by Aly Martinez
Her deep-brown eyes flashed back and forth between mine, searching. “You’re freaking me out.”
I chuckled. “You’re kinda freaking me out too.”
“Maybe you could…back up, then?”
Unmoving, I confirmed, “I absolutely could.”
“Today?” she pressed, but she was still wearing that virtually undetectable smile.
No. This woman wasn’t rude. Or bitchy. She was simply surviving.
Just like me.
Shaking my head, I forced myself to snap out of it before I scared her off. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”
She nervously looked away only for her gaze to bounce back to mine. “For what part? Ruining the burgers or challenging the laws of personal space?”
I blew out a hard breath and went for humor. “Ruining the burgers?” I pointed to the box of rejects. “You might call that burnt, but I call it food safety. No one is getting E. coli on my watch.”
She aimed that smile up at me. And it wasn’t fake. It wasn’t a mask. It wasn’t even hollow.
It was downright playful.
And unbelievably stunning.
I kept talking for fear it would disappear. “Really, it’s a genetic condition. I didn’t get the gene for charbroiling raw meat.”
“Did you get the gene for passing raw meat?” she asked, the side of her mouth twitching as she tried to wipe away my fucking favorite smile.
I grinned. “I got two of those, actually.” I twisted my hands in the air and made a show of walking backwards to the cooler. After retrieving a stainless-steel tray, I carried it back to her.
“Wow,” she breathed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone carry meat like that before.”
I shrugged. “I harness my powers for good.”
“The world needs more heroes like you,” she told the grill as that tiny smile spread impossibly wide.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as if I’d witnessed a miracle.
“I do what I can for humanity.”
And then she gave me one better.
A real, honest-to-God giggle rang through the air.
Fuck. This woman.
She started placing patties in a rectangle around the outside edges of the heat. “So, tell me, Grill Master Max. How’d you get this job?”
“Surprisingly enough, a dead dog.”
Her head snapped up. “Please, God, tell me that’s not your secret ingredient.”
I barked a laugh. “Hardly. That right there is a mixture of Wagyu, USDA Prime, and Argentinean free-range sirloin.”
She curled her lip. “Wagyu?”
I winked arrogantly. “It’s a thing. Look it up.”
She pointed at me with the tongs. “Oh, I will, and if I find out it’s a breed of canine, I’m calling the health department.”
Chuckling, I opened my mouth to give what was surely going to be a witty response, but everything suddenly changed.
“Lucas,” a woman called.
My gorgeous woman spun so fast that you would have thought she was on fire.
Concerned, I followed her gaze to a little boy. He was no older than two, toddling over, his mother hot on his heels.
“Slow down, buddy,” the mother cooed, scooping the child up before he had a chance to get under the rope.
The whole interaction was utterly innocent, which only made it that much more puzzling when the spatula fell from her hand and she stumbled back a step.
On pure instinct, I caught her bicep to keep her from hitting the grill. “Hey, are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she lied with a practiced ease, her gaze never leaving the departing mother.
Her chest heaved, and her anxiety was palpable, sparking mine to life as well.
As she swayed into me, her shoulder tucked under my arm and her hand clung to my forearm.
Sliding my arm around her hips, I pulled her closer and took some of her weight.
“Are you…” I trailed off. There was no point finishing the question. She wasn’t okay in any fashion.
I knew that feeling too.
“Lucas,” she whispered on a jagged breath, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as though she were trying to catch the word before it had fully escaped.
I glanced to where the woman and her child had disappeared into the crowd and asked, “Do you know that little boy?”
It took her several seconds to reply. “No. I don’t,” she whispered like it was a pained confession.
And then I lost her all over again.
As if someone had snapped their fingers to break her trance, she suddenly pushed out of my arms. “I’m good.”
I frowned when the shake of her hands said otherwise. “Listen—”
“Really. I’m fine.” Tilting her head back, she met my gaze and it was one of the most incredible things I’d ever witnessed. And not in a good way.
A wall came down, dividing her from me—and the rest of the world. Her eyes grew distant, and while her shoulders fell only a fraction of an inch, that slight change was enough to transform her from the beautiful woman with the secret smile to a shattered woman barely able to stand.
It was familiar.
Too familiar.
“I have to go,” she whispered.
“Don’t.” I reached out for her, my pulse quickening.
She dodged my touch. “Can you…uh…do me a favor and tell Rita that I got called up to the hospital?”
“Stay and help me cook. I’ll drive you there after we finish,” I bargained, worry thick in my voice. She didn’t need to be driving anywhere. Not like that.
She shook her head and started away, my anxiety growing with her every step.
“Wait,” I called. But what the hell else was I going to say?
Maybe I had it all wrong.
Maybe we didn’t share a mutual pain.
Maybe I was doing what I did best and allowing my worst-case-scenario mind to run the show.
Or maybe I had it exactly right and was allowing her to slip through my fingers when she needed someone the most.
“Shit,” I mumbled as she jogged away, not even leaving so much as her name behind.
“Sorry I’m late,” Tanner said, ducking under the rope.
A combination of shock and relief washed over me. “What are you doing here?”
He chuckled and lifted the lid on the grill, shaking his head as his gaze drifted down to my cardboard box. “Jesus. I was just fucking with you about not coming. I didn’t seriously think you’d start cooking.”
I wanted to be pissed that my brother was such a jackass, but my mind was still with the despondent woman I’d let escape.
Suddenly, Rita’s voice joined the conversation. “Hey. How’d it go?”
I swallowed hard and tried to get my head back in the game. I was there for Travis. I couldn’t afford to forget that.
“Well, I almost lit the place on fire.” I hooked my thumb over my shoulder at Tanner. “But we should be good now.”
“No. I meant with Charlotte.”
I blinked, her words slowly filtering through me—before crushing me to the ground. “Charlotte?” I asked, because there was no way I’d heard her correctly.
Her eyes gentled, and her lips thinned. “She told you no, didn’t she?”
No fucking way.
I closed my eyes and dropped my chin to my chest. “Please, God, tell me that wasn’t Dr. Mills?”
“Shit,” she mumbled. “I sent her over so you could talk to her. I figured you already had when I saw her take off.”
“No,” I laughed without humor. “I didn’t know who she was!”
Reading my emotions, Tanner moved in beside me. “Well, send her back over. I’d love to meet her.”
“She left. She had to go to the hospital,” I announced, planting one hand on my hip and raking the other through my hair.
Son of a bitch!
How could I have let this happen?
“Porter, honey,” Rita soothed. “I
f it’s any consolation, she was never going to agree to see your boy.”
After sinking down onto the cooler, I dropped my elbows to my knees. “You don’t know that. I could have persuaded her.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Tanner said confidently, patting me on the thigh. “Whatever you need, I’ll make it happen.”
So maybe my brother wasn’t a total jackass, but his promise didn’t exactly fill me with hope, either.
“I’m really sorry,” Rita said. “It’s just Charlotte. She’s…”
Broken.
Ruined.
Shattered.
Just. Fucking. Like. Me.
But my son needed her.
Visions of Travis sitting on the side of the tub, drenched in sweat, heaving for a single breath, assaulted me. He’d been released from the hospital after one night this time.
But what about the next time?
And the next?
What about the one fucking time he didn’t come home?
Panic blasted through me.
Okay. I could figure this out. What choice did I have?
“What hospital?” I asked, pushing to my feet.
“Uh…” Rita drawled, her wide eyes flashing between me and my brother. “I’m not sure I can divulge that information.”
I took a step toward her, Tanner on my heels. “I’m not going to cause her any trouble. But, to be honest, she didn’t look good when she rushed out of here. Something spooked her. Some kid named Lucas.”
Rita gasped, and her face drained of color.
Her reaction fueled my fire.
“I just want to make sure she got to the hospital safely.” And then do whatever the fuck I had to do to get my son into her office first thing on Monday morning. “I’ll take her lunch.”
Tanner took the cue and headed to his station, placing two fresh burgers on the grill.
Folding my hands in prayer, I lifted them to Rita. “Please.”
Her face grew soft. “It’s not going to work.”
“Maybe not. But, worst case, she gets something to eat and I get a door shut in my face. Let me try. That’s all I’m asking.”
Consideration danced through her features for a second longer. “Oh, all right. Emory…and medium rare, extra mustard and pickles.”
Hope exploded within me as I swung my head to my brother, a victorious grin pulling at both of our mouths.
“Five minutes to plate!” he called out.
Yeah, okay. He wasn’t an asshole at all.
* * *
“Sayonara!” Heather called out as a nurse’s assistant wheeled Mr. Clark to the elevator. A round of laughter sounded behind her.
“Keep it professional,” I scolded under my breath as I continued to read through the on-call’s notes from the night before.
He knew me well and had left a novel’s worth of information to explain his every decision with my patient. Which honestly could have been summed up with: I followed your orders from the night before. Whatever. I liked the extra information. I stared at the words on the page, reading them and then rereading them, unable to focus.
That guy from the fling was hijacking my thoughts.
A chill traveled down my spine. “Hi,” he’d said.
One word. One syllable. Two letters.
In my thirty-three years of life, I’d probably heard that word a million times.
But not like that. Never like that. It had echoed in my head as I’d driven to the hospital.
It was stupid. He was stupid. I was stupid for reading into it. So what—a guy was awkwardly flirting with me? It happened.
But this guy…
Yes. I’d bolted like the emotionally unstable crazy woman I so obviously was. That was nothing new. But, for reasons I’d never be able to explain, he had come with me.
At least, in my memories.
I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath.
His crooked grin.
His blue eyes, which had bored so deeply into me that I’d momentarily gotten lost.
His ridiculous jokes.
The smiles I couldn’t contain.
His messy hair and his chiseled jaw.
His large hand on my hip.
His strong arm supporting me as I’d fought to stay in the present.
His low, gravelly voice.
“Hi.”
I smiled to myself.
“Can I help you?” Heather asked, sliding her rolling chair over beside mine.
“Actually, I’m here to see Dr. Mills.”
My head snapped up and I found a pair of topaz blue eyes framed with thick lashes staring down at me.
Oh shit.
“Grill Master Max,” I greeted, fighting the absurd instinct to smooth my hair down. “What are you doing here?”
He was still tall, not like that had changed in the half hour since I’d seen him last. But his disheveled, blond hair, longer on the top than on the sides, had been combed and he’d shed his filthy apron, revealing a clean and crisp, white Polo that stretched around his biceps. I mean, not that I was looking or anything. His arms were just there…attached to his shoulders.
Wide and muscular shoulders.
Shit.
“Well, after you ran out on me, the grill exploded. I was down in the emergency room—”
I shot to my feet, sending my rolling chair sailing across the room. “What!”
He chuckled. “I’m kidding. I brought you lunch.” He set a heaving plastic bag on the counter, the smell of dear-God-deliciousness wafting out of it.
My stomach rumbled in approval, but my mind was slightly more cautious. “Why?”
He narrowed his eyes, but his grin never faltered. “Why not?”
Because you don’t know me.
Because I damn near had a nervous breakdown at the sound of my son’s name earlier when, for a split second, I looked at that little boy and hoped he could be mine, despite the fact that he was at least eight years too young.
Because my life is so fucking complicated that you would suffocate in my reality.
I kept all of that to myself. “Aren’t you supposed to be serving up charred leather and tire rubber to dozens of unsuspecting victims right about now?”
His eyes twinkled with mischief. “If that were not incredibly accurate, I’d be offended. But no. My brother is the chef in the family, and he finally showed up to take over. Including cooking this.” He pushed the bag a fraction of an inch closer. “I assure you there is no tire rubber involved.” He didn’t say anything else as he stared at me, his assessing eyes scanning my face as though he were trying to read my answer before I’d even formulated it.
“No tire rubber involved? That’s quite the sales pitch,” I smarted.
“I know. I’m having posters made up and everything.”
I cut my gaze to the floor so he wouldn’t see my smile.
“So what do you say? Me. You. A table in the cafeteria. Grilled-to-perfection Wagyu?”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “Sorry. I don’t eat dog.”
He laughed. “That’s a good standard to live by. But Wagyu is Japanese beef. It’s highly desired because it’s genetically predisposed to intense marbling, thus producing a high percentage of oleaginous unsaturated fat.”
My mouth fell open. “You know all of that about Japanese beef but you don’t know how to grill a burger?”
He lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “What can I say? My parents failed me. The internet did not.”
I laughed—and not a quiet giggle. It was a real-life belly laugh. While I didn’t snort, I’m not sure it could have been any less attractive if I had.
He didn’t seem to mind though. His lips stretched, revealing at least four years of orthodontics and negative amounts of coffee and red wine.
“Well…thanks. You really didn’t have to bring it all the way down here.” I reached for the bag, but he pulled it out of my reach.
“I did if I wanted to have lunch with you.”
&nbs
p; Nerves bloomed in my stomach and the word “No” rolled off my tongue on pure instinct.
“No?” he repeated in surprise.
Funny, the same question echoed in my head.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to have lunch with him. It was just that I wasn’t prepared. You couldn’t spring lunch on a girl. I was still reeling from my near nervous breakdown. Yes. I was starving. But he’d probably want to have a conversation. Oh dear God. What if he actually expected me to chime in with opinions and small talk of my own?
Nope. Not happening.
“I’m kinda busy right now,” I lied.
His smile deflated. “Oh. Okay.”
Guilt rolled through me. Damn it. I should have offered him a gift card.
“I’m sorry. You know how it is. Work. Work. Work.”
He waved my apology off. “Yeah. My job’s the same way. You. Saving lives. Me… Ordering cocktail napkins?” He twisted his lips adorably. “No. You know what? It’s not even similar.”
I tipped my head to the side. “You order cocktail napkins for a living?”
“That’s what it feels like sometimes, but no, I own a restaurant. Well, actually, two restaurants.”
My eyes must have flashed with surprise, because he lifted his hands and placated, “But I assure you I don’t cook at either of them.”
A laugh bubbled from my throat.
What the hell was I doing? I’d vowed to myself that it was time for a change.
I’d even promised that I would be the change. And there I was, turning a man down, who for all intents and purposes seemed like a good guy, because it was easier to stay in the darkness than it was to brave the sunlight. So much of my energy was spent trying to exist in a world that never slowed down. Maybe I just needed to speed up.
Those damn baby steps were only causing me to fall further and further behind.
This guy—this lunch—could be my first giant step.
What could it possibly hurt? Right?
Famous last words, huh?
But, then again, for ten years, my life had been ruled by words.
Fear. Guilt. Terror. Anxiety. Solitude. Longing.
It was time to let some feelings in.
After flipping Mr. Clark’s file closed with one hand, I slid it onto the top discharge pile. “You know what? I can take a break.”
His whole handsome face lit. “Really?”