you’ll be in your car in about a half hour. But first, you need an immediate medical intervention.”
“Intervention? What are you talking about?”
The New York Deli was at the corner of Magnolia. Whether anything served had anything to do with New York, no one knew or cared. The place was always packed at lunch, but Feinstein—the owner—always saved a table for Ike. It was bribery, pure and simple. Feinstein was worried about the performance of his boy parts. He’d never had any marital problems with his wife before, but “everybody” knew guys eventually needed a little chemical boost. Which was to say, Feinstein had motivation for taking good care of the town doctor.
Ike never came for the bribe. He came for the food. And Ginger continued to make minor protestations about being herded like a sheep, but that was only until she saw the menu.
Mrs. Feinstein—possibly the homeliest woman Ike had ever seen—advised Ginger on the best choices, and who could have guessed? Ginger agreed without arguing.
Right off, she devoured three pickles. Then a masterful corned beef on rye. Chips. Cole slaw. Since she picked at the crumbs after that, he figured she was still hungry, so he ordered dessert. Apple cake with whipped cream.
Then more pickles.
He leveled a sandwich, too, which took all of a minute and a half. So while her mouth was full, he took the opportunity to start a conversation. “I’m guessing that before the evening news, the whole town will know that you fainted twice this morning, that we’re having lunch together … and they’ll likely be speculating on whether we’re sleeping together.”
She dropped her fork, which he took as encouraging. So he went on, “My theory is … we might as well sleep together, since we’ve already been branded with the tag.”
She dropped her fork—again—but then she just squinted her eyes at him. He didn’t see temper this time, just reluctant humor. “Hey. Do you usually flirt with women you think are pregnant by someone else?”
“Not usually, no. In fact, never.” He retrieved a couple fresh forks from the table next to them, then went back for another couple. Who knew how many she would need before this meal was over. “But I keep finding your situation, well, unique. You came home because you were really worked up about your grandfather. But there’s no guy here. If you had a guy, he’d have to be a class-A jerk not to be with you when he knows you need help.”
“Wow. That analysis and conclusion is just stunning.”
“Yeah, my mama always said I was a bright boy,” he agreed with his best deadpan expression. “So my theory is … there’s no guy to stop me from moving in on you.”
This time she had to chuckle—clearly in spite of herself. “I’ve been doing a lot of hurling and fainting. Most guys would run in the opposite direction.”
“Most guys haven’t been through medical school.”
“That’s an answer?”
“What can I say? A first-year resident loses any chance of being embarrassed ever again in his life. Some things just come with life. Now what’s that expression about?”
She lifted a hand. “I was just thinking. I had this sudden instinct … that you just might be a hardcore, card-carrying good guy.” She put a stop sign into another hand gesture. “I’m not accusing you of anything terrible. I just didn’t expect to even let a positive thought anywhere near you. So I’m just saying. If I was ever going to trust a doctor again as long as I live—which I’m not—it might have been you.”
“Ah. It’s the doctor thing that’s a problem. You’re such a relief.”
“Relief?”
“Practically every single woman in this town has been feeding me, taking care of me, fluttering her eyelashes at me. All their mamas think of doctors as being a terrific catch. You know, dumb as a fish that just needs the right bait to sucker in. You’re so much more fun. I’d ask you out … but I’m afraid if we had a good time, you’d quit disliking me, and then where would we be? Not having fun together anymore. It’s not worth the risk. Still, I don’t see why we shouldn’t sleep together. That doesn’t have to interfere with your giving me a constant hard time. We could just redirect all that passionate energy a little differently when the lights go off.”
She cupped her chin. “Did anything you just said make a lick of sense?”
He didn’t care if he was making sense. She’d had a rotten morning—a stressful visit with him, then a stressful visit with the lawyer, no easy answers about her grandfather. And he hadn’t known until he’d sneaked the information that the father of her baby was both a doctor and a louse.
She was flying solo. Flying solo with a pregnancy and no help in sight.
But he’d gotten her fed. And teased. And almost laughing. She’d forgotten it all for a while.
Sometimes that was the best a doctor could do. Offer some stress relief. There was no way any doctor could cure all ills … much less all wrongs.
When she glanced at a wall clock, he did, too. He was startled at how much time had passed. Ruby was going to kill him. He was ten minutes late for his first afternoon patient.
“Yeah, I didn’t realize how late it was, either. I need to get back to my grandfather.”
He put some money down, knowing the Feinsteins wouldn’t give him a check, and eventually steered her to the door. There was the usual gauntlet of “Hi, Doc!” and “Ginger, so glad to hear you’re back in town” and other ferocious attempts to stall them. He kept moving them as fast as he could.
Outside, the sky was pumping out clouds now. A whiskery wind tossed paper and litter in the air, lifted collars. The temperature was still warmish, somewhere in the sixties, but there was rain in the wind, and the bright sun kept hiding from sight.
“I see your car,” he said.
“You don’t have to walk me there. You have to be in a hurry to get back to your office.”
“It all comes with the service. A lady faints, she gets walked to her car.”
“What if she isn’t a lady?”
“If a wicked woman faints, she still gets walked to her car. It’s in the rule book.”
“What rule book is that?”
“The South Carolina Rules for Gentlemen rule book. My mom made me memorize whole passages before I was four. She called it getting ready for kindergarten.” Walking next to her felt like foreplay. It was kind of a test of rhythms.
Whether they could walk together, move together in a natural way. How his height worked with hers. Whether she could keep up with his stride. Whether she wanted to. Whether she galloped on ahead when he wanted to amble.
Fast, too damned fast, they reached her rust bucket of a Civic. She dipped in her shoulder bag for her car key, found it, lifted her head and suddenly frowned at him.
“What?” He had no idea what her expression meant. Even less of an idea what
