I heard what he wasn’t saying. The thing we were both dancing around, the investigation that trailed him like a shadow he couldn’t shake.
“Cole,” I leaned in, my tone barely above a whisper.
“Harper.” He matched my posture, his deep brown eyes focused on my face and nothing else.
“Why’d you meet me here?”
He was quiet for a moment, then said, “I’ve been going home alone to an empty house and letting myself overthink.There is such a thing as too much alone time. Having an actual conversation with someone who gets it sounded good to me.”
“That’s it?”
“Well, you didn’t object when I suggested I join you. And you’re nice to talk to, after passing each other in the hallways at RMC. I wanted to know if the you I saw in the ICU was who you actually are or if that was variations on a performance.”
“What do you mean? Which me?”
“With the family and with Stephens. You switched up on him real fast. Got in his ass. He was not happy about it.”
I felt my lips quirk into a smile. “That’s an accurate summary of his feelings on our encounter. Ask me if I give a fuck. He needs to stop playing hero.”
“See?” He grinned. “That’s what I wanted to know—if you’re the same person in the waiting room and the parking garage and at this table.”
“I’m betting I’m not.”
“Hayull naw,” he drawled. “I like Rafferty’s Harper a lot.A lota lot.”
I didn’t know what to do with that, so I drained the last of my drink.
“What about you?” Cole asked. “Why’d you invite me to join you?”
“Same reasons, I guess. I wanted to see if you were as…” I paused, mostly for drama.
“As…” His brows rose, curious.
“Competentoff-script.”
“Competent.” He pretended to choke. “That’s how you describe me?”
“It’s a compliment, Dr. Vaughn.”
“Uh-huh. I’m about to go home and think of some bland, beige compliments for you. You’re efficient. Pleasant. What you say to that?”
“I say thank you, can I have another?”
The bartender bellowed last call from the bar. I glanced at my watch.
“Last call? It’s like…” Cole picked up his phone. “A quarter to ten?”
“Rafferty’s closes at ten,” I told him. “It’s truly a lounge for washed people.”
“A’ight,” he said, giving a signal to our waiter. “I’ll pick up the tab. It’s the competent thing to do.”
“Lord. Like competent isn’t the highest praise coming from hospital administration.”
The waiter dropped off the check. Cole slipped his credit card into the leather folio without glancing at the total.
“You know,” I said, watching him, “I wonder if we shouldn’t make a habit of this.”
“Of what? Having drinks?”
