Page 108 of Look on the Bright Side

“Nice to meet you,” Henry said.

“And who’s Lorenzo?” Theo asked as they shook hands.

Sofia glanced at Lark. “Lark’s boyfriend,” she said with a smile.

For a second, both Deans froze. Lark tried to say something and failed. Her heart rolled in rapid, sickening thuds. Heather looked like Lark had just stabbed her, and Theo’s eyes were too wide.

“Theo! Heather! So nice to see you!” It was Mom, charging to the rescue. Hopefully to the rescue, anyway.

“We apparently…um…we mixed up dates,” Heather said, recovering a little. “We didn’t mean to interrupt your party.”

“No, no, not at all,” Mom said.

“We’ll find the key ourselves,” Henry said, apparently sensing the tremor in the force.

Lark swallowed. “Under the flowerpot to the left of the door,” she said.

That left her standing there on the upper deck with her mother and the Deans.

“You have a boyfriend,” Heather said. “That’s wonderful, Lark.” But the bleakness in her voice belied the words.

“Is he here? Can we meet him?” Theo asked. His face looked a little gray.

“I’m not dating anyone,” Lark blurted. “It’s a long story. I didn’t tell you because…it’s not a…” She looked at her mother.

“Tell you what,” Mom said briskly. “There’s a little Shakespearean comedy going on here right now. It’s not what it seems, in other words. Lark is doing a colleague a favor, being his date for a wedding this summer. Why don’t we have dinner or drinks sometime? I’d love to come by your house. It’s been ages.” She gave Lark a pointed look, then steered Heather and Theo back into the house, her voice getting fainter. “How’s your summer been? Are you going back and forth to Boston, or…”

Mom would be getting a huge birthday present this year. Huge. Very expensive.

You know what? This would be a great chance to sneak into her house, check on Connery and breathe into a paper bag. She slipped through Joy’s, went out the side door and ran up the path to her place. No one called out her name or saw her, thank the adorable seven-pound Christ child, as Dr.Unger was fond of saying.

Her little house was quiet and neat, an oasis of calm compared to the barbarian hordes of family at Joy’s. Connery danced up to her, little tail wagging, and she scooped him up, then sat down on the couch. This shit was getting out of hand, just as Mom had predicted. Lesson? Mothers are always right. Noni wasn’t exactly yearning for Lorenzo to be with her, and Lorenzo’s promised introduction to the Dana-Farber team was probably not going to be necessary. Accepting his proposal had been a decision made in fear and a hurry. Again, Mom had been right. Lark could get back into Oncology on her own. If she even wanted to.

She reached out for the picture of her and Justin—the same one she’d shown Dante—and stared at it. Had she always wanted to be a doctor, or had his sickness pushed her there? Would she have chosen oncology without a boyfriend who’d had leukemia? Would she have made it her life’s mission if not for his death?

“I miss you,” she said.

Connery, thinking she was talking about him, nuzzled her arm as if to say, No need, I’m right here.

But the truth was, she hadn’t been missing Justin as much. Once, it had seemed as if her arms had been amputated, she’d been so unsure of how to live without him. Even after the shock of his loss had faded, there had been so many days when breathing seemed foreign and complicated, when she sat in a dark room for hours, unseeing, baffled as to how her heart kept beating. Days when tears were always close, and the idea of the rest of her life felt like a lead-filled body bag she had to drag behind her.

That wasn’t true anymore. She was living without him. She’d become a doctor. She had friends and colleagues. She was a volunteer. A sister and sister-in-law. An aunt. She’d met the Santinis. She was even enjoying work.

She had a crush. It wasn’t a question any longer.

So life had gone on, just as predicted. And she’d been healing, even without realizing it.

With a sigh, she put the picture back. She had to get back to this excruciating party. She could use a fresh shirt, though, since hers was damp with sweat. She went into her bedroom and froze.

Dante was asleep on her bed. Fully clothed in faded jeans and Boston Fire T-shirt, one arm over his head. Sofia had said he’d had a long night at a fire and probably wouldn’t be coming. Sofia had been wrong.

Lark sat down next to him—it was her bed, after all—and took a long look at him, possibly for the first time, since all those other times were fraught with that dark electrical feeling, or more recently, her panic attack, or just embarrassment because of said crush. Now she studied the details—his long legs; lean waist; broad, solid chest rising slightly with breath. His arms were things of rock-solid beauty, the bottom of his tattoo peeking out from under the sleeve of his shirt. The Bible verse he’d gotten for his mom. Damn.

His jaw was lean, lips full. There was a bump on his nose, possibly from a break. Long, dark lashes, strong brows, a small burn on his forehead, then all that thick, wavy brown hair, tawny streaks from the sun.

God, she liked him. She liked everything about him.

Suddenly, he jolted awake and shot into a seated position. “You okay?” he asked.

---