Page 96 of Summer with the Single Dad

“I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.”

She giggled. “He’s old money from New England, and like me, comes from a family of doctors. But unlike me, he also comes from a family of politicians. Everyone I ever met from the DuPontes, and his mother’s side, the Grimaldis, were Ivy League educated and had sticks firmly embedded where you normally get a colonoscopy.”

That made his smile widen. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear.”

“Swearing is for the unintelligent, uneducated, and classless.”

His eyes widened.

“Or so says my mother.”

Phew.

“It was ingrained in us from early on not to swear. My parents don’t swear.” Light hit her eyes. “That’s not true actually. My dad does, but only when my mother is not around and he’s really angry. I heard him swear in French when he accidentally hammered his thumb in the garage.”

“What did he say?” Bennett rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand.

“Tabarnak.” She made sure to add the perfect amount of a French accent and emphasis on it too.

“What does that mean?”

“It’s Quebecois only. You won’t hear a Belgian or person from France say it. But I believe it means holy fuck in English.”

He rolled the word around on his tongue for a moment before saying it, trying to add just as much of a French accent flare as she had. “Tabarnak.”

She nodded. “Only time I ever heard him say it too.”

He grinned. “I like it.”

As much as he thoroughly enjoyed getting this little glimpse into her childhood, they needed to get back to the real reason he came out here to speak with her. “I’m going to host this wedding. I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want to lose you. I already hate that you’re not in my house anymore.”

Her face softened.

“But we need the money. We need to put ourselves on the map as available to host weddings. We want Bonn Remmen’s land so we can make a serious go of this dream. But if we don’t get it—because there is a real chance we won’t—we want to know that we could still pull it off without the land. That we could make it work here. We need the revenue. We need the publicity. We need to keep moving forward and building the business so we have a legacy for our children.”

Her nod was slow, but he could see on her face that she understood. Turning her hand over in his, so their palms faced each other, she squeezed his fingers in hers. “I know. I had a bit of a mini-crisis when I first realized who your happy couple was and thought I’d had to convince you to say no to them, or else I would have to leave.”

“Don’t give them any more power.”

She nodded again. “I’m not going to. But I also can’t be here when they get married. I’ll leave for the day.”

“I get that.”

“I don’t want you to put your family’s future or business in jeopardy because of me. I couldn’t live with myself if you turned down this opportunity, but I also think you need to know what kind of people you’re agreeing to do business with.”

“I want to hear it all. I don’t want there to be any more secrets between us.”

Hesitation flickered in her eyes. “Do you hate me because I let my feelings enter the OR? Do you judge me for what happened to my patient?”

He had her in his arms and on his lap before she could take a breath. He cradled her slight frame against him, tipping her chin down and holding onto it so she couldn’t look away. “You. Are. Human.”

She shifted her eyes to the side.

“Look at me.”

Her gaze snapped back to his. “You. Are. Human. Humans make mistakes. If you felt no remorse, I would judge you. If you felt no sadness, or regret, or guilt, I would judge you. Harshly, probably. But you hold yourself accountable for your actions. You take responsibility and understand that you made a mistake. That’s what people with emotional intelligence, self-awareness and humility do. That’s what someone with empathy does. And you have all of those things in droves. I can see it. I can feel it. I don’t have to know you for eons, to be certain of this. I know you beat yourself up over Mr. O’Malley’s death, and a little bit of self-flagellation is probably humbling, but you need to let it go. Don’t let it ruin you. Don’t let them,” he pointed down toward the main laneway to imply Tad and Ashli, “ruin you. That gives them too much power. Grieve your patient. Feel the guilt and learn from it. But I have no doubt in my mind you are an incredible surgeon and that you shouldn’t give up on practicing medicine.”

His mouth was dry from that soliloquy. But it needed to be said. All of it.

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