plastic surgeons. Or maybe that didn’t matter to him. You were pretty agitated at the time.”
“And you made me chicken noodle soup—from a can.”
“Because it was supposed to make you feel better.”
“When you were ailing, Layla. I wasn’t ailing. I was angry.” He smiled. “But it was a nice gesture, having someone take care of me like that. Did I ever tell you how much I appreciated that?”
“No. You told me it wasn’t hot enough, then told me to reheat it in the microwave. But you did leave me that flower the next day—the one you picked from the garden at our apartment building. I pressed it and kept it until, well—I probably still have it tucked in a book somewhere. It was the first gift you ever gave me.” Layla smiled, and leaned her head over on his shoulder, a natural thing she’d always done once upon a time. “I’m glad it’s working for you, Arlo.”
“Ium” Arlo pulled away from her so quickly she almost fell sideways to the ground. “We’ve got work to do,” he said, his voice suddenly stiff.
“Did I do something?” she asked, trying to recover from his abruptness.
Arlo shook his head as he stood. “We did something a long time ago and I don’t want to repeat it. You’re not easy to resist, Layla. God knows, I was never able to. But not anymore. My work—my practice here won’t allow me that kind of distraction.”
“That’s right. I was just your holiday girl, wasn’t I? Well, don’t worry. I’m nobody’s holiday now, and I never will be again.” Without another word, Layla marched out of the hut and across the road to the hospital, grabbed the schedule off the desk at the front and saw that the next three patients due in needed general care—a wound check, an antibiotic shot and a maternity appointment. They weren’t there yet, but when they arrived they would find Dr. Layla Morrison waiting for them in the exam.
And Dr. Arlo Benedict standing outside in the road, in the rain, wondering how two people who’d gotten it so right could have also gotten it so wrong.
IT WAS GETTING ON in the day when Layla finally gathered up the courage to go back to the hut to face him. Overall, seven patients had come to the hospital and she’d managed to figure out what each one wanted. Luck had been with her on that one. That, plus some translation help from Samron, who seemed genuinely pleased to be useful.
“Have you eaten yet?” she asked Arlo, who was heading back to the hut at the same time she was.
“A couple of times. My house call patients always like to offer food.” He handed her a wooden plate covered with a cloth napkin. “Khao pad. It’s a fried rice with several different vegetables and pork in it. There’s also some mixed fruit.”
“I, um—I don’t know what to say except thank you and I’m sorry. This is awkward and I know it, and I shouldn’t have gotten so familiar. Leaning against you that way was inappropriate, but just for a few minutes we were almost—us. The way we started anyway. From now on I’ll keep my distance.”
“And I never meant to imply you were a holiday girl. You were my break from reality, and you knew that. But I never thought of you as someone who was there only for a good time, someone to use at my convenience, and I’m sorry that’s how it sounded.”
“I know who we were, Arlo. From the very first day until the last one, I always knew. I also know that’s not what you thought of me but, like I said, it’s awkward now.” She peeked at the food under the cloth, and her mouth practically watered. “Mind if I heat this up on your yakitori?”
“Communal property while you’re here, Layla. What’s mine is yours.”
“So, where do I put my fifty pairs of shoes?”
He laughed as they went inside together, she straight to the yakitori, to lay the fire beneath it, and he to his mat on the floor. But when he lowered himself to it, he winced.
“I really do need to have a look at that,” she said, pulling a matchbox from a shelf and lighting the fire. “Even if I can’t see anything, maybe I can feel which muscle is giving you problems and manipulate some of that soreness out of it. Strictly medical, of course.” She turned around and studied him for a moment. It wasn’t quite dark in the hut yet, but it wasn’t quite light either. Yet somewhere in the ebbing of the day she saw traces of the man who’d shared her bed for nearly two years mingling with traces of a man she didn’t know.
“You’ve changed,” Layla said, not caring that he could see her assess him. His hands—yes, she was a handsy type. Always looked at the hands second. Neck first. Eyes. Mouth. But right now she was wondering if his hands would still be soft. They looked soft, and she wondered what they would feel like on her skin again. Caressing her. Causing her to tingle
No, this wasn’t allowed. No memories. No fond thoughts of what they’d had. Still, Arlo Benedict, for his un-trendy ways, was a rugged and well-proportioned man. A head-turner. Always had been, and she was pretty sure he’d never even been aware of it.
“How?” he asked. “And if it’s in a bad way, please lie to me. I know the jungle can be harsh.”
“Quite the contrary. You lookmore mature. Not so much in the physical sense as what I can see in your eyes.”
“I think that’s called wisdom. Before I went to medical school I was here with my parents, working as their helper. They had everything under control and that’s what I expected to come back to. But when I did come back, my mother was gone, and my dad wasn’t the same. He stayed around long enough to help me find my way, then he went to live his own life, leaving me here with a lot of expectations that weren’t mine to have. I expected what my parents had but my reality was that I had to build my own place here, gain trust that was mine and not my parents’. So I wised up pretty fast. Had to in order to survive.”
“Well, it looks good on you.” Layla turned back to the yakitori, pulled a metal pot off the shelf above it and dumped in her fried rice. While it heated, she ate large chunks of papaya and mango with her fingers.
“You’ve changed, too,” Arlo said, still wrestling to find a comfortable position. “You used to bereserved. Or at least not as sure of yourself. You grew out of that a little while we were together but now you’re this dynamic ball of fire that plows through everything. Instead of talking about what you wanted to happen, you’re making things happen in your life, and I’m glad it’s working out for you.”
She pulled the rice off the little stove then turned back to face him. “Care to share?” she asked, thinking of the many times they’d ordered one meal and shared it, both eating from the same plate. Sometimes feeding each other. Often with just fingers. So nice. Sensual. So much intimacy in such a simple gesture.
Patting his flat belly, Arlo shook his head. “When I make evening calls, I have to pace myself with what I eat because everybody wants to cook for me.”
“And I usually grab something from the hospital before I leave for the evening.” She wrinkled her nose. “Haven’t learned to cook properly yet.”
“Well, I didn’t move in with you because you were a domestic goddess. And I did know that
