Page 12 of Faking It with the Off-Limits Doctor

“My friend, Casey, used to live here. She’s long gone now. Her parents moved when we were all still in high school. Another couple moved in a few years later, but they didn’t have kids.”

“Right,” I say, feeling like I now also have to sound like I care.

“So, how many people are attending this dinner party?”

Clearly, she has no problem getting right down to business, unlike me.

Interesting.

We’re not going there. As cute as she is, you don’t do relationships for a reason, remember?

I’m well aware. Opening up and trusting someone again after what Cindy did is just too hard. She didn’t just tear my heart from my chest cavity: she chopped it up into little pieces. In fact, I’m determined I don’t have a heart any longer, which is the other reason I can’t do relationships. I have nothing left to give.

“There will be eight of us in total,” I say, answering Dara’s question.

“And you’ll want an amuse-bouche, an entrée, a main, and a dessert, at the very least,” she concludes.

I give her a strange look. “An amuse what?”

She shrugs with a smile that makes her look even prettier than a second earlier. “It’s another word for an hors d’oeuvres.”

“Ah, right. French?”

“Yep. So, is this the kitchen?” She wanders through to the next room without invitation, but I like her initiative. I really don’t know why Mark worries about her so much. I get the sense that Dara Gilbert can do just fine on her own.

“It is,” I say, following her in.

“Holy cow,” she gasps, looking around as her fingertips trail across the brand-new marble surfaces. “You’ve got everything in here. Convection oven, grill, griddle, blenders.” She turns to look at me with widened eyes. “You planning on having a lot of dinner parties?”

“Maybe.” I shrug. “We’ll see how it goes.”

Clearly there’s something in my voice that seems to alert her. At least that’s what her face is telling me, and I’m very good at reading faces. Maybe it’s because I look at them all day.

“You’re not staying here?” she exclaims.

And there it is. This woman is far too perceptive for my liking.

“Why would you think that?” I say, trying to avoid the question.

“You just said it yourself. You said you’re going to see how it goes.”

“I suppose what I mean is I haven’t quite decided if this is going to be my main home yet.”

She gives me a long look, like she’s trying to decipher if that was indeed, my real meaning, and then she turns away. Again, without asking, she starts opening cupboards left and right, taking in her surroundings as though her decision will determine what I have hidden behind all these doors.

“Are you looking for something in particular?” I ask.

She turns and looks at me over her shoulder. “No, I’m just looking.”

“Oh. Okay. So, my assistant got back to me today with a date. How does next Friday suit?”

Dara stops rooting around in my kitchen cupboards and turns to look at me.

“It’ll have to be after eight thirty. I don’t get off work until six, and then I’ll need to go home and change before I get here to begin preparing the courses.”

I’m surprised at her answer, mainly because I’ve been a selfish pig, and I’ve not taken her circumstances into consideration at all.

“You’re going to come here after doing a full shift at the diner?”

---