Читать книгу Dr Tall, Dark...and Dangerous? - Lynne Marshall - Страница 9

FRIDAY night, hidden in a booth and lost in the noise of the local Pub, Kasey took another sip of her beer. She’d asked Vincent to join her for dinner, her treat, hoping to work up the nerve to tell him her troubles. So far they’d each had a deli sandwich, hers the chicken breast, his the beef dip, and they’d shared a Caesar salad. Vincent had just ordered a second round of beer, yet she still hadn’t broached the subject etched in her genes and squeezing her heart.

“O. M. G., look!” Vincent pointed to the bar with the neck of his low-calorie beer bottle. “It’s him, Dr. Tall, Dark, and Gorgeous.”

Kasey almost choked on her drink when her eyes focused on the broad shoulders covered in a well-cut jacket, and the trim hips and jeans-clad legs. Though from Vincent’s perspective Dr. Finch might be, she wouldn’t go so far as to call him tall, but somewhere more in the vicinity of five eleven or so. Why split hairs, when the conclusion was the same? The man was a hunk.

Speaking of hair, and since she was now officially living her life for the moment, waves like those gave her the urge to run her fingers through them, just to see how they felt. She glanced at Vincent and realized he was probably thinking the same thing, and it made her blurt out a laugh. They shared the same taste in men. Where Jared Finch might possess superb physical traits, he sorely lacked both personality and charm, going from the short encounter she’d had with him. Looks could only take a man so far in her opinion. Maybe she wasn’t the only person in the world with problems? Kasey continued to glance toward the bar, intrigued.

“I wonder what he’s doing here,” she said.

“Well, duh, drinking!” Vincent reached across the booth table and patted her hands. “He must be human, just like us. Isn’t that sweet?”

Vincent had been teased mercilessly all his life about his carrot-top hair, which he now kept meticulously combed and perfectly spiked, resembling a torch on top. If the red hair didn’t set him apart, his alabaster-white skin dotted with free-flowing freckles sealed the deal when combined with his fastidious style of dress and precise mannerisms. He’d survived a tough childhood and now lived life exactly as he pleased. As a result he owned the sweetest content smile on the planet. Right now he shared that smile with Kasey. Sparkles beamed from his eyes—even in the darkened pub Kasey could see them—as he watched Jared standing at the bar, hoisting a mug, taking a swig and watching the Red Sox on the big screen.

“I don’t think he’s with anyone,” Vincent said. “I’m going to invite him over.” He shot out of the booth and zigzagged through the crowd before Kasey had a chance to stop him.

“Don’t do that!” she said, her voice overpowered by piped-in Irish rock music as he was halfway across the bar. “I need to talk to you … tell you my horrible news. And that guy’s a real pill.”

Biting her lips, she refused to watch Vincent. Instead, she cringed, took another drink of her beer and hoped Dr. Finch had a short memory. Or that he thought Vincent was too forward and invading his privacy and refused to associate with subordinates. That would suit his attitude.

Unable to stand the suspense, she glanced from the corner of her eye toward the bar. Damn, the men were both headed for the booth. She sat straighter and fussed with her bangs, then wished she hadn’t left her hair in the French braid tucked under at her nape. They’d come here straight from work, and a whole lot of hair had escaped since that morning, judging by the tendrils tickling her neck. She must look a mess, and what had been completely acceptable for spending time with Vincent would now fail miserably for making an impression on Vincent’s Dr. Tall, Dark, and Gorgeous. Why should she care?

Catching an errant strand of hair and tucking it behind her ear, another pang of anxiety got her attention. What the heck was she supposed to talk about? The plan had been to wine and dine Vincent, then tell him her woes, not have a social encounter with an aloof plastic surgeon. She hated it when her plans didn’t work out.

When Jared arrived at the booth, his tentative smile made her suspicious he’d had a drink or two already, since friendliness hadn’t been his strong suit at the clinic. “Hi,” he said. “I was just on my way out when Vinnie caught me.”

Vincent preened in the background over his job well done.

“Hi, Dr. Finch, what are you doing here?” she said, ignoring her gloating friend and cringing over the lame question.

“Having a drink—what else?” He pinched his brows together and glanced around the pub just as a group of three waiters broke into song at the booth next to theirs. They sang “Happy birthday” to a young woman who didn’t look a day over sixteen, though they served her a fancy umbrella drink with a flaming candle in it, so she had to be at least twenty-one. Yep, by the end of the song they’d sung, “Happy twenty-first birthday to Shauna”.

“I feel so old,” Jared said, after watching the celebration. “Is there an upper age limit at this bar? No one over thirty allowed?”

“Oh, no. That’s not what I meant when I asked what you were doing here. What I meant was I’m just surprised to see you here, that’s all.” This was more of a locals bar, not a place for doctors, especially future plastic surgeons.

He sat next to her, and she scooted several inches in the other direction, though there wasn’t far to go, her hands clutching the glass of pale ale. “And, besides, if the age limit is thirty, I’d be too old, too.”

“You’re not over thirty, are you?” He sat with a hand on each knee, back to looking stiff and out of his element.

“Thirty-two last January.” She didn’t care if he knew her age—she wasn’t looking for his approval.

“I would have pegged you around twenty-six or-seven.”

Well, then. She sat a little straighter. Yes, he was being nice, she knew it, but nevertheless he’d scored a few plus points over the unintentional compliment. His attempt to be kind was a far cry from the standoffish guy she’d met the other day.

“Now I know you’ve had a couple of pints.” She felt the blush from his compliment as deeply as when she’d been twelve and regularly embarrassed. How silly was that?

He stopped just before he finished off his dark brew. “From these thirty-nine-year-old eyes, you look twenty-six. Trust me.”

“How old do I look?” Vincent asked, looking a little desperate to get into the game.

“Vinnie, I’m thinking twenty-four.”

Vincent giggled, actually giggled. “Oh, Doctor, you’re so funny, I’m thirty. And could you call me Vincent, please?”

“Apologies, Vincent. Then we’re all over the hill. Good. I don’t relate to the younger generation, anyway. All the face piercings and tattoos, fake boobs.”

Kasey took another swallow of beer to help the dry patch in her throat as she thought about the four silver hoops in various sizes in both of her ears, the silver ball in her left tragus, the small rose tattoo hidden on her right hip, and the hummingbird on her left shoulder. Her breasts were her own, though. She sat a little straighter, thinking about it. “But you’re going to be a plastic surgeon, so won’t you be augmenting a lot of those ‘boobs’?”

“I’m depending on it. Lots of cash in breast augmentation. And lipo. Ah, and we can’t forget Brazilian butt lifts. Big bucks there, too.”

He seemed too caught up with the money side of the job, and it made her subtract some of those points she’d just awarded him. Her thoughts must have shown on her face.

“There’s nothing wrong with helping people look the way they want,” Vincent said, practically shushing her as if she’d been rude to their guest.

“Within reason.” For some crazy reason—maybe the second half of the pale ale—she wasn’t ready to back down. “You wouldn’t give anyone cat eyes if they asked, would you? Or a doll’s nose, or pull someone’s face so tight they looked like they’d just hit G-force?”

Surprising her, Jared gave a good-hearted laugh—a deep, really nice-sounding laugh, which suited his urbane appearance and classy charm. “I’ve often wondered if some plastic surgeons forget their oaths to do no harm.” He touched her forearm, sending her focus away from his mesmerizing eyes. “You’d probably think less of me if I said, ‘If the price was right’, so I won’t answer that question.”

His dodge disappointed her, and he looked less handsome for it. Then she mentally kicked herself, wondering who was shallower, him for doing what his patients asked or her for getting all caught up in a man with an intriguing face before knowing a single thing about him.

Everyone around the table stared at their drinks. The silence had gone on long enough.

“You’re not from Massachusetts, are you?” she said.

He shook his head. “California.”

“What brings you out this way?” Vincent asked.

“My kids.” He got a distant, almost pained look in his eyes, but quickly snapped out of it. “They go to school out here.” He took a long swig of his drink. “My ex-wife insisted on sending them to an exclusive boarding school back east, which meant moving across country and driving two hours in order to see them every other weekend.”

“So does your ex live here too?” Vincent asked.

“Nope. Patrice is still back in California.”

This earnest dad who’d do anything, including move across the country, to be near his kids, took her by surprise. If she had been keeping tally, he’d moved back up the plus column. “I’ve heard it’s a great school.” Meaning it was expensive.

“Oh, yeah, the best.” He finished another long drink. “Which is the main reason I chose plastic surgery this time around.” He gave an I-don’t-give-a-damn-what-you-think glance, meant only for Kasey.

Yes, he came off gruff and uncaring, and maybe a little drunk to be talking about this with near strangers, but Kasey saw through the façade and did the math. He had an ex-wife who got alimony and kids in a private school. The man was upgrading his pay scale by going into plastic surgery. A perfectly respectable specialty in this day and age so she wasn’t going to come down hard on him for that.

Her father had never even tried to find her. This guy had moved across the country to be near his kids.

He took a long draw on the last of his beer. Vincent waved his hand to the passing waitress and ordered another round. “You’re not driving, are you, Dr. Finch?”

“Call me Jared. Actually, I’m within walking distance of here. What about you guys?”

“The T,” Kasey and Vincent answered in unison, then locked pinky fingers. “Jinx, one, two, three, you owe me a beer,” they also said in unison.

Jared cocked his head, glancing at Kasey and Vincent. “I keep forgetting I’m not in California any more. We can’t live without our cars.” Ignoring the pinky locking, he pinned Kasey with an inquisitive look. “Do you feel safe riding the T at night?”

“As a woman, I’m never completely comfortable commuting after dark, but as long as I’m home before midnight, I’m okay with it. Anyway, after the T there’s a bus that takes me right to my street corner. It works out pretty well.”

Jared glanced across at Vincent. “You’re not seeing her home?”

“She’s my best friend, but also a big girl, and I’m a big boy in the big city. Besides, I live in Jamaica Plains at the other end of the Orange line, and she lives in Everette. We’re okay with that, aren’t we, Kase?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, just as the waitress delivered their next round of beers. “I’m fine with that. If you can’t handle the transportation, get out of the city, I always say.”

From across the booth Vincent reached for a high five and she joined him, grateful she wasn’t drinking on an empty stomach and wondering what the heck Dr. TD&G thought about their childish antics. Ah, what did she care? After next Tuesday he’d only have another eight to ten hours left to volunteer at the clinic and then she’d never see him again anyway.

By the end of the next beer even Jared had loosened up and the conversation had run the gamut from surviving while going to school to favorite pubs in the area to bad break-ups. And Kasey’s head had started to spin with all the details.

“This certain person, who shall rename mainless,” Vincent said, and giggled. “I mean shall remain nameless, took all my favorite CDs and DVDs before we broke up. Should’ve seen it coming, I guess.”

“No, no, no.” Jared said. “You have no idea what a real break-up is. California style. I’ve been a doctor for thirteen years and I’m living in a basement apartment with rented furniture, thanks to my ex.”

“So that’s why you’re going into plastic surgery,” Vincent said, with a poor-baby gaze in his eyes.

“Absolutely. Plus the fact I believe people should be able to look the way they 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.”

“Do you think little girls should be allowed to dress like small adults?”

Obviously, this wasn’t the turn she’d expected the conversation to take. She pulled in her chin and thought for a second or two. “No. As a matter of fact, I resent little kids looking better in the latest styles than I do.”

“Yeah, well, I’m glad my kids’ private school has a dress code, because sometimes I think Chloe’s taste in clothes is far beyond her years.”

“Sounds like a sore spot.”

“Yeah. I don’t like to argue with her about it. As long as she dresses within reason, I’m okay, but sometimes she looks like a tiny adult.” He grinned. “That’s when I pull out the phone and take her picture, text it to my ex and let her weigh in on the outfit. If she approves, I keep my trap shut, but sometimes, well, let’s just say I miss my girl in her overalls and flowered T-shirts, you know?”

He wasn’t trying to impress Kasey or anything, but he caught a look of longing in her eyes, as if she really dug guys who worried about their daughters. “It wasn’t my idea,” he said, noticing a touch of confusion in her expressive eyes. “The divorce.”

“So you didn’t divorce purely on shopaholic grounds?” Her knowing gaze told him he hadn’t fooled her for a minute back at the bar.

He offered a humble smile. “Maybe the fact I was never around, always working on developing my private practice, had something to do with her turning to shopping. I guess it filled a void but, damn, practically every penny I made she spent.”

“Did you guys seek counseling?”

He nodded. “Too little, too late. I wish my ex well and all, I’d just like to have more say in my kids’ lives.”

“You should have input since you’re their dad.”

He gave her an earnest smile before he took another drink. She seemed surprised by it, with a quick yet subtle double-take before returning his smile.

“Thanks for being honest,” she said, popping another bite of pumpkin bread into her mouth. “We’ve all got problems. Sometimes we need to get them off our chest. Not that I’m asking you to unload all your gripes about your ex on me or anything.”

He laughed. “No-o-o, I wouldn’t do that. I’m sure she’s got her share of gripes, too.”

“Again, thanks.” She took a dainty sip and he really liked watching her, making him wonder what was up with that.

“You seem pretty well set up. No husband. No kids. You get to run a busy clinic. Make a differ—” Her lasersharp stare stopped him in mid-word. “What?”

“I just found out I have a fifty-fifty chance of developing Huntington’s,” she said, with a defiant, subtly quivering smile.

Why she had let her dark secret slip out to Jared, she had no clue. Maybe it was because he’d opened up about his family and his frustrations as a father. Or because he tried to make her life sound all rosy-toes. From her perspective at least his problems were fixable. Maybe it was because she needed to get the burden of truth off her chest, and Vincent wasn’t around, and tonight was the night she’d planned to tell him. Whatever the reason, she’d said it, quite out of the blue, and from the sinking in her stomach, wished she could take it back, or at least stop her eyes from welling up. Darn it. The last thing she wanted to do was go all emotional on him. Not here. Not in public.

His gaze went stone cold, his body rigid. Dead silence ensued. Kasey could have sworn the coffee-bar music, which was quiet compared to the bar, got turned down ten more notches.

She knew the second the words had slipped out of her mouth she’d made a huge mistake. This wasn’t how she’d planned to tell someone. She’d wanted to tell Vincent, cry on his shoulder, let him soothe her, not tell a man she’d only just met. She’d never had any intention of telling Dr. Finch!

It was too late to take back the words and, oh, God, the look on his face, his startled gaze, was more than she could bear. She didn’t want his sympathy. The truth of the matter was she’d needed to tell someone before she exploded and now that she’d said it she couldn’t take it back.

Jared leaned in and looked at her with sad and serious eyes. “Wouldn’t you have already known if one of your parents had the disease?”

“Just got word my father died from it. I never knew him. Listen, I didn’t mean to say that. I certainly didn’t mean to hijack the conversation, but …”

Jared clamped his hand on her forearm. “This is tough news. You should’ve told me to shut the hell up with all my trivial griping. Have you taken the blood test yet?”

She shook her head.

“You need to have that test. You’ll go crazy with worry until you know for sure.”

“Tell me about it,” she said. “I found out three days ago, and I can barely function.”

“I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long! Listen, we’ve got a great genetic research department, I’ll arrange for you to have the test ASAP.”

“I can get it done …”

“Let me help you,” Jared said. “Now is no time to flaunt your big-girl panties. I get it that you’re an independent, big-city woman raised by a single parent, and you can handle everything by yourself, but just this once why not let someone else help you out?”

Was that what he’d taken away from their conversation tonight? That she was hard-headed and fiercely independent? Right now she felt anything but. Or maybe he saw her as impossibly stubborn. Either way, she was shutting him out with her response.

Hadn’t she recently given herself a lecture about needing more than two friends? The man had just offered to help her out. She should take it and be grateful.

“Okay.” She glanced at Jared and forced a smile. “Thanks. Let me know when to have the blood drawn and where to go.”

“I’ll get right on it first thing Monday.” He removed his hand from her arm and she immediately missed the warmth. He withdrew his cellphone and entered a note. “Maybe Vincent can go with you for moral support.”

She nodded her thanks. “That’s a thought.” She really didn’t want to go through this alone, and having Vincent’s support would mean the world to her, that was when she finally had a chance to tell him. Who would have thought she’d first blurt out her news to a near stranger?

“Oh, and another thing,” Jared said, putting his phone away.

She looked into his steady, concerned gaze.

“You’re not riding the T home by yourself tonight. I’m coming with you.”

After a brisk walk a couple of blocks to the station, they entered to the T. She didn’t even have to open her wallet to use her magnetic card to open the gate. Being from California, the whole public transportation thing still amused Jared. Seeing him fiddle in his pockets, searching for his Charlie card, she handed him her wallet.

“Here, you can use mine. I’ve got a bundle on it.”

“Thanks.” He took it and placed it over the card reader, waiting for the blip and the gate to pop open. Once inside, they rushed towards the red line, heading for Ashmont. She knew what she was doing, had probably ridden this line a thousand times. He followed along, making mental notes to do the reverse when it was time to go home.

She strode along, looking the picture of health and confidence, yet she’d been delivered a blow that would have brought most people to their knees. Huntington’s. Man, oh, man.

Granted there was a fifty percent chance she wouldn’t have the marker and develop the symptoms, and he hoped that would be the case, but it was still a raw deal. She seemed in her prime and deserved all that life could give her. It simply wasn’t fair.

She glanced back as if to make sure he was keeping up, and her soft smile and friendly eyes tugged at his heart. She’d gone from mere business associate to a woman who needed protecting in one evening, and though it was the last thing he wanted to get involved in—he had enough going on already—he felt compelled to be there for her.

Crazy. Absolutely crazy. He hardly knew her. It wasn’t his style. He had enough people depending on him already. Surely she had other friends and family around. At least there was Vincent. Yeah, Vincent would be there for her.

She’d never known her father, and didn’t seem to be close to her mother. At least that was what he’d gathered from their conversation tonight. She needed a friend, that’s all. Was that so much to ask? Yes, as a matter of fact, it was. Relationships of any kind were definitely out for him at this stage as he was still smarting from the divorce. He glanced at her again and felt a firm yank on his heart. Aw, hell, maybe he should make the effort to be a friend before he forgot how it felt. Could he even do “friend” any more?

Did he really want to be a friend? Being a friend meant having a friend. So far, other than medical professionals, he didn’t have a single friend in Boston, and it had suited him just fine. Except for when he wanted to go to a Sox game and didn’t have anyone to go with, or when he didn’t feel like eating alone. Again.

Train fumes invaded his nostrils, a street musician played classical guitar in the corner. A thick crowd of people pushed toward the automatic doors on the train as they opened. He strode in front of her and helped her on board, guiding her at the small of her back. He thought he saw a flicker of surprise in her glance as she boarded. Her eyes were soft and green, and, as hard as he tried not to, he liked them.

Once the doors closed, and they’d both grabbed a pole to hang onto, she looked at him. “What a coincidence, seeing you at the pub tonight.”

Should he tell her he couldn’t stand the thought of going home to his empty apartment to eat alone on a Friday night? “I heard they had great pastrami sandwiches and I wanted to watch the Sox game because they played the Los Angeles Angels.”

She nodded. Maybe she believed him, maybe not. “I love their deli food, too. Do you go there often?”

“Once in a while.” Hey, she’d been brutally honest with him, the least he could do was be honest back. With a look of chagrin, he started. “Truth is I hit that pub every other Friday night, same routine. Pastrami. Beer. Ball game. The other weekends I have visitation rights with my kids. Then I head out to the school and stay overnight at a motel so I’ll be there bright and early to take my kids for breakfast on Saturday morning.”