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Chapter Three
Why on earth had she wanted to go to dinner with him?
Totally baffled, Steve stared at the door closing behind his competent nurse. Lillian had never complained, never asked for extra time off or an additional raise. The most loyal and easygoing employee on his staff, an excellent nurse that any surgeon would love to have by his side during a difficult operation, she performed her duties quietly and anticipated his needs.
Without asking awkward questions, she’d volunteered to take care of his house and his pets more than a year ago when he started traveling to the Caribbean. He’d assumed she needed the money and had paid her generously. Knowing his house and pets were in good hands, he’d never regretted the extra checks he handed her. As usual, Lillian did her part quietly and efficiently. In the fifteen years she’d worked in his clinic, she’d never lost her temper, never changed her sweet manner, nor her appearance—monotonous white uniform, hair pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head, black-rimmed glasses perched on her nose.
Over time, she’d blended in with the clinic’s décor, almost invisible, yet always predictable—except in the past thirty minutes when she’d shocked the hell out of him with her desire to have dinner with him.
He knew firsthand what an excellent cook she was. Lillian had rescued him from starvation more than once when he’d been stuck at the clinic with emergency work. So it wasn’t about food, but probably about going out for fun.
Frowning, he tried to remember if he’d ever heard her speak about a weekend with friends. At the Monday morning staff meetings, she would gather with the others and listen as they exchanged stories abouttheirweekends. Come to think of it, she’d never mentioned any special men—or women—in her life. Poor Lillian, she was the last specimen of an extinct brand of spinster.
With a resigned sigh, he decided that granting her wish and taking her out to dinner would be his good deed, one that would cost him a couple of hours of precious time, but so be it. If it made her happy and guaranteed his pets’ survival for the next three months, it would be worth it.
Later that afternoon, he watched as she settled and prepped several patients, chatting with them, reassuring them, and then assisting him during surgery. He couldn’t miss the special glow in her eyes and her boundless energy. All that because of a dinner.
The next day, just after lunch, he received a text from Lillian.
Reservation for 7 pm, at the Montgomery Inn, the Boathouse on the Ohio River. Please pick me up at 6:30. Address: 4285 Farm Drive, off Mitch Road, in Blue Ash. Exit highway 71 at Pfiffer Rd, and turn left into Windgate St, right into Mitch Rd, and right again into Farm Dr.
Her text reminded him of the time and place, and she’d added her address to save him the trouble of looking it up.He had no excuse for being late or forgetting their dinner. Not that he had planned to, but how he would cope with ten dinners with plain Ms. Haynes was beyond him.
He patted his dog who’d joined him in his bedroom.
“Imagine that, Max. Your friend Lillian and I are having dinner together tonight. I wish I could take you. We’ll probably chat about you and your love-hate relationship with Mitzi and Wendy.” Dog and cats conversation would likely alternate with shop talk.
Frustrated at being almost forced into dining with a woman he hadn’t chosen, he hoped he would last through the whole dinner without checking his watch at least a dozen times.
Eager to get his firstchoreover with, he yanked off the suit he’d worn to the clinic and reached for a pair of blue jeans and a beige polo shirt, something casual in order not to embarrass her. He’d never seen her in anything but her nursing uniform, even when she’d been here taking care of the pets.
Count on Lillian to give precise instructions. The cul-de-sac on which she lived was idyllic, quiet, and fragrant with spring blooms of red and pink tulips, yellow and white daffodils, and red and purple azalea bushes. Her bungalow was partially concealed by two mature maple trees. He knocked on her door at six thirty.
A stunning woman in a fashionable black and white silk dress and shining brown curls cascading to her shoulders opened the door. Astonished, he took a step back, frowning at the startling apparition. Did he have the wrong house?
“Good evening, Dr. Winston. Perfectly on time.”
“Lillian…” His gaze roved over the huge hazel eyes shadowed with golden powder, the pinkish cheeks and red glistening lips. “Lillian … Wow, you look gorgeous.” It took some effort to stop his jaw from sagging.
“Thank you.” Her dazzling smile rewarded his compliment. She reached for a velvet jacket and a black purse and closed the door behind her. “Sorry, I’m not inviting you in for a drink now since we don’t have much time.” She seemed at ease with her new persona while he was trying to digest her transformation from plain Jane to dream-woman.
Gentlemanly behavior kicking in, he held her arm and walked her down the three front steps and sidewalk to the driveway, her black stilettos shoes clanking on the stones. He held open the door of his Mercedes as she slid in and settled. When he sat behind the wheel, he couldn’t help a glance at the skirt hiked to mid-thigh invitingly.
A light flowery scent wafted around the car. Her perfume? As unexpected as her new facade. Should he treat her as a date? Could he forget she was Nurse Haynes?
“I hope you didn’t have trouble finding the house?”
“Not at all. You gave excellent directions. I just followed your lead.” And he planned to continue doing so tonight. He took the highway and concentrated on his driving while she commented on their latest surgery.
“Tony Mason and Eva Benny have been admitted to the third floor at the hospital. I’ll stop by and check on them in the morning.”
Hearing her talk about their patients reassured him that she was still his competent assistant and helped him assimilate her new appearance. By the time they arrived at the Boathouse, he’d recovered from his initial shock and was determined to enjoy having her by his side.
The hostess led them to a table for two with a view of the river.
“Would you like a drink?” Steve asked, taking over as if he were the one who’d suggested dinner.
“Just wine with the dinner. Chardonnay, please.”
