Page 48 of Love Me Sweet

“Me?” Amusement bubbled up inside Sylvie. “The closest I came to riding was being hauled around Central Park in one of those carriages when I was in culinary school.”

“I’ll teach you to ride.”

She thought he was joking but those beautiful grey eyes were serious.

“You’re not going to be here that long.”

“We’ll fit it in.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Though Sylvie kept her tone light, she meant every word. “It’s enough that we’ve agreed to spend these next three weeks together.”

His chin lifted in that rarely seen stubborn tilt. “Iamgoing to teach you to ride.”

“If it works out, that’d be wonderful,” Sylvie conceded, but wasn’t holding her breath. She’d learned long ago not to count on promises. Even ones made with the best of intentions.

“You don’t trust me.”

She blinked. “Where did that come from?”

“You don’t trust that I’ll take you riding, even though I said I would.”

“I just know that these next few weeks are going to be very bus—”

“You didn’t believe I liked your work, even though I always told you how much I liked and admired what you do.”

She waved an airy hand. “We were sleeping together, what else were you going to say?”

His only reply was a stony stare.

Realizing this was getting awkward, Sylvie sought to defuse the situation. “C’mon, Andrew. Don’t make a big deal out of nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” His jaw lifted in a stubborn tilt. “You don’t trust that what I say is true, even though I’ve given you no reason to distrust me.”

“People disappoint,” she blurted out. “People lie. They say what you want to hear. My foster parents were always telling me that my mother loved me. But she didn’t. You don’t run away from someone you love; you don’t leave them alone.”

“You ran away from me,” he said, his gaze never leaving hers. “Does that mean you didn’t love me?”

“You weren’t alone. You have your family. They love you and you love them.” She clamped her lips together, realizing she’d only made the situation worse in trying to explain.

“Sometimes, Sylvie, you have to trust. Or you’re never going to be close to anybody.”

* * *

After another thirty minutes of civilized conversation, Sylvie went off to bed. Andrew knew he’d never be able to sleep, so he added another log to the fire, poured himself a glass of wine and retrieved his laptop.

The house was quiet when he settled himself on the sofa in front of the fire with his laptop. As he read through his messages, he admitted leaving his patients had been more difficult than he thought. While he knew his associate had been taking good care of them, he was the one that knew them and their medical history inside an out.

Like eighty-nine-year-old Fern Whitaker. He’d been her physician ever since he began his concierge practice. Her husband had died twenty years ago. Her children were all in other states and she now lived alone in the grand home on Beacon Hill where she and her husband had raised those five children.

The children worried she was depressed, but he knew much of what ailed her was loneliness. Especially during the long winter months. She wasn’t a complainer. When she’d told him during one of his weekly visits that she’d been short of breath lately, he’d taken the complaint seriously.

Right before he’d left Boston, he’d diagnosed her with a pulmonary embolism. The blood clot in her lung had been a large one. Since she’d experienced problems on anti-coagulants before, Andrew had hooked her up with a top-notch surgeon who’d removed the clot during a surgery.

His associate, Dr. Seth Carstairs, had been keeping Andrew updated on her recovery, but it wasn’t the same as being there.

Andrew frowned at the email from Seth. Fern had been refusing to wear the compression stockings ordered post-surgery. He wondered what was going on. Normally Fern was compliant with medical orders. He shot off a quick email to Seth, asking him to call tomorrow with details.

There were several emails from his father, updating him on recent activities of the company. While Andrew had worked for O’Shea Sports during college, the business world had never held much interest. Still, he forced himself through the attached reports and graphs before shifting to an email from his sister.

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