“I always wanted to be a surgeon,” he said, the implication clear. Plain old doctor would not have been enough, and given his personality, she really couldn’t see him reassuring a mother of a young child or talking to a Gen-Xer about omega threes.
“And you like it?” she asked. “Being a surgeon?”
He gave her a puzzled look. “Of course. Why would I do it otherwise?”
“To help people, I guess. Heal the sick.”
“Yes, that too.”
“Lark mentioned they call you Dr. Satan at the hospital. My dad remembered that, too.”
“Your father is a doctor?”
“A nurse. Well, he’s retired now. Anyway, I gather you’re hated and feared. Wicked cool nickname.”
She could’ve sworn that one was an almost-smile.
“Did you like being an…event planner?” He grimaced slightly, letting her know what he thought of her field. She let it pass.
“Theoretically, yes. I got to be a part of the most significant moments of people’s lives. Or at least, some significant moments.” She paused. As she had said at trivia night, she thought some of the “events” were more narcissistic cries for attention / opportunities for Instagram posts. “When someone is celebrating something real, it’s…rewarding to be involved with it.” She paused. “You did that with your sister’s wedding, right?”
“I funded it,” Lorenzo said. “I told Sofia to do whatever she wanted and not think about the cost. My parents would never have been able to do that.” He paused. “She was one of those women who’d been dreaming about her wedding since she was a little girl.” He shrugged.
So condescending and smug…yet so nice, too, if he could tweak his words. She looked at him as he methodically cut up his asparagus spears. He was very good looking, she observed. Not her type, but his face was symmetrical, his eyes blue, his hair short and blond. Gorgeous cheekbones. But removed, somehow. His near-misses with smiling added some appeal. Then again, she didn’t smile much either. Only when warranted.
Outside, the ocean sounded louder. Tide was coming in, and the moon was nearly full.
“How many Santini kids are there again?” she asked.
“Four. I’m the oldest, then Sofia, Dante and Isabella.”
“I’m the fourth of five,” she said. “I would’ve loved to have been the oldest.” No comment. “Are you guys close?” she asked.
“Somewhat. I lived away from them when we were growing up. I went to a school for intellectually advanced boys.”
“Oh.” Her fish was gone. Plain but tasty. The same could not be said for the sad asparagus, however. She’d definitely be hitting some peanut butter crackers, and the rejected Tony’s Chocolonely. “That must’ve been hard, being apart from the rest of them.”
“Yes.” He took a bite, chewed, swallowed, wiped his mouth, and then put down his fork. Clearly, a man comfortable with pauses. “But I lived with my grandmother and visited home when I could.”
That sounded very hard to her. “You and she were close?”
“Very.” His plate was clean, too. She bet he was still hungry, too. Too bad there was no dessert in sight. The bread she’d made had been hidden (or tossed).
“Let me clean up,” she offered.
“Nonsense. You were my guest. Go order the couch and enjoy your evening.”
Dismissed, albeit politely. “Okay. Thank you.” She stopped at the pantry. “You sure you don’t want this for dessert?” she asked, holding up the Tony’s chocolate bar.
“I don’t eat dessert.”
“Ever?”
He sighed, clearly done with her. “I can’t remember the last time I ate dessert.”
“At Lark and Dante’s wedding?”
“I passed.”
