Finish What We Started (12 page)

“I might have a lead for you.”

“Really. What’s the deal?” Calamari disappeared behind her lips.

“You remember Marisol?”

“You mean every man’s wet dream? The gorgeous woman from dinner? The sports writer with the lilting accent? The one you say isn’t your girlfriend? I vaguely remember her. Why?”

“Okay, okay.” He laughed. “She isn’t my girlfriend. Never has been. To clarify, we went out on a couple of dates. Never slept together. We’re just friends.”

“Out of curiosity, how did you meet her?”

“Through Holly. They’ve been best friends since college.” The conversation paused while they ordered dinner—grilled sea bass for him and linguine with shrimp scampi for her. “Anyway, she’s got a two-bedroom condo, and she’s out of town all the time for work. Her previous roommate was her cousin, but he’s moved out of town so now she thinks she can make me watch her cat every time she’s gone. You saw how well that worked out the first time.”

“How is Jose?”

“Feline.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means he ignores me unless I’m ignoring him. Then he slashes my leg as I walk by.”

She smirked. “You have a real way with cats.”

They got into a steady rhythm of conversation until their food arrived. They sampled each other’s meals and got another bottle of wine. He was enjoying himself. He hadn’t been sure they’d be able to slip back into the comfortable place they’d had before, but they had—so long as none of the hot-button topics came up.

He wasn’t drunk but he was relaxed and once or twice tuned out her story about a patient or a book she’d read to watch her lips as she spoke, or the animated way she moved her hands while she talked. Her eyes always seemed to be laughing. Once she’d slipped her index finger into her mouth to lick off some butter. When the tip of her tongue flicked out and licked her lips, he’d had to adjust the napkin in his lap.

They were mulling over the dessert menu and he was congratulating himself on an excellent first date when she brought up Scotland again and it all went to crap.

* * *

Things were going really well. All the anxiety Candace had felt before the date had completely faded. Lee was charming and sexy and funny. She was relaxed and turned on and just a little bit tipsy. She played with her wine glass and he watched her fingers. He fixated on her lips when she spoke. All the signs were there.

And then she ruined the night.

She’d been telling him about her favorite bookstore in Glasgow and how the owner, a tiny little Scot named McMillan, kept cats in his store.

“I really wish I could have taken you there. It was called Heather and Thistle—those were the names of his cats. Two ancient old tabbies. Even you would have loved them. McMillan didn’t care if you stayed for hours to look at the books. He had these comfortable chairs in all these nooks and he made tea. Thistle loved to sit on your lap.” She sighed at the memory. She had been so busy with school that she didn’t often have the opportunity to do anything as luxurious as having tea and a book with a snuggly kitty.

“Yeah, well.”

His tone pulled her out of her reverie; the sweetness of the reminiscence slipped away in a rush. He didn’t feel comfortable anymore.

She smiled, hoping to alleviate the prickly vibe she was getting from him. “You’d have loved the architecture of the castles, too.” She lowered her voice. “I wish you’d have come over like we’d planned.”

He pulled out his wallet. The waiter arrived and Lee handed him his card without reviewing the bill. “A lot of plans went to shit.”

“I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“I’m not mad,” he said, but he clearly was. Her charming date was all snippy and tense now.

“I don’t know if we can pretend all that stuff didn’t happen.”

“I don’t know if we can either.”

She sighed. “That’s a shame.” This meant she wasn’t getting laid. It was a crass thought, but it would have been great to finally get sex off her mind. That was the only reason she was disappointed, right? She shouldn’t be feeling this awful.

He dropped her off at her parent’s home. Of course he walked her to the door. “Thanks for dinner,” he said, and kissed her cheek, which was wholly disappointing. “I’ll talk to you next week about the clinic.”

That was all. Then he left.

* * *

Very poorly done.

That’s exactly what Lee’s father would have told him if he were still alive. Those words were the worst thing you could hear from the man. He didn’t yell. He didn’t swear. But if you brought home a report card with a C on it or skipped your chores for a ball game, he would look at you with those disappointed eyes and say that phrase. If what you’d done was especially heinous, he might add in a headshake. Lee had experienced the many levels of his father’s disappointment and this latest episode with Candy would have been a solid level three: sad eyes, headshake and a deep sigh to finish it off.

He didn’t need anyone to tell him that he’d been a complete jerk at dinner, but he went over to Marisol’s townhouse in the middle of the week because he needed to talk to someone about it. He’d considered his brother, but if he talked to Mark he’d just get more dumb advice from a guy, and he was smart enough to know that wasn’t what he needed.

The black SUV was in the street and he contemplated not disturbing her with her ballplayer boy toy, but, damn it, he needed to talk to her.

He texted.
Hey, are u home?

A couple seconds later, his phone chimed. Yep.

Are u alone?

Nope.

Do you have pants on?

Hahaha. Ur not funny

Is the Rocket 2nd baseman wearing pants?

There was a long silence. Then finally, Sup?

I’m outside. Need to talk. Sorry.

Several minutes later, her front door opened. Marisol stuck her head out and waved him in. The second baseman was putting on his shoes.

“Hey, man.” Lee stuck out his hand and the guy shook it. “Lee Bennett. Good game last week.”

The guy gave him the dude nod. “Thanks, man.”

Lee shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered into the kitchen to give them a minute. There was quiet murmuring, some suspicious silence, then the door opened and closed. She came into the kitchen and got herself and Lee a beer.

“I’m sorry to interrupt.” As much as he teased her about her sex life, he wanted her to be happy and maybe that was going to be with the ball player. Interrupting them made him feel like a schmuck.

She shrugged. “He had to go anyway. Besides, I’ll see him later. What’s going on?”

He tossed the bottle cap in the trashcan. “I went out with Candy the other night.”

Her eyebrows raised, but she didn’t say anything. Marisol was like that. She’d just stare you down till you got to the heart of the matter.

“It started out really great. We’d agreed that we would pretend like we didn’t have a past and it was just a regular first date.” He took a swig and waited for her response.

“Well, that was really stupid.”

That was also like her. Subtlety wasn’t a strong point.

He rushed to defend his theory. “I thought that if we didn’t bring up any of the crap that broke us up, then we could get to know each other again.”

She rolled her eyes and walked out of the kitchen. He followed her to the back patio. He’d helped her brick it in when she bought the place last year. She claimed a lounge chair in the shade of an olive tree and put her feet up. “And did Candy agree to that nonsense?”

“She did.” Which proved, to him at least, that his idea hadn’t been totally ridiculous.

“Sit down, you’re making my neck hurt.” She pointed to the matching chair and he plopped down in it. She continued, “It’s still an asinine plan. Then what happened?”

He smiled at her in satisfaction. “Then things went really well for most of the night.”

She stared some more.

“Then she brought up Scotland again and how much she loved this bookstore that had cats and tea and comfortable chairs and crap. She said I would have loved the architecture there and wished I could have seen it.”

She gasped. “That bitch! I hope you stormed out of the restaurant and left her with the bill.”

“Okay. I’m trying to be serious here.” He stood up and walked under the tree and leaned against the knotty trunk.

“I don’t know how. Look,
cariño
, you can’t expect to start anything new with this woman and pretend that the last five years never happened. She lived. You lived. Well, you sorta lived. You built your business. You built that house of yours. Everyone who knows you knows that house is a direct result of your breakup, and you showed it to her, didn’t you? You didn’t do it maliciously, right? It wasn’t to hurt her and throw it in her face, correct? You did it because you’re proud of it.”

“I did it because I couldn’t find your damn cat.”

“Whatever, you’d have shown it to her eventually. That’s what you’ve done for five years. You can’t expect to get to know this woman again without hearing about her life experiences since you’ve been apart.”

He didn’t answer. Instead he took another long pull on his beer, sluiced the condensation from the bottle, and wiped it on his jeans.

“Let me ask you this. What did you want to have happen on this date of yours? Are you looking to get back together with her?”

“I think so.” Well, he’d wanted to get laid, too. “We were so good once.”

“It was pretty obvious to everyone at Infinity Blue the other night that there’s still something there. You two didn’t act like exes who hate each other. In fact, there were some pretty serious sparks flying around.”

He didn’t hate Candy. Well, not anymore. It surprised him no small amount, but there it was. She was still the beautiful, hot, funny, smart, driven woman he’d loved from before. But when he tried to reconcile the new Candy with the old one who hadn’t loved him enough to stay when he’d needed her more than anything, his good intentions fell apart again. That hole in his chest threatened to open back up, and he hadn’t thought he’d live through it the first time.

Marisol’s softly accented voice broke through his thoughts. “Are you just looking to see if you can hurt her as much as she hurt you?”

“No.” That absolutely wasn’t it. When she’d been in his house it was like everything had come together. She belonged in his house. He wanted her there. She’d accepted his apology. Now, if he could just let everything else go.

“If you’re thinking to start up again, then you’re going to have to talk all that through. You can’t pretend like it never happened.”

“Shit.”

“Right?” She nodded. “Shit is correct,
mi amigo
.”

She smiled at him. “That’s what you men always find yourselves doing, eh? Don’t they give you a class on this in Sex Ed in elementary school? The Art of the Apology. No? They should.” She paused, then asked, “Did I help?”

“Yeah. Thanks. I knew you would.”

Satisfied, she drained her beer. “
Andale pues.
You hungry?”

“I’m always hungry.”

He’d eat and figure out how to go about fixing this. He wondered if Candy was as confused as he was.

* * *

If the whole dating thing wasn’t going to work out, then she wasn’t going to participate in it at all. Like a hunger strike, only with men. Who needed that kind of bullshit? There was no need to get her expectations all raised and start feeling hopeful just so the jackass of the day could make her feel bad about herself.

Her mother started in on her first thing in the morning about some guy or another and Candace told her in no uncertain terms she wasn’t cooperating anymore.

It’s not like she didn’t have enough to fill her days. She ran every morning and then spent the rest of the day seeing patients at her father’s clinic. During breaks in her schedule she made sure everything would be ready for the new clinic opening.

That was an exercise in frustration. The scales arrived early, which wouldn’t be a big deal, but the box it shipped in was four feet long and two feet wide. The closet she was using for storage at her father’s clinic was already full of computer equipment boxes and microscopes and well, boxes and boxes. This last delivery was never going to fit in there. She got one of the techs to help her load it into her borrowed car. She might be able to muscle it into her parent’s garage later.

There were still a couple of weeks until the grand opening and the good lord only knew where she was going to start storing this stuff. Maybe as soon as the flooring went in she could shove some of it into the new office space, but it made her nervous to leave it there with so many workmen coming and going.

The box wouldn’t fit in the stupid hatchback. Not even when she lowered the back seat and tried to shove it all the way through. Stupid tiny car.

She was going to need a storage locker. And a car. That was just one more thing with which she could be distracting herself. The one she’d been borrowing from her older brother was too small. And it smelled oddly of olives.

Her patients today had been fairly routine, thank goodness, since she’d been distracted. There’d been two litters of puppies and another of Siamese kittens, all to be vaccinated. A basset hound with an ear infection. A shepherd adopted from a shelter in for a wellness check.

If there was one thing she was blissfully happy about in all this mess, it was her job. Every day that she got to come to the clinic and work with animals was a day she was excited to get out of bed. All the sacrifices, even the hardest one, the one that made her saddest—she still couldn’t regret having made them.

With renewed vigor, she plucked the chart off the closed door of her next appointment.

Corn snake. Interesting. Her father’s practice didn’t include much herpetology, but Candace found it fascinating, and she looked forward to flexing unused diagnostic muscles. The complaint was about shedding. This shouldn’t be anything she couldn’t handle.

The minute she opened the door she knew she was in trouble. Not from whatever was slithering around in a pillowcase on the exam table, but from the owner. She looked at the file again. John Smith. Smith. Right. She pursed her lips and eyed the owner, who was standing as far from the wiggly cotton ball as possible.