“Absolutely not.” Claire tugged him forward gently. “You look ridiculously hot today and I want her to see what she missed out on.”
“Wai—” he started to protest, but his brain snagged on the hot part. He wore the same shorts he’d had on earlier and had changed into a snug black T-shirt. He’d wished he could get jeans over his damn cast to look a little nicer for Claire, but it wasn’t possible. “I do?”
The vehemence in her tone sent heat downward. “Yes.”
Claire likes shorts and fitted T-shirts. Noted.
She stepped forward, closer to the rack where Angela browsed, and said loudly, “Oh, Graham! Look at this one.” She grabbed a dress from the rack and held it up.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Angela turn.
Shit. He drew closer to Claire, wanting to be near her, as if she’d protect him from the strange feelings sprouting from the dormant soil of his memory. “That’s, uh, nice.”
“Graham?” came Angela’s familiar, feminine voice.
His shoulders tensed and his gaze lifted over Claire’s shoulder.
“Graham Scott? Is that you?”
Angela appeared on Claire’s right side, her eyes wide as they tracked down his body.
Well, maybe Claire had been right about that.
Claire moved closer to him and wrapped her hand possessively around his bicep.
“Angela. Hey,” he said, attempting to sound surprised to see her.
Rubbing her hand up and down his arm, Claire asked him in a voice sweeter than he’d ever heard come out of her mouth, “Who’s this?”
Angela’s shrewd gaze seemed to size Claire up. When he didn’t reply right away, she stood a little straighter. “I’m Angela. Graham and I went to school together.”
“Did you?” Claire looked up at him. Those hazel eyes he adored were overflowing with mischief, and he wasn’t quite sure which impulse was stronger: see how this played out or get the hell out of there. “I don’t remember you ever mentioning an Angela.” She shrugged and glanced back at Angela. “Nice to meet you, though.”
Angela’s tone sharpened a fraction. “Same.”
“You two were at the same high school, huh?” Claire asked. She brushed a palm across his muscled chest and his breath shallowed. “Wow, what was that like? I bet all the girls were after him, weren’t they?”
Angela shifted on her feet. “Um...”
Before Angela could say more, Claire kept going, “If not, boy, what a mistake that was, huh? Just look at this guy. And he’s a fireman, too.” She made a slow pass over his bicep as she lowered her voice conspiratorially and dipped her head in Angela’s direction. “He doesn’t mind wearing the uniform during off-hours, if you know what I mean.”
“Claire,” Graham muttered. “Fuck.”
But she wasn’t done, apparently.
“He’s a local hero, too. Broke his leg saving an old woman from a fire in her apartment. Can you believe it? I guess I lucked out no one snagged him back then, though, because I wouldn’t have had a chance. A man like Graham doesn’t come around often. Sweet, kind, brave, and he’s even hotter underneath.” She winked. “Trust me.”
Angela blinked, her gaze bouncing between him and Claire.
Claire’s phone dinged. “Oh!” she said happily. “We’d better go, our table’s ready. It was nice to meet you, Andrea.”
“Angela.”
“Right, sorry.” Claire flashed a final smile and looked at Graham expectantly.
He was having a hell of a time keeping from laughing. He swallowed hard and forced himself to look at Angela. “It was good to see you.”
Angela mumbled a goodbye as Graham and Claire turned to leave. When they got to the door he whispered, “Was that fun for you?”
“So much, thank you.” On the street after the boutique door had closed, she clapped her hands. “That was the best thing ever. Did you see her face? She’s regretting turning you down so hard right now.”
Satisfaction, immature as it was, flared. “She is?”
“Yes. I guarantee if I hadn’t been there she’d have given you her number.” She suddenly paused, frowning up at him. “Wait. Would you... Do you want her to?”
He made a face. “Hell no. I’d pick you over her every day of the week.”
A beautiful, genuine smile spread across her face, and she fell back into step beside him. “Good.”
Once they were settled at their table with drinks and food between them, Graham used the opportunity to bring up some of the things he’d found on Google that day he’d been searching about passions in life.
“I have a question.”
“Okay.”
“If money was no object, what would you do for the rest of your life?”
Claire regarded him over her wineglass, then set it gently on the table. “Where’d that come from?”
Graham shrugged, the interaction with Angela leaving him feeling lighter than he had in weeks. “Just something I came across the other day. I’ve had some time on my hands, if you hadn’t noticed.”
She grinned and tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “I know what your answer would be.”
“What’s that?”
“Disappear into the mountains. Maybe have a cabin near the best climbing spot, and have food and supplies delivered on a regular basis so you never had to leave.”
Graham laughed and pushed his bread plate to the side. “That’s pretty damn close.”
Claire twirled her fork in her hand and glanced at her plate. “I’d probably go around finding the best cuisine in every city. Trying a bunch of places and then promoting the best. Even better if they were those hidden-gem, locally owned businesses. What I wouldn’t do for people to recognize places like that instead of going to the same chains over and over again.”
“I could totally see you doing that,” Graham said, leaning back in his chair. “But you could do that now, you know.”
“How?”
“Start a blog or Instagram page or something. Take pictures and write posts about your favorite places around Denver.”
Her eyes went wide. “I’d have an excuse to eat out more...” She sat up and her mouth dropped open. “Oh, my gosh, if I had a decent following do you think places would give me free food?”
Damn, she was cute. “Probably.”
He could practically see the gears working in her brain. Before she got carried away and created a website right here at the table, he asked another question.
“How about this one: When you die, what do you want to be remembered for?”
She gave him a little smile, tilting her head. “Graham. Did you do some soul-searching while you were bedbound?”
“It’s your fault for going to work and leaving me to my own devices.”
“I’m impressed. But that one’s even harder.” She searched the room for a moment, as if the other patrons would inspire her. “I have no idea. My work as a nurse, maybe? Healing people?”
“That’s a good one,” he said, but deep down he didn’t think that was it. Claire would be remembered for more than her job. People would remember her light and laughter, and the way the world just felt bigger and brighter when she was around.
He couldn’t seem to say the words out loud, though.
“Speaking of being a nurse, I won’t be doing that much longer.”
“Yeah? They finally got you transferred over in the system?”
“Yep. I’m officially credentialed as a nurse practitioner at the hospital.” She dropped her eyes and her smile faded as she moved her hands to her lap, a wrinkle between her brows.
“Hey,” he said, tapping her shoe with his foot. “What’s up?”
She lifted her gaze and shook her head a little. “I don’t know. I was really excited about the change—I mean, it’s why I did the work to become an NP in the first place—I want to have more independence and a broader range to help people. And gosh, I loved clinicals. I know it’s the right thing, but now that it’s actually happening... I’m a little nervous.”
“What are you nervous about?”
“I guess just thinking about being the one responsible for diagnosing and making the treatment plan...it’s a lot of responsibility. What if I miss something? What if someone gets hurt because I make a mistake?”
“That won’t happen.”