Dr Tall, Dark...and Dangerous?. Lynne Marshall
want. If I can help make them happy with their appearance, I’ll be glad to do it.”
The man was definitely toeing the line on plastic surgery, and she was beginning to believe his sincerity.
Somewhere during the conversation Kasey had slipped into the shadows of her mind, leaving Vincent to stir up mischief and Jared willingly joining in. She’d heard the retold saga of Vincent’s childhood in Kansas and what had brought him to Boston. She’d also gathered some interesting information about Jared’s fifteen-year marriage to his college sweetheart, Patrice, and how over the years his ex had changed into a shopaholic, how it had ruined their marriage and caused their divorce two years ago. She also knew one-sided stories were never accurate, and wondered what the rest of that tale was. She suspected he was still hurting about the break-up of his family, and even thought about commenting on that, though didn’t get that far.
With all the open conversation, Kasey hadn’t managed to share a single thing about herself.
Kasey’s mind slipped back to the latest news, the worst news of her life. She’d managed to distract herself the last couple of hours with the male company and pale ale, yet now it tiptoed back into her thoughts and soured her stomach.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Vincent prodded.
“Yeah, what about you?” Jared said. “Don’t you have any dating war stories?”
She laughed and swiped at the air, her idea of feeling cavalier about life’s major curve balls. “You guys don’t have anything to complain about.”
Vincent’s cellphone rang. He checked who it was, his eyes going wide. “Speak of the devil.”
Kasey faked a grin for Jared, who returned a benign smile, while Vincent took the call. She tore her bar napkin into three soggy parts while mulling over her news. The waitress arrived, and Jared ordered for them, though Vincent shook his head. Jared glanced at Kasey again, one brow raised.
Sure. What the heck. I’m living life moment to moment now, right? She nodded, and Jared ordered for both of them.
Vincent finished his call. “It’s been great, but I’ve got to go.” He fished in his pocket for cash for his share of the bar bill.
“You’re leaving?” Kasey said, as in was he leaving her there alone with Dr. Finch?
“A certain someone has come to their senses.”
“Returning all the CDs and DVDs?” Jared said, surprising Kasey that he’d actually been following along.
Vincent looked startled. “Oh, good point. I’ll make sure of it.” He flashed his winning smile, kissed Kasey on the cheek, and left.
Wait! I need to talk to you!
What the heck was she supposed to do now?
Jared didn’t move to the opposite side of the table, which made a little knot form in her stomach. The waitress brought the drinks and he paid, not giving Kasey a chance to chip in. The tummy knot got tighter. When the server left, he raised his glass to her and took a drink. She joined him.
This socializing business could get long and painful, trying to be polite and having absolutely nothing to talk about. Or he’d finish his drink and get up and leave, and could she blame him Someone had to start a conversation, so it may as well be her.
“What are your kids’ names?”
“Chloe and Patrick.” His face immediately lit up. “She’s ten and he’s twelve. Great kids.” He got out his smartphone and found their pictures. She admired the bright smiles and happy eyes. Both children had their father’s eyes.
“You have kids?” he asked.
“No. I’m not married.” Well, that hadn’t stopped her mother.
He sat for a few moments, pondering her answer. “So tell me,” he said, “what was it like, growing up in Boston?”
Yeah, they really didn’t have a thing to talk about.
“Actually, I’m a south shore girl. I grew up in Kingston, which is close to Plymouth. My mom and I lived with my grandmother.” She left out the part about her mom cleaning houses for the rich ladies of Duxbury, and how she could never afford to move the two of them out on their own. “I guess it’s like growing up any other place.”
“What does ‘south shore’ mean?”
“That I grew up south of Boston. Now, I guess, since I had the opportunity to open the community clinic and move to Everett, you could call me a ‘north shore’ girl.”
He gave her a blank stare. She was failing miserably as a pub buddy.
“In my heart I’ll always be a south shore girl, I guess.” She wanted to squirm, his lack of interest was so noticeable. What was the first rule of socialization? People loved to talk about themselves. Ask him a question.
“What part of California are you from?”
“L.A.”
“Are you the only doctor in your family?”
“Yes. Mom was a teacher and Dad ran a small business in Echo Park. My brother’s a fireman.”
So he hadn’t come from money, like she’d assumed. See, asking questions always helped break the ice.
They chatted about his upbringing, having to yell back and forth in order to be heard over the ever-increasing Friday-night crowd at the pub as they finished their drinks.
“You feel like some coffee?” he said. “The noise is getting to me.”
Surprised by his invitation, she nodded. “Sounds good.” She wasn’t ready to be alone with her morbid thoughts, which had subsided while engaged in small talk with Jared.
Jared watched Kasey as she exited the pub. She’d worn straight-legged jeans rolled up at the ankles, candy-apple red flats, a matching blouse with ruffles down the front, which accentuated her bust, and an oatmeal-colored extra-long sweater with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. The street lights made all the loose hair around her head look like a halo. He liked the shape of her face, didn’t even mind the batch of earrings on both ears or the Boston accent. It was cute and not whiny, like some of the women he’d heard since moving east. Maybe it had to do with the south-shore versus north-shore girl bit, but what did he know?
She was different from most women he’d been around lately, too. After giving it some thought, he decided it was because of a decided lack of pretentiousness. She seemed grounded, wanted to work with the folks who needed her the most, and she wasn’t seduced by the almighty dollar like so many people in his life. Hell, like him.
Two doors down he found the local coffee bar, and held the door open for her. She seemed a little unstable on her feet—maybe he shouldn’t have bought her that last beer—so he guided her by the elbow to an empty table. “What do you drink?”
She rattled off her latte order, tagging on fat-free milk. He made the order and waited for the drinks while she went to the bathroom. When they met up back at the table, he could tell she’d brushed her hair and put on more lipstick, and wondered if she’d done it for him. The thought, whether true or not, pleased him.
They shared a few sips of coffee in silence. She seemed tense, and he figured it was because she felt stuck with him. He didn’t feel the same. In fact, he was glad to have someone to talk to and wished he could make her relax. Truth was, if she couldn’t settle down after a couple of beers, there was no helping her.
“I got some pumpkin bread,” he said. “Want to share?”
She smiled and took half. “Thanks.” She was generous with her smiles, and he liked that.
“Can I get your opinion about something?” he said, just before popping a pinch of bread into his mouth.
She blew over her cup and nodded. “Sure.”