hand Mateo offered her when she started to stand up.
“Does it matter? I’m already branded, so does it matter what I do when decisions are being made without my input?”
The soft skin of his hand against hers… It was enough to cause a slight shiver up her spine—and, worse, the realization that maybe she was ready for that aspect of her life to resume. The attraction. The shivers. Everything that came after.
She’d never had that with Brad. Their marriage had turned cold within the first month. Making love in the five spare minutes he had every other Thursday night and no PDA—even though she would have loved holding hands with him in public. Separate bedrooms half the time, because he’d said her sleeping distracted him from working in bed.
But here was Mateo, drop-dead gorgeous, kind, and friendly, even though he tried to hide it. All in all, he was very distracting. How would he be in a relationship? Not like Brad, she supposed. Brad was always in his own space, doing everything on his own terms, and she had become his afterthought. There was certainly no happily-ever-after in being overlooked by the man who was supposed to love you.
Not that it had made much of a difference, as by the time she’d discovered her place in their marriage she’d already been part-way out the door, vowing never to make that mistake again.
But was that what she really wanted? To spend her life alone? Devote herself to her work? Why was it that one mistake should dictate the rest of her life?
This was another thing to think about during her time off. The unexpected question. Could she do it again if the right man came along? And how could she tell who was right?
Perhaps by trusting her heart? With Brad, it had been more of a practical matter. But now maybe it was time to rethink what she really wanted and how to open herself up to it if it happened along.
Shutting her eyes and rubbing her forehead against the dull headache setting in, it wasn’t blackness Lizzie saw. It was Mateo. Which made her head throb a little harder. But also caused her heart to beat a little faster.
“I’D CLAIM AMNESIA, but I really don’t know the names of most flowers. The purple and white ones…
“Orchids,” Lizzie filled in.
“I know what orchids are.” Mateo reached over the stone wall and picked one, then handed it to Lizzie. “There’s probably a rule against picking the flowers, but you need an…orchid in your hair.”
She took it and tucked it behind her right ear. “Right ear means you’re available. Left means you’re taken.”
“How could someone like you not be taken?” he asked, sitting down next to her on the stone wall surrounding the garden.
Behind them were beautiful flowers in every color imaginable, with a long reflecting pond in the background. One that stretched toward the ocean.
“Because I don’t want to be taken. It’s one of those been-there-done-that situations, and I can still feel the sting from it, so I don’t want to make the wound any worse.
“That bad?”
“Let’s just say that on a rating of one through ten, I’d need a few more numbers to describe it. So, you haven’t been…?”
“I was engaged briefly—apparently. Don’t really have any memory of it other than a few flashes, and those aren’t very flattering. Definitely not my type, from the little I recall.”
“Maybe with your head injury your type changed. That can happen with brain damage. People are known to come out the other side very different from what they were when they went in. Could be the Fates giving you a second chance.”
“You can’t just have a normal conversation, can you? You turn everything into work.”
“Because that’s what I do.”
“That’s all you do, Lizzie. You come in early, leave late, and probably sandwich some sleep in there somewhere. I lived that schedule in Afghanistan too often, and it catches up to you.”
“But this isn’t about me, Mateo.”
“First-year Med School. ‘Treating a patient is as much about you as it is the patient.’ Even though some of my patients came in and out so fast they never even saw me, I worked hard to make every one of them feel that they were in good hands, even if those hands were exhausted. But you… There’s a deep-down tiredness behind the facade you put on, and it shows in your eyes. And I don’t think it’s physical so much as something else.”
“It’s just an accumulation of things. Tough decisions. My dad’s death. Things I’ve wanted I haven’t had. Things I’ve had I haven’t wanted.” She gave him a weak smile. “You’re very perceptive for a man who claims amnesia at the drop of a hat.”
“Straightforward talk, honesty…that’s what I was all about, Lizzie. Have to be when you’re out on the battlefield making quick decisions and performing life-changing procedures.” He sighed. “In the end, when you’re all they’ve got, the only real thing that counts is your word.”
“Was it difficult…practicing like that?”
“Isn’t it what your dad did?”
She shook her head. “He had rank, which got him assigned to a base hospital. He was the one who took the casualties that people like you had fixed after you sent them on.”
“Wouldn’t it be crazy if our paths had crossed somewhere? Yours and mine?”
“He kept me pretty isolated from that part of his life. If our paths had crossed it would have been somewhere like that little bäckerei on Robsonstrasse in Rhineland-Palatinate. We lived in a little flat about a block from there, and I loved getting up early and going for a Danish, or even a raspberry-filled braid.”
“The plum cake there was always my favorite. A little bit sweet, a little bit tart.”
“So, you’ve been there?” Lizzie asked, smiling over the shared memory.
“When I had time. My trips in and out were pretty quick, but I started getting a taste for the plum cake about the same time I stepped on the plane to go there, so that was always my first stop.”
“Small world,” Lizzie said. “Almost like a fairy tale…where the Princess meets the Prince in the most improbable way, then they have battles to fight to get to each other. You know—the love-conquers-all thing, starting with a fruit Danish and plum cake.”
“And the rest of the story in your little world?” he asked. “Do they ever get to their happily-ever-after, or do they eat their cakes alone forever?”
“Let’s see…” she said. “So, their paths crossed at the bakery… His eyes met hers—love at first sight, of course. It always happens that way in a nice romantic story. But since the hero of my story was a soldier prince, their time was fleeting. Passionate, but brief. And the kisses…?”
“Were
