The Christmas Baby Bump. Lynne Marshall
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“Waxing philosophical, Doc?” Phil’s distinct voice sent a quick chill down her spine.
How long had it been since that had happened with a man? Not since the first morning when she’d seen him, to be exact. “Can I do something for you, Phil?”
With a slow smile, he glanced first at Stephanie then at Maria, whose cheeks blushed almost immediately. What was with his power over women?
“Yeah. You can meet me at Stearn’s Wharf Saturday morning around nine.”
Was this his idea of asking her out? In front of the student nurse practitioner?
“Uh. You sort of caught me off guard.”
“Hmm. Like how you bamboozled me into being Santa?”
Okay, now she got it. It was payback time. She grimaced. “If it matters at all, I abstained from voting.”
“Warms my heart, Doc.” He patted his chest over his white doctor’s coat.
But meeting at the beach for what was predicted to be yet another gorgeous Santa Barbara day sounded more like reward than payback.
Maria cleared her throat. “I should be going and let you two work this out.”
“Oh, right.” Stephanie felt a blush begin. What kind of impression would she make with her student, making plans for a date right in front of her?
“Thanks so much, Dr. Bennett. You’ve been fantastic and I’ve learned a lot today,” Maria said.
“You’re welcome, and I guess I’ll see you next week?”
“Actually, that’s Thanksgiving. But I’ll be here the week after, that is if I don’t go into premature labor first!” The otherwise elfin woman beamed a smile, looked at Dr. Hansen again, subtly turned so only Stephanie could see her face, and mouthed, “Wow!” with crossed eyes to emphasize his affect on her, then left.
Stephanie didn’t even try to hide her grin. Yeah, he’s hunky.
Stephanie couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful day on Saturday morning. There wasn’t a cloud in the cornflower-blue sky, and the sun spread its warmth on the top of her head and shoulders, making the brisk temperature refreshing. The ocean, like glittering blue glass along the horizon, tossed and rolled against the pier pilings, as raucous seagulls circled overhead. At home, the clean desert air was dry and gritty, but here on the wharf the ocean breeze with its briny scent energized her.
She hadn’t exactly said yes or no to Phil’s proposition on Thursday. She’d said she’d think about it, and he’d said he was planning to surf that morning anyway, so come if she felt like it. Well, she’d felt like it, and by virtue of the glorious view, she was already glad about her decision.
A group of surfers was a few hundred yards to the left of the pier, and though the odds were stacked against her, she tried to pick out Phil. With everyone wearing wet suits, it proved to be an impossible task.
“Here’s some coffee.”
Jumping, Stephanie pivoted to find Phil decked out in a wet suit, holding his surfboard under one arm and a take-out cup of coffee in another. He handed it to her as she worked at closing her mouth.
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