conversation with Nate to a tall young man framed in the doorway. He wore pleated khakis with a green and white striped dress polo. A shower had softened and tamed his sandy hair so it hung down in loose ringlets. Despite his lean frame, she could not help noticing the masculine bulges of his arm muscles and chest. It took her a moment to recognize Remington.
Susan and Nate rose simultaneously to face the neurosurgery resident. With Nate beside him as comparison, Remington no longer seemed so tall. The robot had four or five inches on him. “Nate, this is Remington.”
Remington stepped forward to shake Nate’s hand. “Just call me Remy.” He turned his gaze to Susan. “That goes for you, too, of course.” His green eyes sparkled. They defined handsome all by themselves, even without the boyish curls and the perfect oval of his face.
Nate took Remington’s hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
“And you,” Remington returned, but his gaze remained on Susan. He studied her with the same intensity she did him. “Are you ready to go?”
“I am.” Susan had also showered in the psychiatry on-call room. Unlike surgeons, she did not routinely wear scrubs, so she had no change of clothing. Her work attire would have to do. “Where are we going?”
“Your favorite restaurant.”
That surprised Susan. She wondered how he had found out such details about her so quickly. She had shared that sort of inane conversation with her fellow residents, but she doubted Remington had found the time to quiz them about her interests. “My favorite? How do you know which restaurant that is?”
Remington smiled and winked at Nate. “Actually, I was kind of hoping
Nate chuckled.
Susan rolled her eyes but could not help grinning. “There’s a little Chinese place a few blocks away.” She had eaten there many times with her college friends and had gone several times on visits home from medical school.
Remington shrugged. “That’s your favorite?”
“Well, yes. Short of —” Susan caught herself.
Remington persisted, “Short of what?”
“Nothing,” Susan said. “It’s my favorite.”
Remington refused to let it go. “No, seriously. What’s your real favorite?”
Susan sighed, not wishing to lie or create a problem where none existed. “A place that’s far away and very expensive.”
Nate studied Remington, brows rising slowly toward his hairline.
“Oh.” Remington did not lose his smile. “Chinese it is.”
“Chinese is perfect.”
To Susan’s surprise, he took her arm as they walked from the room. He called over his shoulder, “Nice meeting you, Nate.”
“See you tomorrow,” Susan called back, immediately wishing she had not. For now, Remington had no way of knowing what type of relationship she had with Nate. She did not want him worrying about competition.
Susan’s words did not seem to bother Remington, however. He had a smooth self-assurance about him, the same that had put her off at the auditorium. She wondered whether she would come to adore it as a part of him or despise it absolutely. Only time would tell.
The decision to walk to the restaurant was so mutual, Susan could not decide who had initiated the suggestion. They just sort of did it, striding through the cooler evening air while electric trolleys whizzed past them. Other people had also chosen to walk, but Susan found her attention riveted on Remington. Using old-fashioned manners she would have believed dead, he walked on the street side of her, clasping her hand in strong fingers without a hint of sweat.
Susan enjoyed being with him in silence until they had nearly reached the restaurant. Then, suddenly, she found herself asking, “So, is Remington an old family name?”
“Nope, I’m the first.” Remington gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “My dad is a gun collector. My twin brothers are Colt and Ruger. The family joke is that, when they named my sister, he was trying to decide between Uzi and AR-15.”
Susan cringed. “Yuck. So, what’s your sister’s name?”
“Uzi.”
Susan’s cheeks turned scarlet.
Remington shook his head, chuckling. “I’m kidding, Susan. My sister’s name is Emily.”
“Emily? Really?”
“Mom got to name any girls.”
Susan relaxed. “Lucky Emily.” Suddenly realizing the oblique insult, she added quickly, “Though I like Remington. It sounds . . .” She considered the right word.
Remington filled it in for her. “Arrogant? Jerky?”
Susan had caught on to his sense of humor. “I was going to say ‘powerful.’ But it is, obviously, the perfect name for a surgeon.”
“I hear ‘pretentious’ more often than ‘powerful.’ That’s why I’ve always gone by Remy. Colt’s not so bad — kind of trendy. But I’ve always felt bad for Ruger.”
Spotting the restaurant, Susan pointed. “There it is.” They headed toward the Golden Chopstick.
“So, how many siblings do you have, Susan?”
“None.” Growing up, Susan had appreciated being an only child, not having to share her father’s attention with anyone. Aside from discussions of his work, he tended to involve her in everything, to speak to her like an adult. “My mother died when I was very young, and my father never remarried.”
“Marriage isn’t an ultimate prerequisite for children.” Remington held open the door. The scent of food and sauces wafted through the opening, tantalizing. Susan realized just how hungry she was. They stepped inside.
“True,” Susan admitted, “but I can’t recall my father even dating after Mom died. He loved her with an all- consuming passion. He devoted himself wholly to his work and to me.” As she spoke the words, Susan realized how odd they probably sounded to Remington. She had never thought much about her father’s celibacy. As a child, it had seemed absolutely natural to remain wholly devoted to the memory of Amanda Calvin. “To him, she was the perfect woman. In his mind, no other woman could begin to measure up.”
Remington nodded, lips pursed. “She must have been quite a woman.”
Susan barely remembered her mother but gave the only answer she could. “She was.”
The host waved the pair to an empty table. Susan took the seat facing the window, and Remington sat across from her. The table already had two plates and sets of chopsticks, as well as a pair of built-in menu screens. The host left them to seat the next group of guests.
Remington planted his elbows on his menu screen to lean toward Susan. “If you don’t mind my asking, what happened to your mother?”
It was a sore spot, but the question and the questioner were innocent. “I don’t exactly know, beyond that it was a car accident. Dad would rather have all his teeth pulled out without anesthetic than talk about it.” Susan glanced at her menu screen.
Remington moved his arms to read his own menu. “And none of your relatives would tell you about it, either?”
For most of her life, Susan had simply assumed most families did not intermingle with distant relatives. “Neither of my parents had sisters or brothers. I only have one living grandparent, my father’s mother.” She flipped her hand over. “Susan. My namesake. She never raised the subject, and it was clearly so painful to my father that I would have felt disloyal bringing it up.”
“Hmm.” Remington studied the menu. “What do you suggest?”
For an instant, Susan thought he meant about her mother’s death. Truthfully, she bore some of the blame for not knowing the details of the accident. She probably could have cornered Nana or pressed John Calvin until he told her. But the pain and discomfort the topic clearly inflicted on her father upset her, and she preferred not discussing it with anyone, including Remington Hawthorn. “Everything’s good here.”
Remington glanced around the packed restaurant. “That’s obvious.”
