Page 70 of On The Beach

Belle shook her head, clearly done with this conversation, but her family looked on, smiling, as if they were already rooting for me. And if that annoyed her? Well, I was just getting started.

CHAPTER 24

the bottom feeder's charm

BELLE

Mick became insufferable after he met Anna and Dan, and they exchanged phone numbers. Apparently, Darcy, his cousin, was a hotshot journalist and hadalsoexchanged numbers with my traitorous sister, who had decided that she and Darcy would become great friendsandwanted to introduce her as she was single and ready to mingle to the new head of ER who had been dubbed McSexy by the female population of Mass Gen.

Mick had charmed my sister and Dan and was now in the process of charming my parents, who were usually reluctant to be impressed.

I watched, barely keeping my irritation in check, as Mick strolled into my parents' house like he belonged there. Somehow, he'd managed to snag himself an invitation to Sunday family dinner, and now I had to endure the sight of him charming his way through the room, amiable as ever to every single Volnay. My mother, of course, was practically fawning over him, cooing like he was some long-lost favorite nephew she hadn't seen in years.

"Mick, it's such a pleasure to have you with us," my mother,Dr. Molly Volnay, said warmly, a touch of intrigue in her eyes. She was a high-powered anesthesiologist and always took a keen interest in anyone who could keep up with her intellectually. Unfortunately for me, Mick seemed to fit right into that category.

"You're no Diogenes, I can tell," my father mentioned when they first met.

"Thank you?" he replied, glancing at me for backup, clearly wondering if this was a compliment or an insult. Like hell I was going to help him.

You wanted to be here, beach bum, and it's your funeral. I hoped my father would roast his ass to a fine crisp.

That did not happen because he put a spell on my father as well.The son of a bitch!

My father continued, "Diogenes rejected society's norms, yes, but he also lived in a barrel and famously insulted everyone he met. You, on the other hand, have simply stepped out of the race."

Mick grinned widely. "I do prefer hammocks to barrels. They're far less cramped."

My father gave him a slight nod, his expression serious. "You know, there's a fine line between a philosopher and a fool. Diogenes knew that—he chose not to care."

Mick chuckled, glancing at me. "Noted. I'll keep my philosophizing to a minimum. I wouldn't want to give the impression that I'm about to start living in a barrel."

Daddy allowed himself a small smile. "Smart man." He clapped Mick on the shoulder. "Better to keep your feet in the sand than your head in the clouds."

How Mick was keeping up with my father's nonsense, I didn't know. Most people, Anna and me included, didn't always follow Daddy. He was quirky in the quirkiest ways possible.

"I agree, Sir."

"Good man, call me Charlie; Sir is some idiot," my dad remarked. "Speaking of which, you go by Dr. Augustus or Nicholas or Captain Mick or…."

"Mick," he replied with an easy smile. "I'm sure Belle would rather you forget the Dr. Augustus part."

"Belle is a stickler and hangs on to past mistakes like plaque in an artery—no matter how small, she lets it build up until it blocks everything else," my father, Dr. Charles Volnay, chimed in, a twinkle in his eye. He was a top cardiac surgeon with the wit and humor to match my mother's weirdness, which ran in the family. He looked over at me, clearly delighted by the whole situation.

"Very funny, Dad," I muttered, crossing my arms as I leaned against the kitchen counter. Mick shot me a grin over his wine glass, and I could already tell he was loving every second of this. I wanted to wring his neck.Not!It was actually lovely seeing him fit so well with my family. He was all my dreams come true, except he'd broken my heart, and I didn't quite know how I felt about him anymore. It was easier back in Reef Harbor, but in the cold reality of Cambridge, my emotions were murky, and I didn't know if I could trust Mick or what it would mean if I did.

"Always knew you were the wrong kind of doctor, Belle. Genetics and research—should've stuck with something practical," my father couldn't resist cracking out the old hits, this one being his favorite.

"Belle is a geneticist," my mother said, topping off Mick's glass, her smile warm and her approval obvious. My parents liked to joke that they weren't alcoholics, just heavy drinkers, when they weren't on call or in the OR. "She's always been stubborn, bless her heart. It's like trying to intubate a patient who refuses to stay still—she'll keep at it until she gets it right, no matter how much effort ittakes."

"You know,bless her heartis Southern slang forgood luck dealing with her," I interjected.

My mother, who was decidedly not Southern and prided herself on her New England sensibilities, gave a short laugh. "Oh, don't worry, darling. I meant it the New England way: tough as nails and nearly as sharp."

My father chuckled, raising his glass. "And trust me, she gets it from her mother."

I rolled my eyes, reaching for my glass of peach fizz. No alcohol for me tonight. "Thanks, guys. It's great to know I'm universally considered a handful."

Mick just laughed, lifting his glass with a wink in my direction. "No complaints here. Handful is good."

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