Page 23 of Every Rose

Chapter Eight

The next day, Rose and her mom took the tram up the hill to the hospital. Rose had an hour before her first patient so she went in with Daphne to see Jack.

He was lying still, something she’d rarely ever seen him do in all the time she’d known him. He was always in motion, designing something, attempting to build, renovate, or fix. Or he was in the garden. Even when he talked on the phone, which wasn’t often, he walked up and down while he talked.

So, to see him so still, his head turned to stare out the window, was rare. From his vantage point, she was fairly certain he could only see sky. He looked smaller and paler then he’d ever looked. “Morning sweetheart,” Daphne said, walking toward the bed.

Jack turned his head and it seemed as though he’d slipped into a mask. Suddenly he was talking. Gesturing. Twitching even. “Good morning, Daphne. Rose, thanks for coming in. I know you’re both busy. It’s crazy for you to spend time cooped up in here. Just because I have to doesn’t mean you should.”

“Nonsense. What would I be doing at home?”

“And my office doesn’t open for an hour.”

“I was thinking about the garden. You know that field where we put the peas every year? I think we should try growing artichokes.”

Rose was no gardener, but the only time she’d seen artichokes growing was in California when she’d pulled over at a roadside artichoke farm while driving down the coast near Monterey.

“Well, that’s an interesting idea, darling,” Daphne said in her long-suffering, here-we-go-again way. The man had so many ideas, why were they so rarely good ones? “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen artichokes growing in our part of Oregon.”

“That’s because people are sheep, Daphne. Everybody plants the same dull stuff year after year. Peas, beans, potatoes, tomatoes, squash—Boring!”

“But everyone in our family loves peas. Marguerite sells a lot of them, don’t forget.”

He waved a finger and wagged it in the air. “She’ll make a lot more money off of artichokes because nobody else local has them.”

She felt something that made her look toward the door, and Matt strode in. Before she could glance away he looked at her and she experienced a sizzle that leapt between them as jumpy and unwelcome as an electric shock. It only lasted a moment but the impact stunned her, then he was turning to her father. “Well, Jack, how’s it going today?”

“Excellent, Matt. I was telling the girls about artichokes. Do you like them?”

“Steamed, with lots of butter. Some like mayonnaise and to mess around with frying and grilling. Not me. I’m a purist.”

“I agree.”

Matt listened to Jack’s heart. Nodded. “Your liver test results came back and things are looking good. The only damage seems to be to your heart and we can control that. What do you say? Ready to go home tomorrow?”

“More than ready. No offense, this is a fine place you’re running here, but I miss my own bed and my wife.”

“I miss him, too,” Daphne said, reaching for her husband’s hand. They were like the high school couple going steady, which would be cute if they hadn’t been acting this way for nearly four decades.

Rose watched Matt chatting with her Dad and for some reason recalled barging into his shower like a crazy person asking him to install Jack’s pacemaker. She recalled vividly what she’d been too stressed at the time to register.

Matt, wearing nothing but a towel, rivulets of water running down his torso. She might as well have had X-ray vision. Her eyes saw right through the creased scrubs and she saw the muscular chest, the chiseled abs. Holy hell, the man was cut.

More, she recalled the way he’d looked at her, how he’d instantly agreed to help her father. Because she’d asked him to.

As though he felt her staring at him he turned and their gazes connected. Once more she felt that whoosh. She had a terrible feeling she was starting to blush as though he’d read her thoughts and knew she was picturing him half naked, droplets of water clinging to his skin as though they never wanted to let go. She and Matt might have stayed like that for a millennium or two but luckily her mother broke in. “You know a lot about artichokes for a surgeon.”

He blinked, turned back. Shrugged. “I grew up in the restaurant business. My folks are Greek and they sent us out to work in their friends’ Greek restaurant when we were old enough to wash dishes and bus tables. When you’re in the food business, you learn about things like the best way to serve an artichoke.”

“I love Greek food,” Daphne said.

“Then you should check out my brother’s food truck. Rose, you should take your mom to Alexei’s.”

“I should. You’re right. We’ve been so busy.”

“Ooh, a food truck. I’d love that. Let’s do it for dinner. Marguerite’s coming up to visit Jack this afternoon and then we’ll go eat some Greek food.” Then, with breezy casualness, Daphne said, “Matt, you should join us.”

“Mother. I’m sure Matt is busy.” What was this crazed ex-hippy doing? Trying to set her up?

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