“So come on, tell me.”
“Virgin pi?a colada,” she confessed, keeping her eyes on the red-checkered tablecloth and wincing when he laughed.
“A little rum never hurt anybody,” he said.
“‘A little rum’ leads to a lot of rum leads to the chicken dance.”
“Seriously?”
“Don’t ever watch my parents’ twenty-fifth wedding anniversary DVD. It’s . . . epically awful.”
“Hell, you shouldn’t have told me that,” he said, an element of unholy glee in his voice.
“I doubt you’ll ever get to know them well enough to see the horribly embarrassing family DVD collection, so I think I’m safe enough,” she said smugly.
“Challenge accepted.”
“It wasn’t a challenge.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Mason . . .”
“Your wine,” Thandiwe said, interrupting what was proving to be the most frustrating and entertaining conversation Daisy had had in a long time. The girl popped the cork on the wine with a flourish and decanted a portion for Mason, who took a sip before nodding at her to go ahead and pour.
“Are you ready to order?” Thandiwe asked, reaching into the kangaroo pouch in the front of her black apron and pulling out her notebook.
“Not quite yet,” Mason told her with a smile, and she nodded.
“Just call when you need me,” the girl said before flouncing off to a neighboring table.
“So was I mistaken or did the lovely Thandiwe call you Dr. Daisy earlier?” Mason took another appreciative sip of his wine and stared at her with those beautiful and unsettlingly penetrating eyes of his.
“I’m a vet,” she said, trying to remain unaffected by that all-seeing gaze of his.
“No shit? That’s great. Just like your dad, huh?”
“Yes, I can’t remember ever wanting to be or do anything else. I spent my childhood tagging along behind my dad as often as he’d let me, and when I was a teen, I helped out in reception. I’ve only been a qualified veterinarian for a year now and in partnership with my father.”
“And? Is it everything you thought it would be?”
“It’s hard work and often gut-wrenching, but it can heartwarming and rewarding as well. I started a free clinic at Inkululeko about six months ago, and it’s my favorite part of the week. I feel like we’re really making a difference with that clinic. We run it on Wednesdays and half days on Saturdays. We’re always slammed on Saturdays, but I love it.”
“You worked today?”
“Yes. That’s why I was stuck walking Peaches at such an impractical time.”
“And what do you do for fun, Daisy McGregor?” he asked with a smile, and Daisy’s breath caught when she noticed the sexy dimple winking at her from his left cheek.
“Uh . . .” She lost her train of thought, distracted by the dimple. And she tried to gather her thoughts as she fought to regain her composure. “Nothing much, really. Work takes up a lot of my time right now, what with us still trying to get the clinic properly running and funded. When I do have a moment to spare, I bake.”
His eyes flared with interest.
“Yeah? Like cakes and stuff?”
“All kinds of cakes, biscuits, pies . . .”
“I happen to like pies,” he said without subtlety, and Daisy laughed.
“I’ll bear that in mind.”
“I’m partial to cakes and biscuits too.”
“I’m sure you are.” She giggled, and he returned her smile.
Daisy McGregor might not be the cute one or the pretty one, but she sure as hell was the adorable one. How nobody else could see that was beyond Mason. He wanted to keep that wide, gorgeous smile on her face, but it was already fading to be replaced by her more habitual earnestness.
He saw their waitress, Thandiwe, approaching and shook his head slightly to indicate to her that they weren’t ready yet, before lifting the menu.
“All this talk of confectionaries has made me hungry,” he confessed as he perused the menu. His eyes widened as he stared at the all-too-familiar items listed on the laminated paper. “This menu is still exactly the same.”
“I know.”
“Exactly the same, Daisy,” he repeated, waving the plastic card in front of her face. “Seriously, and I don’t just mean the content. I’m almost sure this is one of the actual menus they had when I was working here. See this water stain?” He pointed to the blotch beside the M in MJ’s. It was on the paper that was sandwiched between the thin sheets of plastic and had to have been there before the menu was laminated. “I know I’ve seen it before. How have all of you not died of boredom yet?”
“Most of the younger people leave as soon as they’re old enough. They move to Knysna, Plettenberg Bay, Port Elizabeth, or sometimes further afield to Durban or Cape Town. Or in certain extreme cases . . . the UK.” The last was said with a pointed glance over the top of the menu, and he grinned again.
“And why didn’t you leave?” Especially since the people in this town were so set in their ways, they hadn’t even noticed that she was a captivating woman in her own right who didn’t deserve to be forever unfavorably compared to her sisters.
“I went to university in Pretoria, but I always wanted to come back here and join my dad’s practice. Still, that taste of independence was what led me to move out of my parents’ house and buy my own place. My sisters are so content living there, and I get so—” She stopped talking abruptly, and he wondered if she felt guilty about whatever she’d been about to say. She did seem fiercely loyal to her family. She put down her menu and folded her hands over the piece of plastic. “I already know what I want to order.”