Prognosis: Romance. GINA WILKINS
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I’d thought otherwise.”
There it was again. That faint, somewhat elusive tilt of his lips that made her heart flutter foolishly and her own mouth tingle as if in wistful anticipation.
Turning brusquely toward the shelves of dolls and accessories, she spoke in a deliberately businesslike manner. “These things are probably too young for a nine-year-old. How well do you know Alexis?”
“I’ve known her since she was six, but that doesn’t mean I know what sort of things she likes,” he admitted. “She’s a cute kid. Smart. Polite. Active. That’s about the sum of what I can tell you.”
“Her mother said she likes dance and soccer and the color purple.”
“Sounds like her. You get any ideas for gifts out of that?”
“She also likes handcrafts.” She led him to another aisle filled with handcraft kits. “These are designed for children her age.”
James studied rows of kits for making stuffed toys and jewelry and sun catchers and hair accessories. Nothing seemed to interest him much. “I don’t know.”
“Okay, let’s look at this section,” she said, stepping around him. Their arms brushed as she did so and she was annoyed that her pulse rate stuttered in response to the contact. Focusing fiercely on the job at hand, she pointed out several rows of art supplies. “Does she like to draw or paint?”
“Actually, I have seen several pictures she drew displayed on the fridge when I’ve studied at their house,” he replied thoughtfully. “She’s pretty good, for a kid.”
“Maybe a box of pastels,” she suggested, picking up a small but nice set. He hadn’t said what he wanted to spend, but she figured that was a safe guess.
James examined the pastels she handed him, but his attention was quickly drawn to a larger art-supplies set packaged in a wooden box with brass hinges on each side. The box opened from the center to reveal a rainbow selection of colored pencils, pastels, watercolors and tubes of oil paints, graphite drawing pencils, erasers, sharpeners and other supplies.
Recommended for ages eight and up, the set was rather pricey—more than Shannon would be able to spend on her nieces and nephews for birthday gifts. She noted that James didn’t even check the price.
“This looks nice. Maybe she’d like this.”
“Any kid who likes to draw and paint would love that set. Heck, I’d like it, myself,” she added with a grin.
She was being quite candid. She had loved drawing and painting since her own childhood, though she considered herself only marginally talented. Artistic enough to come in handy for her children’s parties, anyway. Unfortunately, this lovely set was out of her miscellaneous-expense budget.
“Okay, I’ll get this,” James announced in sudden decision. “If she doesn’t care for it, I assume she can exchange it for something else?”
“Of course she can. But I bet she’ll keep it.”
She remembered her impression that James came from a privileged background. He certainly didn’t fit the image of a financially struggling medical student. But she didn’t get the feeling he was flashing his money, either. He seemed to simply want to buy a gift his little friend would enjoy.
She wondered if he could possibly identify with the very tight budget she lived on while she tried to get her struggling business off the ground. Could someone who’d never had to count pennies understand what it was like to worry about paying next month’s rent?
“Where do I pay for this?” he asked, hefting the sizable box.
“At the front register on your way out.”
“Okay, thanks.” He gave her another small smile. “You’ve been very accommodating.”
She swallowed, forcefully holding her own smile in place. “I’m glad I could help. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
He seemed to have been waiting for that very question. He replied without hesitation. “Yes. You can have dinner with me some night soon.”
It wasn’t totally a surprise, but she still blinked a couple of times before frowning at him. “I thought we’d already covered this subject. It’s nice of you to ask, but I’m going to have to decline.”
“Because we’re both too busy,” he said, quoting her excuse from before.
She lifted her chin. “That’s right.”
It was even true—if not the whole truth.
“There’s always time to eat a meal.”
He didn’t sound argumentative. Not even particularly determined to change her mind. He was simply stating a fact, she decided.
She answered in kind. “Well, yes, there’s always time for a meal. But—”
“But not with me.”
“It’s nothing personal.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her, making it clear he didn’t buy that, either.
Sighing, she shook her head. “Okay, maybe it’s a little personal. You make me nervous, James.”
He looked startled, then chagrined. “I’m sorry. You needn’t worry about me bothering you again, Shannon. I’m really not…I just thought…well, never mind. I’ll just go pay for this now.”
Grimacing, she caught his arm when he would have hurried away. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
But he’d gone stiff in response to her thoughtless comment and she couldn’t begin to read his expression now. There was no evidence of his intriguing little half-smile when he drew away. “It’s okay. I understand. Thanks again for your help.”
“James—”
“Excuse me, miss, do you work here? I’m looking for that new Perky Pet that’s so popular.” The elderly customer glanced uncertainly from Shannon to James as if sensing she might have interrupted something more than a retail transaction.
James took advantage of the interruption to nod a goodbye to Shannon and disappear with his purchase.
Smoothing both her expression and the bright green vest that marked her as a store employee, Shannon focused on her new customer. “Yes, ma’am, we have a whole display devoted to Perky Pets. Follow me and I’ll show you the newest selections.”
She would mentally replay that clumsy interlude with James later, she predicted with an inner wince. She was quite sure she would come up with exactly the right things to have said, now that it was too late to correct her tactless blunder.
James had spent the entire month of August doing an AI, or Acting Internship, in pediatrics. It had been a demanding rotation, with only four days off during the month—one of which he’d spent at the lake where he’d met Shannon and her family. Still, he’d enjoyed the experience, finding it instructive and mentally challenging, both requirements he craved in his daily activities.
As the name implied, his duties mimicked those of a true medical intern, giving him experience for whatever residency program he would enter after his graduation in May. Beginning work at seven each morning, he carried the same patient load as an intern, wrote daily progress notes on the patients, made presentations during daily rounds and even wrote orders, though his orders had to be cosigned by a resident. He carried a pager and had been on call a couple of times, sleeping in the call room as did the regular pediatric residents.
The evaluations of his performance had been glowing, as far as his medical skills. He was noted as punctual, conscientious, perceptive and professional. He had excelled in the first two years of medical school, comprehending the lectures and acing the tests so that he’d entered the third year at the top of the class. No real surprise; he had entered medical school having already obtained a Ph.D in microbiology,