Page 4 of Love Out Loud

Chapter Two

Coffee in hand, Jake stood in the doorway of the coffee shop and blinked hard. He was supposed to meet his client at one of the tables outside on the sidewalk. Prickles of dread climbed up his spine and across the back of his neck as he studied the corner table.

He checked his watch to verify the time, then checked Claire Anderson’s text to verify the address and description of his new client. Brunette, brown eyes—the address checked out, and so did the appearance of the woman seated at the corner table, proving the world was way too small.

He watched her as he approached—the dog woman from his apartment building, complete with dogs this time. They were straining against their leashes to sniff everything within reach, including him. Swallowing hard, he schooled his expression to one he hoped was pleasant and stopped far enough from the table to stay out of the dogs’ range. She fidgeted with the edges of a vet journal she was reading until she finally noticed him, her eyes widening in similar horror to his own.

“Hello, neighbor,” he said in his practiced, friendly, conversational voice. “I’m Jake.”

She stared up at him as if that meant nothing to her.

“Jacob Ward, your public speaking coach.”

Her eyes met his in astonishment, and her fingers tightened around the edge of the table as if it would give her some stability.

Maybe he had the wrong woman. “YouareFiona Nichol, right?” he asked.

She pointed to the pocket on the front of her medical scrub and said, “Fiona.”

His gaze fell to her breast, and he arched an eyebrow.

She glanced down, blushed a fiery red, and stammered, “I… Um…”

“You have a penchant for naming things,” he teased, hoping to pull her out of her obvious shyness.

“No. I… I thought I had my lab coat on. My name is embroidered on it. Yes, I’m Fiona Nichol.”

His dread grew from a trickle to a wave. “May I join you?” he asked.

Running her fingers over the edges of the magazine in front of her, she nodded. When he sat, her dogs, whose leashes were looped around the leg of her chair, tugged to get closer to him. He immediately scooted away, and she gave him a confused, disappointed look. For a few minutes, they sat in silence.

He couldn’t believe he’d been talked into this. The only reason he’d agreed to take on an extra client was that Claire Anderson was one of his best client referral sources and had told him how smart and funny Dr. Nichol was. It seemed like a slam dunk until he discovered exactlywhoDr. Nichol was. This arrangement had disaster written all over it. It was all he could do to remain calm, and she appeared to be doing the same.

He’d noticed her for the first time several months ago. They were evidently on similar schedules, because they were in the lobby at the same time a couple of times a week, but he’d never paid close attention to her, dogs not withstanding, because she wasn’t his type at all. She’d struck him as unavailable and stuck-up, since she never made eye contact. Now, he knew she wasn’t stuck-up at all. She avoided eye contact for another reason—shyness.

This obstacle could ruin his perfect client success record at the office, and his coworker and ex, Charise, would never let him live it down. All of the coaches at Upward Media were competitive, but his rivalry with Charise was legendary, and he didn’t want to ruin his record because of a favor for Claire Anderson. He tamped down the urge to squirm. No need to lose his cool. First, he’d assess how bad things were, andthenhe’d lose his cool.

He eyed Fiona’s open magazine and read the title of the article out loud. “Clinical signs, treatment, and prognostic factors for dogs with Histoplasmosis.”

Shoulders stiff, she gestured to the pages with a steady hand but didn’t meet his eyes. “Funny, thrilling, edge-of-your-seat reading. This article will keep you up all night. I laughed; I cried; I begged for more.”

He relaxed back in his chair. Okay, well that wasn’t what he’d expected. Maybe there was some potential under all that introversion. He stared at her a moment, which was easy, since she looked everywhere but at him. She was prettier than he’d originally thought. Maybe the shitty lighting in their apartment lobby was to blame. Out here in the morning sunlight, her dark hair had some red hues, and her features softened. And she had a great ass. He knew that from his run in with her in the revolving door this morning. She’d leaned forward to push the revolving door and… Yeah. Really great ass. But she was a client now, so no more reflecting on the outline of her panties through her scrubs.

She closed the magazine and took off her glasses, setting them on top of the glossy heartworm medication advertisement on the back. Her eyes were the color of cinnamon interspersed with dark flecks.Cinnamon?Jesus. He shook himself mentally. The color of her eyes had nothing to do with giving a successful speech—or spices for that matter. Time to get back to the evaluation.

“Do you mind if I record our conversation?” he asked, flipping into coach mode. “It’s to evaluate speech patterns, inflection, and verbal habits.”

Her brow furrowed, but then she shrugged. “Go ahead.”

He placed his phone on the table and set it to record. “What is Histoplasmosis?” he asked.

Her eyebrows raised in surprise at the question; she must have assumed he asked because he was interested. Right. Like he gave two shits about Histo-whatever. High-interest topics were the best way to get a reluctant client talking so he could evaluate their mannerisms and speech patterns. At least that had always been his experience. Oddly, though, he actually found himself interested in what her answer would be.

Cinnamon… Seriously?

“It’s an infection caused by the Histoplasma Capsulatum fungus. Animals, including dogs, get it when they eat or inhale contaminated soil or bird droppings,” she rattled off.

Dogs eat bird shit. One more reason to not be a fan. “You have an issue with eye contact,” he observed. “And when you aren’t being witty, your delivery is flat and clinical, even when discussing high-interest topics.”

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