a single one of them is harboring an illusion that the world is solely made up of happy families and that they’re on a little spa break, thank you very much. The children in my ward have all most likely come here to die, and they know that. So having things a bit ‘fluffy bunny’ is exactly what we’re after.”
Harriet only just stopped herself from harrumphing. She prided herself on choosing her language at St. Nick’s very carefully and patronizing her about it didn’t go down well, no matter how nice a package it came in.
“‘Fluffy bunny’?” He arched an eyebrow.
Hmm...that may not have had the gravitas she had been aiming for.
“It’s interesting you should ask, Dr. Torres. Terminology is one of the things I was going to talk about tonight in my speech. Something that can make a real difference for the children here. And very possibly at Casita Verde. I wouldn’t like to judge before I set foot in the place.”
Ha! Take that, you—you aspersion-caster, you!
“So you will be giving the speech tonight, then?”
Another amused eyebrow shifted upwards.
Oh. Wait a minute.
“I...” She scanned the ward for an invisible Dr. Bailey. “I think my esteemed boss hasn’t really given me much of a choice.”
“There is a rather nice carrot dangling at the end of the stick if it goes well, no?”
Her eyes caught his. A ridiculous image of Matteo beckoning to her with a single crooked finger as he lay bare chested on a satin-sheeted bed blinded her for a moment. He wasn’t talking about himself, was he?
Was he?
She sought answers in his eyes—almost verdant they were so green. So dreamy green... This wouldn’t do. She turned course abruptly in an attempt to swish away down the corridor, only narrowly avoiding tripping over a six-year-old playing airplane. Grace, it seemed, was continuing to elude her.
“Don’t you want to show me around your part of St Nicholas’s?” Matteo appeared at her side in a couple of long-legged strides. He, apparently, had children dodging down to a fine art.
She didn’t answer. There were a whole host of things she’d like to do with him, but show him the place that mattered to her most? Open herself up to more disparaging comments? Not particularly.
* * *
“I bet you could have done anything you set your mind to,” Matteo pressed, enjoying watching Harriet veer across the corridor to give herself more distance from him. Was she shy, or just repulsed? Not the usual effect he had on a woman, but he was open to firsts. “Were you ever tempted to become a doctor?”
“Ha! Good one. Not for a second. Nursing is exactly where I belong. It suits me perfectly.”
Her words sounded positive, but from the expression on her face Matteo could see Harriet’s laugh-it-off demeanor was a defense mechanism.
“What’s wrong with aiming higher?”
“What’s wrong with life in the trenches?” Her expression dared him to come up with an answer.
“Good point.” And he meant it. He fixed his gaze to hers—clear and blue, imbued with a healthy dose of trust. Innocent—but not naive. It wouldn’t surprise him in the least to discover that what you saw was what you got with Harriet Monticello. What did surprise him was that he wanted to know more. Another first. He switched course.
“Would I be correct in presuming your father was Italian with a surname like Monticello?”
“I thought we weren’t going to talk about me.” She waved off his question.
“I never said any such thing. You did.”
“Was.” She nodded, her mood taking a visible dip. “He and my mother—who was Irish...” she pointed at her blonde hair “...died quite a few years back. Gosh...ten years ago. When I was just starting my nursing training here.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” And he meant it. Family was precious. He wished he was better at fostering what little relationship he had with his parents. After the fog had cleared in the wake of his sister’s death they had all but gone their separate ways. Acknowledging the work he did meant remembering their daughter. He’d already accepted that might never happen.
“It happens to everyone, eventually.” Her lips arced into a sad smile as she turned to look out a window towards a flourishing garden courtyard. Not as lush as in Argentina—but it was nice. Another Harriet touch?
He turned and saw her fighting a glaze of tears forming, her blue eyes fastidiously taking a swing round the leafy courtyard. He understood instantly. St. Nick’s was filling an emptiness in her. The space her family had filled. The same way his work stood in for what he could never replace. The dreams he would never realize. Would there ever come a day when he’d done enough? A day when he felt at peace?
Something deep within him said no. Something deeper prayed he was wrong.
He pressed his hands onto his thighs before giving them a conclusive clap. This was all getting a bit too deep and heavy and he needed to be on his top game tonight. There weren’t just peers in the audience. There were donors. Ones with deep pockets. Including a very pretty research nurse who could be the key to a new clinic.
“Well, I, for one, am looking forward to seeing you ace that speech tonight.”
“From your lips—” Harriet began as she turned from the window then stopped, her eyes snagged on Matteo’s full mouth. One lip resting atop the other, parting to speak...
“And then you’ll come to Buenos Aires and show me your dazzling research in action?” His smile was leading. He was aware she’d been staring—and that she liked what she saw.
“When you put it that way, how could I resist?” She looked away from his inquisitive gaze. To push boundaries? Change things further afield? Tickles of possibility teased at Harriet’s utilitarian shoes and practical hairdo. To live twenty-four seven with a man who turned her into the equivalent of a weeping Beatles fan? Emotional yo-yo? Oh, yeah. She was riding that thing like it was going out of style.
No. No way.
Her sister did wild and wonderful. She did sensible and sane. It’s why her sister needed her. Why she stayed put, holding onto the family home...just in case. If she wasn’t needed, then... Best not go there.
“So, I guess I’d better offer you some tips on life in my country,” Matteo commented, as if the trip was a done deal. “Lesson number one? In Argentina, there is a lot of kissing. Anything and everything—especially an agreement—comes with a kiss. You’ll have to get used to it if—when—you come.”
He didn’t seem like the flirting type, but... Was he flirting?
She nodded dumbly.
Wait. Were his lips getting closer? Had her eyelashes just fluttered? She didn’t flutter—oh, he was coming closer. Was he aiming for her cheek? Which way was she meant to turn? Right? Left? Was this like the cheek-rub thing earlier with
