“Good thing you did.”
“Really, Georgie, what if Dr. Cortes hadn’t come to your rescue? Then what?”
“I don’t know. I was so upset when I left Bill that I didn’t think of charging my phone in the car until it stalled out, and then it was too late.”
“Please be careful and call me tomorrow so I know you’re okay. Promise,” Piper said firmly.
“I promise. Bye now.”
After several tries and being put on hold for too long each time, Georgiana gave up. Instead, she dialed home and was relieved when her brother, Dylan, answered on the first ring.
“Dylan, it’s Georgie. I just heard about the nor’easter.”
“Georgie, where the hell have you been? Mom and Dad are worried sick about you. Why aren’t you answering their calls or texts? The airport is closed and no flights are coming in.”
“Oh no. Sorry they couldn’t reach me, but my phone is out of battery. Bertha died on me, and I’ve had a very stressful day.”
“No wheels? How are you going to get around?” Dylan asked like a typical guy.
“I don’t know. I’ll figure it out, but that’s the least of my problems.”
“Why? What else happened?” When she hesitated, he said, “Spit it out, G.” Dylan wasn’t one to waste time and right now he sounded every bit the interrogator he was in the courtroom.
“Nothing you or anyone can fix.”
“Tell me anyway.”
She knew only too well big brother wouldn’t stop asking until she spilled her guts, and then he would try to make things right for her. Dylan liked to resolve things for everyone. A nice quality, but sometimes he was a bit overbearing. She pitied his new girlfriend.
“Well, if you must know, I split up with Bill. I don’t want to talk about it now, and don’t say ‘I told you so’,” she said quickly to shut down a forthcoming lecture.
“So you admit he was bad news?”
“Something like that. Please don’t tell Mom and Dad until I’ve had a chance to. I don’t want to ruin their holiday, okay?”
“I won’t say anything. I’m sorry you’re not going to make it in for Christmas morning,” Dylan said, sounding disappointed. “But I’m not sorry about Bill. The dude was too old for you.”
Georgiana rolled her eyes. “He was only ten years older than me, Dylan. That’s not exactly ancient.” She gave a weary sigh. “Anyway, I’m sure I’ll get over it. He probably has already.”
“I saw you’re having bad weather down there too. Don’t stress if you can’t make it in for Christmas dinner tomorrow. Mom said she would make two Christmas dinners.” He chuckled. “You can bet we all agreed. Good thing you inherited her cooking skills, Georgie.”
“Thanks,” Georgie said with a wave of nostalgia. She loved making Christmas dinner with Mom. It was usually a succulent standing rib roast with all the trimmings. Georgie’s specialty was dessert and this year she had planned on making a moist dark rum cake studded with caramelized pecans and served with homemade cinnamon ice cream.
“Okay, sis. Take care. Love you.”
“Love you too.” She hung up, feeling more bereft than ever. No family time on Christmas Day, no tow truck for Bertha, snow there and thunderstorms here. What would Alex’s reaction be when he realized he wasn’t going to be rid of her any time soon?
“How did it go?” Alex asked when she entered the living room soon afterward.
“Not too well. I can’t get anyone to come out here tonight. They’re saying sometime tomorrow, but that’s unacceptable. I’ll just have to keep trying.”
“Quit worrying. We’ll deal with it after we eat,” he said casually, like it was nothing to stress over.
Georgiana shook her head. “I’m afraid Bertha is unfixable, and that makes me really sad.” Her eyes welled up, and she quickly blinked the tears back.
“Every car is fixable. Why are you so upset over this one?”
She sighed and swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Because I inherited it from my grandmother. She’s the one who named her Bertha.” Georgiana tried to smile through her tears. Why was she unraveling before a complete stranger? It was awkward. “I can’t help feeling melancholy during Christmas. It brings back so many memories of my grandmother who passed away last year.”
“I understand how you’d feel sad.” Alex’s eyes gazed at her with unexpected tenderness. “Don’t worry about Bertha. We’ll get her fixed up. Now sit beside me and let’s eat.”
“Okay, thanks. I’m starving,” she said, embarrassed when her stomach grumbled in agreement and he smiled.
“I’m hungry too.”
Even though they’d only just met, she felt welcome in Alex’s home. Maybe it was the restful pale blue, green and taupe colors of the décor, or the roaring fire, or Alex’s friendliness and consideration. She hadn’t realized the longing she’d had for that kind of interaction with a man until she experienced it from him.
She broke eye contact to harness her spiraling attraction and glanced at the coffee table, covered from one end to the other with all the food she’d made for Bill. It made her stomach tighten to think of her ex, so she pushed all thoughts about him aside.
“I see you set everything up. Thanks.”
The corners of Alex’s lips curved upward as he held up a bottle of wine in each hand. “Pinot Grigio or Chardonnay?”
“Pinot, please.”
He poured her wine as she joined him, cross-legged in front of the coffee table. “Want to borrow socks?”
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
He motioned to her bare feet. “Cute toe ring. I’ve never seen one like it.”
“Thanks.” She wiggled her toes and the tiny gold filigree band on her second toe glimmered in the light. “It was an early Christmas present from my friend, Piper. She makes beautiful custom jewelry.”
“Nice. What do you do for a living?”
“Piper and I have a concierge service for the elderly. We run errands and do a variety of things for the ones who live alone and can’t drive anymore.”
“How did you get into it?”
“I saw what my grandma went through as she got older. She was stubborn and insisted on living on her own, so Dad hired a kind woman who ran errands for her and took her shopping. When I moved down here, I took over doing those things for her.” Georgiana smiled nostalgically. “Sometimes she just wanted to go out and get fresh air, so we’d take Bertha for a long drive along the beach with the windows open and the sea air in our faces.”
“That’s a special memory. Good choice for a career too. There’s a need for quality services for the elderly, but you’re young to be doing it,” he said, gazing at her curiously.
“It’s my business, but it’s not my real career.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m an artist, like Piper. She designs jewelry and I draw, so we’re perfect partners in our little business. It’s called Comfort Creatures.”
He smiled. “I like it.”
“Thanks, that’s what Piper and I aspire to be. Comfort creatures.” She shrugged. “At least we hope our clients think so.” She caught the twinkle in his dark eyes and warm tingles spread from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
“I’m pretty sure they do. What do you like to draw?” he asked.
“Faces and figures. I am fascinated by how different people are, yet how fundamentally the same.”
“That’s an interesting way to put it. What medium do you work in?”
“Pastels and oils, but mostly pastels. Soft pastels have the purest pigment with just a trace of binder to hold them together in the sticks. The texture is so creamy and rich in color that I often use my fingers as brushes to blend it on paper.”
Alex watched her with penetrating jet eyes beneath broad, sweeping brows. He would be a dream to draw. The lines of his body were exquisitely sculpted and his manly face, exotically handsome. Her hand itched to sketch the straight, strong nose and the hollows beneath the sharp-
bladed cheekbones in his dark olive toned face…and especially the sensual lips shaped just right for kissing.
She looked up from his mouth and into his smoldering eyes. “I’d love to draw you,” she said honestly.
“I’m flattered, but I’m not a model.” He chuckled and shook his head. “I wouldn’t be able to sit for long periods of time.”
“You wouldn’t have to. I mostly work from photographs.”
His forehead knitted, letting her know it wasn’t something he’d be keen on.
“Some people aren’t comfortable with posing. You wouldn’t have to pose nude, if you didn’t want to.”
Alex’s brows shot up. “Who said anything about posing nude? I thought you wanted to draw a portrait.”
“A portrait would be wasted on you. Full body is best…and nude preferably,” she added for good measure.
“Forget it.”
She hid a smile. “As an artist, I’m comfortable with nudity. I thought you would be too, since you’re a doctor.”
He squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. “Well, I am…but posing nude is out of the question. And so are nude photographs.”
She laughed at his no-nonsense tone. “Okay,” she agreed. Though privately, she thought it was a damn shame. “Shall we eat now?” Georgiana held out the platter of stone crabs for him. “Try some of these with my homemade mustard sauce.”
“Looks good. These claws are huge.” Within minutes, Alex made short work of removing the shell and dipping the fleshy crabmeat in the creamy mustard sauce. “Delicious,” he said, between bites.
Georgiana admired his large hands as they cracked off the hard shell from the stone crab claw. Powerful fingers, yet agile enough to deliver tiny babies with the utmost care. She committed the lines and shape of his long fingers and broad palms to memory so she could draw them later.
“This sure beats the frozen meal I was going to nuke,” he said, dragging her attention away from his hands.
“A frozen meal on Christmas Eve?” She shuddered. “That’s sacrilege.”
“The guy you won’t name is a damn fool to have missed out on this feast,” he said with a scornful shake of his head.
Georgiana flinched. “Yeah. His loss,” she muttered.
She would not let the memory of Bill ruin this moment. She piled Alex’s plate with German potato salad, pineapple cole slaw and roasted beet and sweet potato salad. She had made an extra effort to choose festive, colorful salads that would go well with the stone crabs. Nothing too heavy because Bill was watching his weight.
Thank goodness, she hadn’t unloaded the car of all the goodies yet when everything blew up between them.
“Do you celebrate Christmas?” she asked, reaching for another crab claw. “I noticed you don’t have any decorations or Christmasy stuff. I just assumed you were...”
“I’m Catholic. Is that what you were wondering?” he asked with a lift of his brows.
“Yes, though it’s really none of my business,” she said with a sheepish smile. “This is the first year I’m not going to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. It’s a family tradition.”
“It used to be our family tradition too,” Alex said, his face turning somber.
“Not anymore?” The air stilled as he tensed before her, and Georgiana sensed she’d hit a raw spot.
Alex set his fork down and paused. After a drawn out moment that made her wish she hadn’t asked, he finally said, “My parents died on Christmas Eve.” His jaw tightened and his mouth formed a straight line. “That’s why I don’t celebrate it anymore.”
Her heart clenched at the profound desolation in his eyes and she felt at a loss for words. He was grieving the death of his parents, and she knew only too well, how painful it was to miss a loved one during the holidays. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said quietly. “When did it happen?”
“Five years ago, but it feels like yesterday. They died in a private plane crash.”
She laid her hand over his clenched one, thinking it felt like a steel claw. “I feel for you. I can only imagine how raw it must be this time of year.” It broke her heart to think of his suffering and see how he was struggling with it. Just a few moments ago she’d been feeling blue over not being with her family for Christmas, and especially over spending the holiday without Grandma Emmy.
Alex’s situation was worse because the tragedy had happened on Christmas Eve. He would never see his parents again, and every year on this day that was usually a joyful one, he relived the pain.
His grave eyes met hers and the bunched muscles in his hand slowly uncoiled beneath hers. She gently squeezed his hand and let go. The sadness in his eyes gutted her, but she knew a big, strong man like him wouldn’t want to feel pitied. No man did.
She wished she could do something to cheer him up. But what?
Chapter 4
Georgiana smiled gently. “I saw the picture on your dresser and figured it was your parents with you. You look like your father.” Both men were tall, dark and handsome with strong, white smiles in lean, sharp-jawed faces.
“Yeah, I do. My mom was petite and blond. Like you,” Alex said.
She liked hearing that. “How did they meet?”
“They met in the Peace Corps. Dad was an obstetrician and mom was an anesthesiologist.”
“Is that why you became an obstetrician?”
Alex nodded. “He was my hero.” His hushed tone said it all. Like father like son in many ways, she imagined. It had to be extra hard on him that his parents had died so young.
“That’s special. Not everyone has that kind of relationship with their dad. What was your mom like?”
“She was a brilliant doctor and a good mother when I was growing up,” he said tightly. “But later on, she made bad choices and we were estranged.”
Georgiana’s eyes widened, and she quickly schooled her features to hide her shock. “Oh, I didn’t mean to—”
“We argued,” he said, closing his eyes briefly, “and I said some pretty harsh things to her before she died.”
She went still and watched him, speechless. The room filled with tense silence as he took a labored breath and looked away. “I told her I had lost all respect for her, and that her coming to Naples wouldn’t change a thing.” His jaw clamped as his throat worked. “I wish I could take it back now, but at the time I meant it.” He hunched forward and clasped his hands tightly, the tendons in his neck protruding. “I shouldn’t have been so judgmental,” he mumbled, his tone remorseful, “but I was livid at the time.”
Oh God, what could she say to that? He was feeling profound remorse and couldn’t do anything about it, couldn’t make amends, couldn’t make sure that the final words his mother heard from him were loving instead of furious. There was no way to rewrite the past and Alex was tortured with guilt over his last words to his mother. He needed closure or he’d hurt just as badly every Christmas Eve.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You didn’t know it would be your last conversation with her. I am sure she realized you said those things in the heat of the moment. She had to be very proud of you and probably understood where the anger was coming from. After all, she raised you.” Seeing him so distraught made her wonder if it would help to talk about it. “Do you want to talk about it?” she said quietly.
His face shuttered. “No. I’d rather dwell on the positive stuff.” He sighed heavily. “And there were a lot of positive things. Mom was a true healer. She and Dad loved their careers. They both enjoyed talking about medicine with me. From an early age, I used to sit with them and pour over their medical research magazines. It was fascinating for me then and still is.”
A visual image of Alex in scrubs delivering Laura’s baby came to mind and it warmed her heart. “I can only imagine how rewarding it must be to bring a new baby into the world and hand it to the happy parents. You have a great career.”
“I do,” he said, watching her with bemused eyes. “But things don’t always end happily.” He shook his
head and his eyes clouded. “There are days like today, when parents lose their baby.” He stopped and breathed heavily. “When I have to deliver a stillborn child. Those days are hard to take. You have no idea.”
“Suffering a miscarriage is bad enough, but a stillborn baby has to be the most tragic thing for any woman. I can’t even imagine the pain and anguish. I’m sorry it happened.” A longing sigh escaped her. “I must confess that I love babies.”
“Really? I would have never guessed it,” he said lightly.
She smiled and lifted one shoulder in a helpless shrug. “I love how cute they are, the way they coo, the minute they start smiling and how sweet and soft their skin is.”
Alex’s smile was warm and unguarded as he gazed at her. “I love them too. Other people’s babies, that is,” he added and resumed eating.
Other people’s babies. A tiny alarm bell rang in Georgiana’s head. His tone was sardonic, but some things said in jest were often the truth. “Does that mean you don’t want children?” she ventured to ask.
When he didn’t answer, she added quickly, “I bet all your friends are having babies. Mine are.”
“I don’t plan on having kids.” His blunt words hit her like a sledgehammer.
“You don’t? Oh,” she said dejectedly. She couldn’t help how dispirited she must have sounded. A kind obstetrician who loved babies but didn’t want any of his own seemed like a contradiction. She wished she could ask him why, but she didn’t dare, especially when she saw the shadow darken his face.
“If it had been up to my parents, I would have had several by now. My mother especially wanted grandchildren, but she never pushed it.”
“You’re lucky she didn’t pressure you. Many parents aren’t that accommodating. Mine aren’t.”
His eyes zeroed in on her with interest. “In what way?”
“They’ve always wished I were more practical and not a dreamer. Don’t get me wrong, they love my art, but they don’t think it’s a sensible choice for a career.” She smiled. “That’s another reason I chose to live here. And I don’t regret it,” she added, even though at times she missed her family so much her heart hurt.
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