Page 29 of Remembering You
“You have my word, Marty.”
Even though I didn’t want to admit it, relief flooded my chest. “Okay.”
From across the table, Jim flashed a devastating smile while his piercing blue eyes examined me. “Now… do you need a little help reading the menu?”
I grimaced. “Will you think less of me if I say yes?”
He shook his head. “I like it when people can admit their shortcomings. It shows a willingness to grow.”
“And what shortcomings do you have?”
The tension in his silence was sharper than a knife’s blade and just as dangerous. I’d unknowingly traipsed into dangerous territory. “I have lots,” he finally answered, rather simplistically, raising his water glass to his lips and taking a sip.
I ducked behind my menu once more, murmuring, “Well, we both know kissing isn’t one of them.”
He coughed and from over the edge of the menu, I watched as he covered his mouth with the back of his hand. “What did you just say?”
I rolled my eyes. “You heard me. You can’t just drop a kiss like that on me in the car, then walk away without discussing it.”
“I-I didn’t just walk away. I took you home. Then picked you up shortly after for dinner.”
I sucked at my teeth. “Okay, fine. You didn’t just ‘walk away’ but we also definitely didn’t discuss it, either.”
His mouth twisted like he was trying to suppress a chuckle. “Well, what was there to discuss?”
“For starters… was that a one-time thing?” I asked the questions that had been on my mind non-stop since the car. “Am I just a rebound? Are you getting back at your ex for sleeping with a doctor by kissing her intern?”
Jim’s smile vanished. Raking his fingers through his hair, he murmured a curse word beneath his breath before answering, “You are absolutely not a rebound. I would never do that to you.” He sighed and swiped a hand down his face. “Look, Marty, I can’t sit here and make any promises. Not after what happened on Sunday. But I can tell you that Sheila and I have been growing apart for months. She’s been talking about wanting to leave Maple Grove. I want to stay here. Grow a business, a life… a family here.”
I nibbled my top lip. “So, you’re not entirely heartbroken by what happened?”
Jim scratched the stubble peppering his jaw. “I’m not condoning her cheating on me. That’s really screwed up. But when I really stop and think about it… no, I’m not all that heartbroken. And I don’t even hate her. Because in order to hate her… I think I first would have needed to love her. And I didn’t. I think we did love each other at one point, but that has long since faded.”
I took a deep breath, feeling my lungs fill with air. “So, then our kiss…”
“Our kiss was something I wanted to do from the moment I found you flattened in a pile of snow earlier today.” He fell back in his chair. “Which I realize makes me sound like a creep. What kind of guy wants to kiss another woman when his girlfriend works just down the road?”
I shrugged. “The kind of guy who wasn’t in a fulfilling relationship. That doesn’t make you a creep.”
The corner of his mouth twitched into a quick flash of a half-smile. “Maybe not. But it definitely doesn’t make me that hero you’ve been going on about.”
I leaned across the table, taking a piece of bread from the basket. Dipping my knife in the small bowl beside it, I smoothed the butter across the top and shrugged. “Well, that just depends whose story you’re in.”
“Whose story?”
“Yeah. It doesn’t make you the hero of Sheila’s story, just like Sheila’s choices don’t make her the heroine of yours.” The rest of the implication hung between us like a heavy, stagnant fog, waiting to lift.
His mouth curved into a knowing smile and he was obviously well aware of how ruggedly handsome he was. “Then whose story am I the hero of?”
“Guess we’ll just have to wait and find out, won’t we?”
Francois came over to our table and cleared his throat. “Ms. Vaughn, I’m so sorry to interrupt your evening. A phone call came for you just now.”
I sat straighter in my chair. A phone call? Here? No one even knew I was here tonight, did they? My mother and father certainly didn’t. The only number they had was my phone number at the residency. “Who called?”
“I’m not sure. But they left a message to be delivered.” Francois handed me an envelope with my name scribbled on it.
Hesitantly, I opened it… to find a ten-dollar bill with a heart drawn on it and a sticky note attached that read:
Game on, Vaughn. May the best hero win.
