don’t want to make you miserable by being here.’ This time, he touched her gloved hand. Just for a second. ‘Will it really be so very hard, Anna?’
‘No. It’s just that I never expected to...’
‘You never expected to see me again.’
‘No. Honestly I didn’t.’
‘But we both knew we would eventually have to finalise things. We can’t live in limbo for ever.’ This wasn’t the direction he’d wanted to go with this discussion. But now that he was here, he had to see it through.
‘You’re right.’ She glanced down at the items in her hand and then went over to throw them in the rubbish bin. Then she moved over to the exam table and pushed the little girl’s hair out of her face. The tenderness in her eyes made his stomach contract. She would have made such a wonderful mum. It was a shame that biology—and fate—kept her from being one. No power known to medical science had seemed able to work out what the problem was. Or how to fix it.
What he hadn’t expected was for her to shove him out of her life the second she realised he was serious about not trying again. That bitter pill had taken ages to go down. But it finally had. And when it did, he realised his parents had taught him a valuable lesson. Keeping his heart to himself really was the better way.
When she looked up at him again, all hints of tenderness were gone, replaced by a resolute determination. ‘You’re right. We can’t live in limbo. So this time the invitation is real. If you don’t have plans, I think we should have dinner. And decide where to go from here.’
Suddenly that discussion didn’t look quite as attractive as it had moments earlier. But since he’d been the one to suggest sitting down and talking things over, he couldn’t very well refuse. ‘Okay, once Sarah’s parents have had their visit, we’ll head out.’
A half-hour later, Max had scrawled the last of his instructions in Sarah’s chart and set it in the holder outside her door. The girl’s parents were still sitting by her bedside. He’d sent Annabelle on ahead to get her things.
As he stretched his back a couple of vertebrae popped, relieving the tension that had been building along his spine. He was dog tired. Maybe having dinner with Annabelle wasn’t such a good idea. The discussion should probably wait until they were both rested.
Except there’d never seemed to be a right time to approach their unfinished business. So they had to make time.
He went to the men’s changing room and washed his hands and then bent down to splash his face. Blotting it dry with a paper towel from the dispenser, he caught a glance at his reflection.
Dark hair, still cut short from his time overseas, was just starting to grey at the temples. Where had the years gone?
One minute he’d been a happily married man, and the next he’d been on the brink of divorce and living like a nomad, going from place to place but never really settling down. Maybe he should have joined the military. Except he hadn’t wanted to give up the possibility of coming back to work in his field, and he would have either had to retrain for his speciality or settled for a position as a general surgeon. He loved paediatric cardiology in a way he couldn’t explain to anyone but himself. So he’d gone with Doctors Without Borders.
Only his travels had simply delayed the inevitable. He still had to face the ghosts of his past.
He didn’t want to hurt Annabelle. And he wasn’t quite sure why he’d never signed the papers the second he’d realised what the packet of documents contained. Maybe he’d used them as a cautionary tale of what could happen when you opened your heart up to someone. Or maybe marriage had been an easy excuse for not getting involved with anyone else—not that he ever planned on it. Some day, though, Annabelle would meet Mr. Right and would want to be free to be with him. Their old life would stand in the way of that.
So, were they going to discuss their past tonight? Or discuss how to work together in the future?
He wasn’t sure. They were both tired. And probably overly emotional.
Maybe he should just let Annabelle take the lead as far as topics went. And if she decided she wanted those divorce papers signed post haste, he might just have to tackle a tough conversation after all.
THE PUB WAS PACKED. And with the clanging of plates and raucous laughter, it was hard to think, much less carry on a civilised conversation. Not the kind of place to go after dealing with a twelve-hour day of work.
But the place was also dark, with just some dim wall sconces lighting the way towards the tables. A few coloured bulbs along the bar were the only concession to the upcoming Christmas season.
O’Malley’s wasn’t a normal hospital hangout, but that was okay. She wanted privacy. Which was one of the reasons Annabelle had suggested it. If they were going to have The Talk, opening up the subject of their past, she didn’t want anyone to overhear the conversation.
And the low lighting would keep Max from seeing her expression. In the past, he’d always been able to read her like a book. It had been no different in that treatment room an hour earlier, when he’d known instantly that he’d hurt her with his words and apologised. She hated that he could still decipher her expressions. And when he’d touched her...
No doubt he’d seen the heat that washed into her face. Well, this time she was going to make it a little harder on him, if she could.
They followed the waitress to a small table for two in the very back of the place. Max waited for her to sit down before pulling his own chair out.
The server plonked a menu down in front of each of them, having to speak loudly to be heard above the din. ‘What would you like to drink?’
Annabelle tried to decide if she wanted to risk imbibing or if she should play it safe. Oh, what the hell? Maybe she should dull her senses just a little. ‘I’ll have white wine.’
Writing her request down in a little book, the woman then turned her attention to Max. And ‘turned her attention’ was evidently synonymous with turning on her charm. Because suddenly the waitress was all smiles, fiddling with her hair. ‘And you, sir?’
‘I’ll have a whisky sour, thank you.’ He sent her a quick smile, but to his credit there was nothing behind it that hinted of any interest in whatever the waitress was offering. And she was offering. As a woman, Annabelle recognised the signs, even though she had never gone the flirting route.
At least not until she met Max.
Evidently realising she was out of luck, the woman shifted her gaze to Max’s left hand, then she snapped her little book shut and flounced off.
Max didn’t wear his ring any more. But then again, neither did she.
‘Thank you for that.’
Max tilted his head. ‘For what?’
‘Not responding to her in front of me.’
Up went one brow. ‘Not my type.’
That made her laugh, and her muscles all
