I know he knows I’m there as my footsteps vibrate the dock, but he just keeps his eyes on the water ahead.
“Hey,” I murmur.
“Hi.” He doesn’t look my way.
“Can I sit, or do you want to be alone?”
“Sit. Please.” He looks up at me and offers a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Of course, sit.”
I take my flip-flops off beside where his are and take a seat next to him, letting my legs dangle over the side so that my toes skim the water. We sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes as I enjoy the feel of the sun’s warmth on my cheeks and the sparkle of its rays on the water around us.
Even though our hands are behind us, he manages to slide his closer to mine and hook our pinkies together.
I’m not sure why the motion makes me swoon, but it does.
“Everything okay?” I finally venture to ask.
“Just work.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“You said you needed some outdoor therapy. Does it have to do with whatever that call was about?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Okay,” I say and rest my head on his shoulder. I smell the slight scent of beer on his breath and laugh. “Should I ask what you and the husbands, boyfriends, playthings did while we were in yet another mind-numbing session, or is it better if I don’t?”
“We may have partaken in some libations, and I may have been the bartender.” He gives a short chuckle. “Needless to say, Testosterone Tom, Stoned Steven, and Baseball Bobbie might just be in good moods for tonight’s festivities.”
“How drunk are they?”
“They’re just very happy.” Yeah, I don’t want to know. Whatever bonds those guys made are theirs, so I don’t dig.
“Thank you for that,” I say and press a kiss to his shoulder in appreciation.
More silence passes between us as the sun slowly begins to fall toward the horizon and the sky begins to dance with color.
I can’t say that I mind sharing this with him.
“Tell me something about you that I don’t know,” I say, suddenly curious about who this man is.
“Like what? You know the basics.”
“Your mom. That first night we met, you said you had a meddling mom. Tell me about her. My mom is so distant and busy with her life in Michigan, that I miss the love that’s equal parts annoying and welcoming.”
“True.” He nods before falling into a contemplative silence for a beat. “She’s crazy, but she means well.”
“You said she was out here visiting?”
“Yeah, and as much as I love her, I’m glad that she’s gone.” He chuckles. “She has a way of taking over everything and knowing things before I do.”
I laugh, loving how the mere mention of her has the smile finally reaching his eyes.
“And your dad?” I ask.
“He’s incredible in his own right. He’s a plastic surgeon who only deals in reconstruction after mastectomies.”
“Is that why you got into the field?”
“I like to say I went into medicine because I want to save people, but yeah, I’m sure a part of it is that I wanted to make him proud of me.”
His candor is refreshing. I’m used to having to pull teeth to get any kind of reaction from a man.
“Why the heart?”
“Because isn’t that where everything begins and ends?” he asks, his eyes locking onto mine. “With the heart?”
I’m speechless. I’m sure he doesn’t mean his words how I take them, but they still hit me in such a profound way.
“Yes.” My tongue feels heavy in my mouth. “It’s true.”
“My mom used to be a therapist. She helped women cope with the loss that comes with that kind of surgery. Many women try to convince themselves they’re only breasts and they can live without them, but it’s a huge hit to the psyche, and she’d help them get through that.”
“I can’t imagine. It must feel good doing a job that makes people better.”
“It does, but you do the same.”
I laugh at his attempt. “I appreciate you putting it on the same playing field, but it isn’t. Saving lives and selling makeup isn’t really comparable.”
“It’s all about perspective. How do you know the makeup you’ve sold hasn’t helped someone to feel good about themselves when they’ve looked in the mirror? How can you discard the fact that for some people out there, a small boost to their self-esteem can mean the difference between falling into the depths of depression or a having a great day.”
I shift my head to just stare at him.
“What?” he asks.
“Do you always have this outlook on things? I mean, where did you knowing how to look at things through a different lens come from?”
He gives a sheepish shrug. “I don’t know. Reading. Listening to others. Watching way too many people’s lives end too soon in the ER forced me to look at the positive in everything. If I don’t, I’ll get pulled under the weight of it too.”
“It’s pretty amazing if you ask me.” His fingers on top of mine squeeze, and I go back to resting my head on his shoulder.
“Is that how they met?” I ask, thinking of his parents again. “Your mom and dad, I mean. Through their work?”
“The story they tell is that she saw him across the room at the hospital Christmas party. He was talking to two other women, but she said he locked eyes with her, and she knew he was the one.”
“Love at first sight?” I ask in disbelief.
“According to her, it was. It took him a few days to chase down who she was and find her. She says he took too long, but they’ve been together ever since.” There is so much affection in his voice, I can’t help but smile. “But that was thirty-something years ago.”
“I guess it’s good to know it’s really a thing that’s out there,” I murmur under my breath.
“I guess. Either that or it’s fate having you be at the
