asking her out for months now and each time, she’d turned him down. Six months earlier, he would have shrugged and moved on to the next beautiful woman. But for some reason that he couldn’t begin to understand, he’d lost the urge to pursue other women since meeting Jennifer.
He couldn’t accept that she wouldn’t go out with him. He knew damn well she was attracted to him. Despite her never-wavering, cool-yet-friendly reserve, he felt the strong tug of sexual chemistry between them every time he saw her. He’d dated a lot of women over the years. He knew he hadn’t misread the faint flush of color over the high arch of her cheekbones when they talked, nor the way she shielded her gaze with lowered lashes when he teased her.
No, Jennifer was definitely interested. But he’d asked her out at least a dozen times, probably more. She’d always refused, saying she didn’t date customers.
From the snippets of conversation he’d overheard from the other waitresses, Chance didn’t think she dated anyone at all.
Which only made him more intrigued and determined to spend time with her, away from the diner.
He rolled his shoulders to relieve the ache of muscles too long without rest and stretched his long legs out beneath the table. The red, vinyl-covered bench seat was comfortably padded and, like everything else in the Coach House Diner, reflected the 1950s theme. The effect was cheerful and welcoming. Chance had felt at home here from the first moment he’d stepped over the threshold six months earlier. Since the diner was only a short walk from the Armstrong Fertility Institute where he worked, it had quickly become his favorite place to have coffee, breakfast, lunch or grab a quick dinner if he’d worked late.
He glanced around the room, nodding at Fred, an elderly gentleman seated on a stool and eating his breakfast at the end of the long counter. Fred was a retired railroad engineer and, despite his advanced age of ninety-five, still woke early. Chance had spent more than one morning next to Fred on the round seats at the counter between 5:00 a.m. and 6:00.
He took another long sip of coffee and rubbed his eyes. It had been one hell of a week. After long hours of hard, frustrating work, he and his research partner Ted Bonner had finally disproved allegations that their work was questionable.
In the midst of proving the funding was legally and morally ethical, Chance had also watched as Ted fell in love and got married over the past several months. Chance would never admit it aloud, but observing his best friend’s happiness had raised questions for Chance about his own lifestyle. Did he want to meet a woman who could make him settle down? Could he be monogamous?
Given his relationship history, Chance doubted it. He loved women—their smiles, their silky hair and skin, the way their eyes lit with pleasure when they made love.
No, he couldn’t imagine ever settling down with one woman.
Which made him wonder why he hadn’t dated anyone over the past six months.
Unconsciously, his gaze sought out Jennifer, locating her at the other end of the room. Her laughter pealed musically as she took an order from two women in business suits.
He muffled a groan and swigged down the rest of his coffee. He knew damn well Jennifer was the reason he hadn’t dated anyone in months.
Or maybe I’m just too busy with work, he thought, unwilling to accept that the beautiful blonde was to blame for his nonexistent love life.
Midweek, he’d spent two long nights in the operating room. His volunteer work at a free clinic in a low-income Boston neighborhood often expanded to include surgery during emergency situations. This week, those emergencies seemed to roll in almost on each other’s heels.
I’m too damn tired, he told himself. That’s why I’m being introspective. A solid eight hours of sleep and life will look normal again.
He frowned at his empty coffee mug. He hated examining his feelings and no matter how he sliced it, he couldn’t deny that he’d been spending too much time lately considering his life. And for a man who was rarely alone, he could swear he sometimes felt lonely.
“More coffee?”
Chance looked up. The red-haired waitress he often noticed talking with Jennifer stood next to his booth.
“Thanks.”
She quickly filled his mug and left, letting Chance return to his brooding.
He’d had plenty of affairs, but none of his relationships with women could qualify as meaningful.
And that’s the way I like it, he thought. So why am I wondering if there ought to have been more?
He dragged his hand over his face and rubbed his eyes. He reached into his jacket pocket but the tiny vial of nonprescription eyedrops he kept there was missing. Instead, he found a note he didn’t remember putting there.
He scanned it and felt like groaning. The 3x5 card from his secretary was a reminder that the institute’s annual Founder’s Ball was the coming weekend.
And he didn’t have a date. He frowned and tapped the card on the tabletop.
The prospect of going alone held no appeal. Attending the event was mandatory, and he’d never attend without a date.
What the hell, he thought. Given that the only pretty woman he wanted to date was Jennifer, he might as well bite the bullet and ask her to go with him.
She’ll probably say no. She’s never said yes any of the other times I’ve asked her out.
But just talking to her always made him smile—and he could use a smile this morning.
“Here you are—eggs over medium, French toast and bacon.” Jennifer slid the plate onto the tabletop in front of him.
Perfect timing, he thought.
“Would you like me to bring you some aspirin?” she asked, glancing down sideways at him.
Her comment was so far from his thoughts that he blinked in confusion. “What? Why?”
“You were frowning as if your head hurt. I thought you might have a headache.”
“Oh. No, I don’t have a headache. Not yet, anyway.” He held out the card. “I was reading this.”
She glanced at the note, her eyes scanning the black type. “The Founder’s Ball? It sounds very glamorous.”
“It’s black tie.” His shrug spoke volumes about his lack of interest in whether the event was sophisticated. “The institute holds the ball every year. The band is supposed to be excellent and I hear the food’s worth putting on a tux and tie—but it’s no fun to go alone. Which is why you should take pity on me and be my date.”
Jennifer brushed a strand of blond hair from her temple and fought the temptation to accept. The diner was located only a few blocks from the institute and many of its customers worked at the medical center. The women employees had been buzzing about the Founder’s Ball for weeks, discussing gowns, shoes, jewelry and hairstyles.
Enticing as it was to think about donning a glamorous dress to go dancing with Chance, however, she knew she couldn’t.
