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Ten
No one ever, in the history of dining, had made a cup of espresso last as long as Drew did after they finished their dessert. He didn’t want that perfect day to end.
He’d been with a lot of women, in his time, and he’d made it his business to be good at pleasing them, appreciating them, seeing them, knowing them. But apart from the sex, he’d never felt like anyone had ever successfully known him back.
Some women had tried, to their credit. He’d always assumed it was his fault when they failed. A mysterious personality defect on his part. His defenses were too high, he couldn’t let anyone inside, yada-yada-yada. Big shame, but what could you do.
But he’d been open to Jenna from the start. Wide open. No choice about it. The intimacy of it stirred him up, made him feel shaky and off balance.
It was strange, how much he liked it.
Drew dealt with the bill, and they went outside and strolled together down to the street. The wind coming off the sound was raw and cold, whipping a hot pink color into her cheeks and tossing her curls wildly.
Then they were holding hands. He didn’t remember deciding to do it. It felt as if the natural state of their hands was to be clasped.
She glanced up at him. “Are the photographers still following us?”
“No idea,” he said. “Didn’t think to look.”
“Ah. So you’re staying in character just in case?”
That stung, a little. “I suppose,” he said. “Didn’t really think of it that way.”
“Hey, wait,” Jenna said. “Drew, wasn’t that your car? Back there behind us?”
Drew turned to look. She was right. He’d walked right past it. Lost in space.
He unlocked his black Jag with the key fob and opened the door for her.
Jenna backed away, flustered and smiling and holding her hands up. “Oh, no. That’s not necessary. I’ll call a car. It’ll save you an hour of pointless driving.”
“I can’t just leave you here,” he told her. “Please. Get in. Let me take you home.”
She sighed, but got in without further argument, to his immense relief.
Once they were on their way, having his eyes on the road ahead instead of on her made the question he’d been wanting to ask her come out more easily.
“This mission to help amputees get the use of their hands back, it seems like more than a career for you,” he commented. “It seems very personal. What’s that all about?”
Jenna was quiet for a long moment, so he started looking at her profile, trying to gauge if he’d overstepped some boundary.
“It is personal,” she said. “My brother Chris lost an arm to bone cancer, just like Cherise. They amputated his right arm right above the elbow.”
“That must have been hard,” he said.
“He was only eighteen. I was twelve. He’d just won a big basketball scholarship, right before he was diagnosed. He was a very gifted athlete.”
He winced. “Oh, God. That hurts.”
“Yeah, it broke everyone’s hearts that he had to give up that dream.”
“What does he think of your line of work? Does he have one of your magic arms?”
Jenna was silent again. This time for so long that he suddenly guessed, in a flash of total dismay, what she was going to say and cursed himself for being so damn clumsy.
“We lost Chris about a year after that operation,” Jenna said. “They didn’t catch it in time. They found it in his spine, his liver. He did chemo and all that, but it got him.”
He just let that sit for a moment before he said, “I’m so sorry.” He wished there was something less trite and shopworn to say, but there never freaking was.
