The Best Medicine

Chapter 11



THE DESSERT WAS DELICIOUS, AND so was the conversation. We moved on from his adventures in crime and talked about other things—like how ridiculous he’d felt trying to navigate all those teensy little dogs through the park, and how embarrassed he’d been to see me there. Then I confessed I’d once known how to twirl a baton.

“You could probably still do it, don’t you think?” he asked.

I sensed a dare coming on, but I wasn’t going to fall for it. “Probably, but I’ll never show you.”

His smile brightened, and I wondered if he fully comprehended how marvelously attractive he was.

“Did you have a sparkly costume with red, white, and blue stripes? I bet you did.” His teasing was dangerously addictive. I could get used to it. But then I’d just want more and more, until there wasn’t any left. Still, he persisted.

“You did have a costume! I can tell. Did it say Dr. Rhoades right here?” He pointed to a spot right over his heart.

I laughed along with him. “No, it did not say Dr. Rhoades. It said Evie.”

“Evie.” He said my name as if it were a revelation. I wanted him to say it again.

And he did.

“Evie. I like that. Evelyn seemed a little formal.”

I straightened my spine and tried to stare him down, but I’d polished off that martini and felt more tipsy than threatening. Nonetheless, I was determined to make my point.

“I’m a formal kind of person.” My declaration was ruined by a hiccup.

“I can see that,” he answered.

On a scale of tepid to scorching, his gaze registered at slightly hotter than platonic, and his charm was a tangible web surrounding me. But the hour was getting late. Late by my standards, at least. I sighed and leaned back against the seat cushion. “I should go home. I have surgery in the morning.”

His smile faded, his gaze cooled to companionable resignation. “Yeah, and I have to walk the dogs. Will you be in the park?”

I wanted to be. I wanted to walk alongside him and those silly little dogs. Too bad for me. “No, surgery days start too early for walking.”

He looked down, then reached back to pull his wallet from his pocket.

I was faster and tugged my wallet from my purse. “No, these drinks are on me. My thanks to you for rescuing me from the toilet seat salesman.”

He pulled out his own wallet out anyway. “I don’t think so. I got them.”

“At least let me pay for my own.”

A matching pair of lines formed between his furrowed brows. “No.” He pulled out some bills and tucked them into the leather folio left earlier by the waitress.

“I’m the one who followed you in here,” I said.

“Exactly. That’s why I’ll pay for the drinks.”

His logic made no sense, but then again, he was a man, so I shouldn’t expect it to. I could see I wasn’t going to win this one.

“Well. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I didn’t know what to say after that. I didn’t particularly want this night to end, but it had to. And Tyler had an unnerving habit of maintaining eye contact without blinking, as if we were having some sort of contest and I just didn’t realize it. I always seemed to be the one to look away first. I resisted the urge to tap my fingers on the tabletop.

“Well,” I said again, “I guess I’ll . . . see you around.”

“I’ll walk you to your car.” His tone was as certain as it had been when he’d said “no” about the drinks.

“I don’t have a car. I walked.”

“From home?”

“From my apartment, yes. It’s only about six blocks from here.” My intention was to prove I could get home quite safely on my own, but he didn’t seem to pick up on that.

“Then I’ll walk you,” he said.

“It’s really quite close.”

His smile was honey sweet. “Then it shouldn’t take us very long.”

We paid the bill, waved to Jasper, who was behind the bar, and walked out into the Bell Harbor evening. It was still warm, and the crickets were loud. Off in the distance I could hear the lake. The moon was a sliver, but the streetlamps lit our way.

“I really will be fine, you know,” I said one last time.

“I know,” he said, with no hint of giving up.

Having him walk me home to keep me safe was the height of irony. Sure, I’d be protected from muggers and vagrants, which I wasn’t sure this town even had, but Tyler was a whole different kind of dangerous. He was the sexy kind, with big, tan hands and a mouth that managed to be both masculine and beautiful at the same time.

A mouth I wanted to kiss.

I wanted to kiss him in the same desperate way I’d wanted to taste that dessert, knowing the sensation would start out on my tongue but spread out deliciously through the rest of me, pushed by the pulse of my heart. This was a problem. A big problem.

While science made sense to me, human nature was imprecise and spontaneous. Emotions were unpredictable. Tonight was the perfect example. Everything I knew to be true about myself provided evidence that Tyler Connelly was a high-risk, low-return gamble, but my body didn’t care. My body wasn’t using logic. My body was falling back on neuron patterns formed during the caveman days when women needed a club-wielding he-man who could wrestle a wooly mammoth to the ground. But Bell Harbor didn’t have an unruly wooly mammoth population, so why did I feel so fluttery and feminine with Tyler by my side? Was it because he moved around to my left when we crossed the street so he was consistently between me and traffic? Was it because he smelled so damn good? Was it because my DNA sensed that his DNA would make a superior baby?

Whatever the reasons, if I wasn’t careful, my hormones would flood me with mood-altering endorphins and trick me into thinking this man was right for me.

He wasn’t. Being with him would be like shooting a flare gun. Once I’d pulled the trigger, there’d be no stopping the fireworks. It would light up the sky for a minute or two, but then it would be over, as if it had never happened at all.

“So,” he said after we’d walked a moment in silence. “Are you pretty set on this marriage thing, or are you just trying to scare me away?”

My voice sounded a little resigned. “Both, I guess.”

“Why?”

“Simplicity. Expediency.”

“Is that why you’re using a dating service? For simplicity and expediency?”

I nodded. “Yes. I don’t have time to waste on the wrong kind of man.”

He scoffed and stopped walking, and I realized how insulting that had sounded. I flushed with remorse and turned to face him. “I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant I don’t have time for, you know . . . a last hurrah. It’s not that I wouldn’t enjoy one. But I’m looking for something more. And my guess is, you’re looking for something . . . less.”


Tyler didn’t say anything. He just stood there with his hands in his pockets and a frown on his face. I’d offended him with my very unpoetic explanation. Obviously that hadn’t been my intention, but maybe it was for the best. I was looking for more, and he was looking for less. Neither of us was wrong, we were just in very different places, heading in very different directions. He should understand that.

He shifted on his feet. “That’s kind of presumptuous, isn’t it? To think you know what I’m looking for?” His voice had lost some of its earlier warmth, and the bubble of affection we’d been floating in popped.

“I suppose. I don’t mean to be. I just . . .” I let my voice dwindle away. I’d only make it worse if I tried to explain my point of view. Anything I said would make it sound as if I thought he wasn’t good enough for me. And this wasn’t about that. It was about age and timing and phases of life. “Well, anyway, thanks for walking me home.” I pointed to the two-story Victorian house on the next corner. “My apartment is right there. I can manage from here.”

He rolled his eyes and started walking again, determined to get me right up to my front door, in spite of my insults and assumptions. I reached into my purse to get my keys as we headed up the sidewalk and onto the little front porch. There were lights on either side of my door with moths and all sorts of flighty little bugs buzzing around them. Definitely not a romantic place to stand, which, again, was probably for the best.

I put my key into the lock and twisted, popping open the door. I turned back and he was standing on the top step, a few feet away. Hands still in his pockets, expression neutral.

“Safe and sound,” I said, pointing into my dark apartment.

“Yep. Looks like it. I guess this is good night then.” He hesitated near the railing, and I knew I could still kiss him. I could reach over and grab the front of that nice white shirt and haul him inside my apartment. He’d get over those hurt feelings if I showed him my breasts. I knew enough about men to be certain of that.

But I didn’t. I just said, “Thanks again. Good night.” And walked inside alone.

I regretted it instantly. I was an idiot.

I should have kissed him.