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A quick rummage through the cupboards didn’t turn up anything other than spelt cookies, so she carried just the cups to the table.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have anything sweet to offer.” As she said that, she realized that she’d left Kyle’s place before they’d gotten to dessert, and her hand flew to her mouth as she gasped. “Your dessert!”
He shook his head and wrapped his hands around his cup. “Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t homemade, or anything. This is great.”
Laney slumped in her chair. She felt rotten.
“Hey, don’t make that face. It’s fine, really. I don’t have enough drama in my life.” Kyle winked at her. “And I only had a few days to soak up whatever you can throw at me. Since you aren’t actually throwing anything, it’s all good.”
She wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t want to get into anything again so she nodded and smiled. “Will it keep? The dessert, I mean. Maybe we could try again tomorrow night. I don’t need to be back in Chicago until New Year’s.”
Kyle shook his head, clear disappointment on his face. “I’m curling tomorrow with a bunch of teachers. I probably won’t be home until late.”
“Call me when you’re done and I’ll come over.”
“Are you looking for a booty call?” He raised an eyebrow and pulled out his phone.
“I think we’ve demonstrated that works better for us than the whole ‘dinner and a movie’ thing, don’t you?” Laney regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. Dinner had been great. Kyle didn’t look offended, though, and she took his phone and added her number, and then after a moment’s hesitation, her email address and Twitter handle as well.
“Twitter?” Kyle asked, looking at her profile.
She shrugged. “It’s a good way to stay connected with other physicians and keep up to date on news in the medical community. I’ve done a bit of guest blogging too. I just added it because your address book has a field for it. You don’t need to follow me.”
Kyle met her gaze for a beat, then finished his hot chocolate and rinsed the mug in the sink. Laney stood to see him out to the door, and after he pulled on his coat, he took one of her hands in his while he held his gloves in the other. He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, back and forth, and she squeezed his fingers. “I’m going to follow you, Laney.”
Kyle didn’t use Twitter nearly as often as Laney, but he had an account that he used to share education links and weigh in—diplomatically—on relevant discussions.
What he never did was wake up and reach for his phone to check the latest tweets.
But after he’d stayed up late scrolling through her feed, and then reading her blog, that was exactly what he did.
Waking up and thinking about Laney was dangerous. Giving in to that hunger just twisted her deeper under his skin. It was a good thing that he’d stuck to his plans to go curling. It was a full day event, and he could have ducked out of it—almost guaranteed, when he got there, someone would ask why he’d showed up instead of spending the day with Laney.
There were no secrets in Wardham. There was a healthy amount of speculation, which often sent people spiralling toward incorrect assumptions.
Except in this case, maybe it wasn’t that incorrect.
He was hung up on her. He always would be. He scrubbed his hand over his face as he kicked off the blanket and told himself to get out of bed.
Then he rolled onto his side and opened the Twitter app instead. No new tweets, so he click on her profile and followed the link to her faculty website at the university. Assistant Professor of Medicine. Board-certified surgeon. Smelled like strawberries and laughed during sex, then wrapped herself around him again.
He was more than hung up on her. And she was leaving in a few days.
He needed to go curling. Have a few beers and shoot the shit with his co-workers.
Maybe after he jerked off in the shower.
The annual Wardham Elementary Bonspiel ended, as it usually did, with catcalls, smack talk, and accusations of cheating.
Then everyone headed to Danny’s, Wardham’s only pub, for a few rounds of beer.
Kyle had enjoyed a few over the day, but as they settled at a long table in the back, he ordered Coke instead.
“Are you the designated driver?” the bartender asked. Mari always made him feel old, because she was best friends with his little cousin, Stella, who was an adult now, but he still thought of them both as teenagers.
“Not unless they are planning to head home in thirty minutes. I’m just here for one round tonight.”
She gave him a knowing wink. Jesus Christ. Now the gossip had reached beyond his immediate social circle. Fantastic. And teenagers—who were actually adults—were giggling about his dating life again.
