Out Of The Shadows. Loree Lough
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he glanced at the puppet, leaning on the silver picture frame. “Well, the monkey and I had a deal, anyway.”
She liked his smile. Liked his eyes, too. There was something familiar about him. No big surprise; thousands of medical professionals made up the Ellicott staff. She’d probably passed him in the halls, or shared an elevator, or stood in the cafeteria line with—
“Your directions were great,” he said. “I found your office just like that.” He snapped his fingers, then glanced around the room. “Kinda dim in here. You want me to hit the lights?”
She lifted her chin. “No. Thank you. Fluorescent light…” Pausing, Patrice folded both hands on the file folders stacked on the blotter. “It’s…it’s hard on my eyes.” Not quite a lie, but not exactly the truth, either. She found the incandescent glow of the sixty-watt light-bulb in her desk lamp more than adequate to work by, and it prevented people from seeing her scar.
“Well,” Wade said, pointing at the mess on her desk, “I can see you’re busy, so I’ll get right to the point.” He leaned forward, balancing both elbows on his knees. “I think we’ve met before.”
She put her hands in her lap. “Really?”
He nodded. “Fifteen years ago, in the ER at University Hospital.”
Patrice swallowed. Hard. Because fifteen years ago today, her brother had died. She felt her mouth drop open. “So that’s why you look so familiar. You’re the nice boy who bought me chocolate milk.”
One shoulder lifted in a slight shrug. “I didn’t buy it—the nurse at the reception desk gave it to me.”
“I stand corrected. You’re the nice boy who brought me chocolate milk.”
Wade stared at his clenched fists.
Patrice peeled the lid off her cup of coffee. When the puff of steam evaporated, she realized it wasn’t coffee, after all, but hot chocolate. Smiling, she said, “So you’re still a nice boy, I see.”
Even in the dim light, she could see him flush, reminding her of an innocent boy.
“So how’re your folks?” he asked. “I remember seeing them, too, that night.”
She swallowed again. “They’re…” Shaking her head, she cleared her throat. Since it wasn’t likely she’d be seeing him again, except maybe in passing, Patrice saw no point in telling him all the gory details. “We never quite got around to talking about why you were in the ER that night.”
His gaze darting from her face to Mort to his own clasped hands, Wade frowned. “I was checking on the condition of a—” his frown deepened “—a friend.”
“How’d he make out?”
He looked up. “Huh?”
“Your, uh, friend. How is he?”
“He, um, he died that night.”
Patrice leaned forward. “Oh, Dr. Cameron—”
“Hey, we’re old pals, so call me Wade, okay?”
“Sorry to hear about your friend,” she said. “Guess that was a pretty dismal night for both of us, wasn’t it.”
Something was happening behind those sparkling, hazel eyes. Something that made Patrice wish she had the ability to read minds.
Wade got to his feet. “Anyway,” he said, neatly sidestepping the question, “you’re busy, so…”
Patrice stood, too. Somewhere deep in her heart, she’d hoped that maybe the handsome Dr. Cameron’s interest in her was inspired by more than mere curiosity. She checked to make sure her scar was still hidden. Thankfully, it was. But maybe he’d seen it in Emily’s hospital room, where the lights were much brighter than in her office. “Thanks for the hot chocolate,” she said. “And the pie.”
He waved her thanks away. “Well…”
Well, what? she wanted to demand. He’d gotten the information he’d wanted. If he had more to say…or ask…why didn’t he just come out with it?
Wade clapped one hand to the back of his neck. “I, um, I was wondering if, uh, maybe you’d, um, like to have dinner with me sometime.” He pocketed both hands and stood there, a half grin on his face, waiting for her answer.
“Um, well, sure,” she began, “I, uh, I guess so.”
Wade began to laugh. It started slow and quiet, and escalated to a pleasant rumble. Soon, Patrice was laughing with him.
“Maybe we oughta join Toastmasters,” he joked.
“Oh, sure. Like anybody would hire the Um-Uh-Er-Uh Duo to give a speech!”
His smile and laughter dulled. “I’d rather hear you stutter and stammer than listen to…just about anything.”
In the seconds that followed, Patrice stood in silence, unsure what to make of his probing, penetrating gaze.
“So what do you say?”
About their mutual stuttering? she wondered. Or his dinner invitation? Suddenly aware that she was clasping and unclasping her hands, Patrice stuffed her fingertips into the back pockets of her jean skirt. “I—”
“What’s your preference? Italian? French? Asian?”
Her cheeks were hot, and she hugged herself, hoping the low lighting had kept him from seeing her blush. “I’m not fussy,” she said, shrugging. “Food’s food.”
“How do you feel about tacos, enchiladas, chimichangas, quesadillas?”
“Long as lima beans aren’t part of the recipe, I’ll eat just about anything.”
His eyes lit up. “Great, ’cause I know this terrific little Mexican place and—”
“Tonight?”
He shrugged. “Well, sure.” The sparkle dimmed as he exhaled. “Aw, man…I should’ve known you’d already have a date.”
Another nervous giggle popped from her. “Now, really, how could you have known a thing like—”
He interrupted with “You’re gorgeous, for starters!”
When he slapped the back of his neck again, Patrice realized Wade probably regretted the compliment.
Well, she didn’t; it was nice to hear, even if she didn’t believe a word of it.
“I’m not busy tonight,” Patrice blurted.
The glint returned to his eyes and he said, “How about scribbling your address and phone number for me on one of those business cards, there.” He pointed at the plastic holder on her desk.
After grabbing a card and a pen, she printed the information he’d requested. Their fingers touched when he took the card from her extended hand, sending a tremor of warm tingles up her arm and straight to her heart. He was everything she’d ever dreamed about—tall and handsome, with muscles in all the right places and a dimple beside his generous mouth.
Uh-oh, she thought, it was happening already.
Every time she allowed herself to fall boots over bonnet for some good-looking hunk, all she ended up with was another heartache. Well, not this time! she decided, straightening her back.
Wade tucked the card into the side pocket of his white lab coat. “I’ll pick you up at six, okay?”
Patrice nodded. He sounded slightly uncertain, which only added to his charm.
“Dress casual,” he said, “’cause this isn’t a fancy place.”
Another nod. Most guys wouldn’t have thought to share a thing like that, meaning that in addition to everything else, Wade was considerate. “Casual,” she echoed. “Thanks.”