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It’s her turn to smirk at me. “Well, it worked, Dr. Weston. I’d love to go out with you.”
My resolve breaks, and I step a little closer. “Really?”
“Yes. When were you thinking? I figured when I hadn’t heard from you that your schedule was ridiculously busy. And I know you need to reconnect with your kids too.”
Damn. A normal father would’ve thought of that. Guess what I’m doing on the way home.
“Returning to everyday life has been chaotic, as I assumed it would be. But it’s harder to concentrate on my work when I’m constantly daydreaming about this stunner I met on vacation.” A pretty red blush stains her tanned cheeks, competing with her sexy lips for my attention. “Please tell me your weekend is free. I can’t wait to see you again.”
She seems shocked at my admission. Hell, she’s not as shocked as I am that I’m putting it all out there. It’s probably because I’m so relieved she didn’t confront me with my misdeeds. The nervous energy I was holding onto is now spilling out like endless rain into a paper cup. Okay, I’m paraphrasing from a line written by John Lennon when he was writing songs with the Beatles. But it fits.
“No.”
There’s no hiding my disappointment. My face falls.
“Oh my god. Youarecute. I meant I’ve got plans with a hot surgeon.”
Fuck, I want to kiss her. “Can I pick you up around four?”
“Yes.” She blushes. “But only under one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“From now on, if you want to ask me out, you don’t do it through Mom or Agnes.”
“Deal.” I grin.
Now, if only I can get through the next four days without being distracted by thoughts of her.
* * *
3:10 p.m. I remove my watch and adjust the dials. How is it only 3:10? It feels like this day has dragged on. I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact I’ve looked at the clock one hundred times today. I’m tempted to have Porter drive me to her place and wait down the road so I can be at her door at four-thirty on the dot.
I’d already been wishing time would fly by more quickly when Poppy sent a text on Thursday, asking if we could bump our date back thirty minutes. She’d signed up for an art class and wanted to have time to get home and clean up. As much as I didn’t want to delay our date a minute more, her message was perfect timing.
Poppy sharing that she was excited about returning to pottery gave me an idea. There was a new art exhibit at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts I’d seen in the news recently. Maybe a visit would help get her creative juices flowing.
“You ready to head out soon, sir?” Porter asks from the doorway. I’ve yet to have a real conversation with him about everything that happened on the trip. Let’s hope he doesn’t think this midlife crisis is here to stay.
“Porter?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Thank you.”
“Um. You’re welcome. But that’s my job, sir.”
Rubbing the back of my neck, I decide to go all in. “Yes, but setting a trap for poor Poppy wasn’t. I’m going to confess when the time is right.”
“I think that’s a good idea. She’s a nice lady.” He grows quiet. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“You don’t think she would’ve come around, eventually?”
I’ve questioned this myself. Was I merely impatient to have my chance with her? “After spending time with her, I’m not sure she would have. She went through a lot, losing her husband. She was his caretaker as much as his wife. He died young due to Lou Gehrig’s disease. I can’t imagine how hard that was for her. I’m sure she’s been trying to protect herself from any further heartache. Add to it that we work together, and I’m not certain I would’ve had a chance otherwise.” At least, that’s how I’m justifying my actions.
Pulling in front of Poppy’s home, I exit the car and button up my jacket before walking to her front steps. I consider ditching my suit jacket due to the August heat, but my thoughts come to a halt when the door opens, and I see her. She’s wearing a form-fitting champagne-pink dress, held up by tiny spaghetti straps.
