The Best Medicine

Chapter 19



CHRIS BEAUMONT WAS JUST AS good-looking in person as he was in his picture. Maybe better when you added his friendly smile and a nice tan, accented by his pale yellow shirt.

“Evelyn?” he asked, standing up when I walked into the lobby of Mutsusaka’s sushi restaurant. He extended his hand, but as I reached out, we both leaned in and had that awkward are-we-hugging-or-just-shaking-hands moment. He laughed and kind of patted my arm, opting out of the full-fledged embrace.

“It’s nice to meet you. Chris, right?”

“Right.” He nodded a little too rapidly.

He was nervous, which helped put me at ease. I was nervous too. I had tried everything I could think of to get out of this lunch date. But Hilary wouldn’t budge, and I couldn’t explain why I wanted to avoid it. She had too many bad things to say about Tyler and his family of gypsies, tramps, and thieves for me to admit I was involved with him.

And it’s not as if we were exclusive. We’d had one night. One incredibly fantabulous night of mind-blowing sex. I hadn’t seen him since he’d left my apartment that morning because he’d been working. We’d exchanged a few naughty text messages, but that was about it. So I had every right to be on a lunch date with another man.

But I still felt guilty. Dating multiple men was something I’d have to get used to if I was still looking for that long-term, grown-up husband. Somehow the whole idea had lost a little of its luster, and yet there was no denying Chris met several of my most important criteria. If I had to guess, I’d say he was about an 80 percent match. I didn’t want to think too much about where Tyler would score.

“Dr. Beaumont, your table is right this way.” A slender hostess approached us. She was reed thin with jet-black hair. I brushed my own copper strands away from my shoulder and wondered if this Chris liked red. I knew Tyler liked it. He’d told me so. Whispered about it right into my ear.

The hostess led us to a quaint little table between a window and a bubbling fountain. Chris pulled out my chair and earned a point for being a gentleman. Regardless of how he might compare to Tyler, he was certainly ahead of my Bell Harbor Singles dates so far. Although that wasn’t much of a challenge. Unless he started cleaning his ears at the table, he’d have those guys beat. By about 1,000 percent.


Chris took his own seat and the hostess handed us menus.

“Please enjoy your lunch,” she said and wafted away on delicate little ankles.

“Have you eaten here before?” he asked.

“A few times. You?”

He shook his head. “Nope, first time. But I’m always up for something new.”

We exchanged some idle chitchat about food preferences and favorite restaurants, and the waitress came and took our order. The conversation was comfortable, even if it wasn’t very exciting. It was hard to get too worked up in the middle of the day while sipping iced tea, even if he was handsome.

“So, your friend Hilary seemed nice on the phone. It’s kind of interesting she sets up dates for you.” He posed it like a statement but the implied question was why didn’t you call me yourself?

“Hilary and I have been friends since our internship year. Sometimes she has a little difficulty remembering boundaries.”

“Oh, really. How so?” His eyes were a rich, warm chocolate brown, but as with most people, his were not perfectly symmetrical. Something only I would notice. But I did notice.

“How does she forget boundaries?” I said. “Well, how about this? The other night she and her sister tricked me into going to a sex toy party.” It was a bold thing to share but would tell me right away if Chris had a sense of humor.

Apparently, he did. He smiled wide and leaned forward. “Really? Did you buy anything?” His demeanor was purely playful, and I’d pretty much set myself up for him to ask.

“I won a door prize, but I’m a little afraid to open the box. Anyway, let’s talk about you. Did I read somewhere you’re from Grand Rapids?”

He rolled easily with the change in subject. “I am. Where did you read that?”

Whoops.

“Um . . . probably not on your credentialing paperwork from the hospital.” I was completely in the wrong here. It was quite possible I was about to accidentally get recruiter Reilly Peters fired.

His brows lifted, and he leaned back. “You know what? You’re the first one to actually admit that.”

“Admit it? What are you talking about?”

His posture was relaxed as he rested his hands on the table. “Today is the fifth date I’ve been on since handing over that paperwork to Reilly. She gives recruiting a whole new meaning. I think she’s got a computer dating service on the side.”

I squirmed in my chair. Now did not seem like the time to admit my association with Bell Harbor Singles.

“Fifth date? I’m suddenly not feeling very special.”

“I didn’t feel very special being contacted by your friend on your behalf, either. But here we are. And I’m glad. It’s very nice getting to know you.” He seemed sincere.

And it was nice getting to know him too.

“In my defense, Hilary set up this date before I’d even had a chance to call you. I hope that makes you feel a little bit better? Does it?”

“So much better.” His smile made his eyes crinkle, and a warmth settled low in my stomach. Chris Beaumont had some husband potential. There was no denying it. His manner was calm but energetic, his smile genuine. And he was very easy to look at. He wasn’t as attractive as Tyler, but still, I could see myself falling for a guy like him. Probably.

Our sushi came, and the conversation continued. We swapped tales from medical school and laughed. We talked about interesting cases, and colleagues, and laughed some more. I was amazed by how fast the time went and what a nice lunch we were having.

“So my secret inside source says both your parents are physicians, right?” I asked, popping a final piece of sushi into my mouth.

Chris wiped his hands on his napkin and gave a nod of his head. “Yes. My dad is an allergist and my mom’s a pediatrician. They both work part-time now. A few summers ago they bought a Winnebago, and now they spend a few weeks out of every year driving around to tourist traps. I think they’re going for a Guinness world record for most truck-stop breakfasts eaten or something equally mundane.”

“That’s very cute.”

“Cute, eccentric, whatever. They’re happy. And at least while they’re gone, they’re not pestering me about getting married.”

I laughed too loud and slapped my hand over my mouth. “Yours too? What is it with parents these days?”

“I know. Exactly. What’s the rush? I’m only thirty-six years old.” He laughed as he said it, obviously realizing that was plenty old enough. “How old are you?”

I tried to frown around my smile. “You’re not supposed to ask a woman that.”

“You’re not supposed to read my confidential paperwork.”

Touché. He had me there. “True. I’m thirty-five. But just barely.”

“So why haven’t you gotten married?” The question was more conversational than accusatory.

I could say that no one had asked, but the truth was, I’d never given anyone a chance. “Busy working, I guess. Honestly, I hadn’t really thought about marriage much until recently, but I just had a birthday, and now my parents are getting remarried.”

“Both of them?”

“Yes. To each other, after being happily divorced for twenty-three years.” I shook my head and gave a little sigh, as if to say again parents these days!

“I think there must be an interesting story there,” Chris said, pulling out his wallet. “I’d like to hear more about it, but I’m afraid I have to get back to the office. How would you feel about finishing this conversation over dinner some night?”

Dinner? Dinner was a bigger deal than lunch. But not that much bigger. Even so, imaginary Tyler popped up with arms crossed and a scowl on his face. Apparently he didn’t find Chris nearly as entertaining as I did. But too bad for figment boy. I had no reason to say no to this dinner invitation.

“I’d like that,” I said and realized it was true. I would like to know him better. Chris Beaumont was appealing, and he met all the proper requirements. He was handsome, intelligent, employed, available. Sure, he didn’t make my body tingle or my skin flush the way Tyler did, and I hadn’t given much thought to tearing off his clothes, but we’d had a lovely, pleasant lunch. “I’ll have Hilary call you to set it up.”

I was teasing, but this time he missed the joke.

“Uh-uh,” he said, pulling a card from his wallet and scribbling something on the back. He pushed it toward me over the surface of the table. “That’s my private number. If you want to see me, make a little effort. I really hope you do. You’re in the top five dates I’ve had lately.”

Was he teasing? I picked the pen up from the table and wrote my number on the back of the restaurant receipt and slid it over to him. “Tell you what. Top five seems a little crowded. How about you call me when you’ve whittled it down to just two or three contestants? That’s my private number.”

He took the slip of paper. “Fair enough. Let me put this into my contact list right now.” He pulled out his phone and pushed a few buttons. Seconds later, mine was ringing.

It was him. I smiled and answered. “Hello?”

“How’s next Tuesday?”

The warmth inside began to lift, like dough rising. Slow and purposefully. Tyler Connelly was a spark and a bright flame, but Chris Beaumont just might be a lit fuse leading up to something more.



“Evelyn, this new house of yours is to die for, but egad, what were they thinking with this schizophrenic color palette? It’s like Sherwin Williams and Benjamin Moore had a wild sex orgy in here.”


Fontaine Baker was as loud and eccentric as his mother, Dody. I should have predicted that when she’d told me he was an interior designer, but everyone in town said he was cheap and he was available. In fact, I got the distinct impression he was cheap and available with regard to most things.

“Yes, it definitely needs paint,” I said. “I’m going to need furniture too. All I have is a couch and a bed.”

Fontaine rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Furniture too? Oh, we’re going to have so much fun.”

He said fun, but what I heard was cha-ching, cha-ching. Even if Fontaine was cheap, it was going to cost me some serious coinage to get this place furnished. I hadn’t really thought that through before I’d bought this great big house. I’d been too distracted by the image of Tyler in that damn shower. And in the kitchen. And in the bedrooms.

All of them.

“Let’s go look upstairs,” Fontaine said as if reading my mind. “The kitchen may be the heart of the home, but the master bedroom is where pulses race.” He turned his dark, glossy head my way and grinned like a game show host. “Do you like that analogy? I tried to make it sound medical-like because you’re, you know, a doctor.”

“Um, thank you?”

We reached the door to the bedroom and Fontaine gasped. “Oh, no, no, no. This won’t do. This won’t do at all. This room doesn’t say make mad, passionate love. This room says blah-blah-blah-snoresville. We can do so much better.”

He walked in and spread out his arms, twirling slowly. “What’s your favorite color?”

“My favorite color? Um, green, I guess.”

“Wrong! It’s purple. Picture this room a deep, sultry purple. Almost an eggplant but without the icky taste. Then add a few red and gold accents and lots of mirrors. Like a sultan’s harem. We can do a four-poster bed with lots of sheer draperies and fabulous silk linens. Do you love it? Tell me you love it.”

His hands went to his hips as he stared me down.

“I was thinking something more soothing and maybe cottagey?”

“Wrong again! That is so, so boring! Just because you live on a lake doesn’t mean it has to look like every other house on a lake. If you tell me you want nautical decor, I’m going to cut myself.”

“I don’t want nautical, but I don’t think I’m much of a sultan’s harem kind of person either.”

He giggled and waved his delicate hand at me. “Oh, I was just kidding with that. No sultan’s harem. But I do think this room should have dark purple walls. Nothing too girly in here. You want Tyler to feel comfortable too.”

I gasped. “Tyler? What would make you say something like that?” How the hell did this guy know about Tyler?

“Oh, sorry,” Fontaine whispered, covering his lips with two fingers. “Is that a secret? My brother said you’d been banging it out with Tyler Connelly. Excellent choice, by the way. Love the whole EMT, run-toward-danger thing. Very sexy.”

The floor starting spinning, and all that white carpet seemed to be getting closer. I reached out to grasp the door frame. “Your brother? Who’s your brother?”

“Jasper Baker, of course.”

Of course. Another link in the Bell Harbor chain of incessant information sharing. One night with Tyler and the news had spread like Nutella over a warm toaster waffle. There were no secrets in this town, no concept of privacy. My personal data would continue to bubble out like water from a leaky sprinkler head, and once the information was out, there was no containing it. What was the point in even trying?