temples throb.
“Dad,” Connor said, frowning. “I’m hungry-y-y…”
Nick waved his son over then walked to the door before turning back to Belle. “Do you have plans for dinner? If not, you’re welcome to join us at Pat’s. We can talk more there.”
Honestly, she didn’t have plans. In fact, her stomach was rumbling, and her new designer pumps were pinching her toes something terrible. She’d also not had a chance to pick up any groceries and nothing stayed open past eight in Bayside. “Fine. But only to discuss the clinic, not to socialize.”
“Agreed.” Nick pulled on his own black wool coat then ushered her and his son outside. “No socializing here. Promise.”
As they headed into the chilly mid-December night, Nick eyed Belle’s stiletto pumps with trepidation. Seemed she’d forgotten what winters could be like here in Michigan. Sure enough, as they trudged across the slick pavement, her feet slipped, and she clutched his arm like a lifeline.
“You need boots.”
“I have boots. They’re in my suitcase inside the funeral home.” She stiffened beside him and released his arm, clutching her coat tighter around herself. “I’ll be sure to wear them tomorrow.”
He shook his head. Her coat probably cost more than his house and all its contents. When he’d been at the top of the pediatric surgery ladder in Atlanta, he’d seen plenty of women dressed to the nines in designer duds. Hell, he’d worn his share of tuxes back then too. Now, though, he dressed for comfort. He’d moved back to Bayside a year and a half ago, given up his high-pressure lifestyle and all the stress along with it, and wouldn’t change his decision for the world. Connor was better off with fresh air and room to grow. Losing his wife, Vicki, had been hard on both of them, but Bayside was home.
Always had been. Always would be. At least for him.
He hunched farther down inside his wool coat and turned the collar up against the brisk wind now rolling in off Lake Michigan. Weathermen predicted snow tonight, from what he’d heard on the radio on his way over to the funeral.
Belle slipped again. He reached for her elbow, but she pulled away. “I’ve got it.”
“Yeah. I can see that.”
He stifled a grin at her peeved glare.
Connor walked along ahead of them, oblivious.
“Don’t cross the street by yourself, son,” Nick called. “Wait for us.”
Belle gave him some serious side-eye at the same time his son gave him a perturbed stare.
“He’s eight, right?” she asked.
“Yes.” Nick bristled at her judgmental tone. Fine. Maybe Connor was old enough to start doing things on his own, but Nick wasn’t there yet. He was trying, but his son was growing up—far faster than Nick wanted sometimes—and guilt lingered in his heart. He did his best to be both mom and dad to Connor, but there were only so many hours in a day and it was just the two of them. Besides, Belle had no right to question his parenting style. Still, in an effort to keep the peace he swallowed the words he wanted to say and instead pointed to a redbrick building across the street on the corner. “Diner’s over there.”
“I know where Pat’s is.” Belle’s tone snapped with affront. So much for not arguing. “I’m from here, remember?”
“Figured you forgot. Kind of like your boots.”
She glared at him, her green eyes glittering in the dim streetlight.
The three of them crossed the street and pushed inside the restaurant. Pat Randall—the diner’s proud owner for over thirty years—waved to Nick from behind the counter, oblivious to the tension pulsating around them like a force field. “Hey, Doc. Con.”
A few other patrons were eating a late dinner there too, probably having wandered over after Marlene’s service. Some were his patients, like little Analia Hernandez and her family. She was the same age as Connor and would’ve been in his class at school, but she’d been born with Crouzon syndrome, a rare genetic condition that had caused the bones of her skull to fuse prematurely. There was no mental deficiency associated with the disorder, thank goodness, but the concave shape of her midface did contribute to the little girl’s breathing issues. Still, Analia was happy and confident, always quick with a grin and brimming with curiosity. Analia raised a hand at Connor as they passed their table. “Hey, Con.”
“Hey, Ana.” Con waved back.
They took a table near the far wall and Belle sat gingerly, like the whole place might blow up in her face. Nick sat in the chair beside Connor’s, across from Belle, and raked a hand through his hair, his appetite buried under the uncomfortable feelings stirred by seeing Belle again after all these years. With her living out in California, it had been easier for him to keep her as more of an abstract notion in his head.
A woman, the woman, from his past. Always there, but quarantined, like a dangerous virus that could easily hijack his system. Now, though, with her back in Bayside, even temporarily, he was forced to reconcile the promise he’d made to Vicki with reality. He’d let Belle go back in high school and obviously she’d moved on and done well for herself. She’d left Bayside and him behind eighteen years ago and hadn’t looked back since. He should be happy, overjoyed, well and truly done with it all.
Why then did his heart pinch a little each time he caught sight of Belle now?
Must be stress. Had to be. He’d headed to Marlene’s funeral directly after spending sixteen hours in his clinic and he had another full schedule tomorrow. Maybe Belle had been correct. Maybe they should have put this conversation off until he’d gotten some sleep, had some peace and quiet to get his life in order again.
Except deep down he knew it wouldn’t change anything.
Work. Connor. Home.
Those were his driving forces now.
The only things that mattered.
Dinner with Belle, anything to do with Belle really, shouldn’t be on his radar.
Other than reopening the free clinic one last time. He owed that to Marlene, even if it would be about as much fun as a root canal.
“What can I get you folks to drink?” Pat asked, setting three glasses of water on the table.
Belle perused her choices, frowning. “Do you have anything organic?”
“Uh…we’ve got tea.”
“Is it green?”
“Brown, last time I checked.” Pat chuckled. “Unless it’s gone bad.”
“I’ll stick with water, thank you,” Belle said, her expression dour.
“Sure thing.” Pat jotted something on his little pad, then grinned. “So great to see you again, Belle. I’m so sorry about what happened to Marlene.”
“Thank
