Dr Tall, Dark...and Dangerous?

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.”

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