost imperceptible, or
it may attain almost the size of a child’s head. The overlying skin is rarely
absent; it is usually covered with a growth of hair, and its presence in the region
of the spinous processes, coupled with the presence of any perceptible tumor,
should cause suspicions of the so-called spina bifida occulta.

Fig. 411

Spina bifida. (Bradford.)

 These tumors are situated in the middle line or very near to it, and are
compressible in proportion to the thinness of their coverings. When small they
can be collapsed by pressure, the same not infrequently causing pressure
symptoms, as the fluid is forced into the cranial cavity, such as coughing,
vomiting, vertigo, etc. If the fluid can be easily expressed from the sac the
opening may be regarded as relatively large. If pressure makes no alteration in
the size of the growth the case should then be regarded as one where the
small original communication has been closed by natural processes. Some of
these tumors have more or less of a pedicle and others are broadly sessile.
The tendency is ever toward increase in size, being rapid or slow according to
the thickness of the protecting membranes and the size of the opening. While
spontaneous occlusion may occur there is practically no spontaneous repair of
the bony defect. The surgeon should beware of a tumor of congenital origin
situated in or near the middle line, anywhere from the root of the nose, over the
head, and down to the tip of the coccyx. Such a tumor should be regarded with
suspicion until shown to be harmless. Many cases of spina bifida are
accompanied by other congenital defects, such as club-foot, or hydrocephalus.
Symptoms may or may not be present. When present they will be of the
paralytic type and affect those parts of the body below the level of the growth.
They are due to the involvement of the cord or the nerves. The ever-present
danger in such cases is of rupture with escape of the contents, with its
proportionate reduction of intraspinal pressure, and the possibilities of infection,
with rapid death from meningitis. Inasmuch as some of these cysts have such
thin walls that transillumination is possible it will be seen how great may be this
danger.
Treatment.—Treatment should be made to meet the indications. Only in
cases which are deemed inoperable should some protection be
relied upon and worn. This may be afforded by a common surgical dressing or
by means of a plaster-of-Paris or waxed gauze. A molded shield may be
prepared and so arranged upon a band or girdle as to protect the cyst from
external harm. Efforts to reduce the size of the tumor by pressure are futile and
useless. The skin may be protected by covering with collodion.
The radical treatment of spina bifida should only be attempted in favorable
cases, but in such instances can be made exceedingly satisfactory and
successful. A tumor with a small pedicle may be treated by ligation, the skin
being divided by elliptical incisions, the pedicle proper being surrounded by a
chromicized or silk suture and the sac then excised. When the pedicle is too
large to be treated in this way and yet not very large, it may be closed by
sutures after removal of the sac, and dropped downward into the spinal
opening, and the adjoining tissues made to close over it by buried and
superficial sutures. It is the larger and more sessile sacs which give rise to the
greatest difficulties. The attempt may be made to excise a greater portion of the
sac, to fold in its edges and to approximate these with sutures of fine chromic
catgut. The fold thus formed may be laid downward and upon the spinal
groove, the aponeurotic and other firm fibrous tissues in the neighborhood
being loosened sufficiently so that they may be brought together by buried
sutures, and the balance of the wound closed. I have a number of times been
able to introduce either strips of metal foil or thin pieces of celluloid, or, better
still, ivory trimmed to fit the bony defect, and so arranged as to be sprung into
grooves made on either side of the osseous canal. If ivory be used for this
purpose the thin small sheets which are used by miniature painters should be
procured.
Such operations should be made at the earliest practical moment; in infants
especially, but probably with all young patients, the head being maintained at a
much lower level than the sacrum in order that only the smallest quantity
possible of the cerebrospinal fluid may escape. I have also used a small
amount of weak cocaine solution after exposing the cord in the spinal canal, in
order that reflex impressions may be avoided so far as possible and shock thus
prevented. With a young patient the amount of cocaine to be thus used should
not exceed more than 2 or 3 Mg.
Osteoplastic methods have also been devised for the purpose and may be
practised in cases permitting them.
Many of these cases do not come to operation until the skin is excoriated or
ulcerated. It is exceedingly difficult under these circumstances to make an
aseptic operation. The subsequent difficulties of maintaining asepsis should
also be foreseen, especially when lesions are located low in the spine and in
little patients, as soiling from diapers and discharges is so easy. After such
operations oiled silk, or gutta-percha tissue should be fastened around the
pelvis by rubber cement, in such a way as to make a water-tight covering for
the deep surgical dressings, and this line of junction should be scrutinized
frequently. These operations often give satisfactory results.

CYSTS AND COCCYGEAL TUMORS.

Many congenital tumors are met with about the region of the sacrum and
coccyx, some of which have the essential characteristics of meningocele, while
others are rather of the dermoid or embryonal variety. Tumors of great size
develop from the region of the coccyx, and many are of interest to the
pathologist.
True dermoids often begin to develop within the pelvis and then escape
therefrom in this vicinity, some of them containing soft epithelial products,
others being dense and hard. (See Figs. 72 and 73, p. 266.)