Page 13 of For Her Own Good

It’s only now I realize I’ve so thoroughly convinced myself she wouldn’t that I haven’t actually prepared anything to say. Basics work.

“Starla. It’s Lowry.”

“Hi.”

Great. Off to a brilliant start. A-plus for the lot of us. Good thing neither of us make our livings from talking…

“You asked that I call you. So, unless you’ve changed your mind—which is always your prerogative”—please don’t have changed your mind—“I was calling to arrange a time for dinner. Or coffee. Or whatever you’d prefer. If anything at all.”

Jesus, Campbell, how many times are you going to tell her she doesn’t have to see you?Which she doesn’t, but she’s a capable adult who’s proved herself able and willing to say no to me. Repeatedly. Don’t give her an excuse. It’s okay to want to see her and to let her know. Hell, she knows already. So perhaps I ought to tell her so.

“I’d like very much to see you, so if you let me know when you’re free and what you’d like to do, I can take care of the details. If you’d like.”

It’s up to her because I already know that I would, in fact, very much like to take care of the details. Those types of things wear on her. She likes routine, schedules, so she doesn’t have to make decisions over and over again. It’s far easier to do things that have already been decided than to have to do all the work to set them up in the first place. Or at least it was. Perhaps she’s changed. And I know most women like to dictate the terms when they’re meeting a strange man. We’re not precisely strangers, and I hope she trusts me not to lure her into a dark alley or my laboratory, but I’m not going to be offended if she wants to pick someplace where she’ll likely see a familiar face. Does she go out enough to have a favorite haunt? Perhaps.

There’s a pause and I’m about to offer an apology, say she’s surely busy and she can call me back at her convenience, if ever, because I ought not to be doing this, but I couldn’t help myself, and smelling her hair when I leaned down to speak low in her ear over the threshold of my office at Harbinson… Let’s just say it didn’t do anything to quell my desire for her.

“I need to eat dinner on Thursday. I mean, I need to eat dinner every night, but I don’t have plans for Thursday yet. And I haven’t for a while. So sometimes I forget. Or eat tuna fish salad scooped out of the bowl with Doritos.” She curses under her breath. “No, I don’t. Who does that? It’s disgusting.”

I have to smother a laugh behind a hand, because that’s a very detailed description of something shedoesn’tdo. Slipping my hand into my pocket, I walk the length of my office and back because sometimes it’s easier to think literally on my feet. Since she’s not here to be disturbed or amused by my pacing, I let myself.

“Aye, well, wouldn’t want you to resort to some fictional, revolting, and not terribly nutritious sustenance. I’m also free on Thursday. How’s six thirty?”

“Is seven thirty too late? I work eleven to seven on Thursdays.”

“Seven thirty’s fine. Might actually get to the gym that day.”

Brilliant, Campbell. She already knows you’re a damn sight too old for her, you should definitely make sure she knows you’re out of shape as well.I pinch the bridge of my nose because clearly that inane gesture will fix everything. That not working, I press on.

“Anyplace you’d like to meet up or shall I choose?”

“You can choose. I should be able to get anywhere in the Back Bay, Beacon Hill, North End, Downtown Crossing, Leather District, or Chinatown by then.”

That’s plenty of options and I should be able to find something suitable.

“Brilliant. I’ll make a reservation and text you the details, shall I? You’re one of those young people who prefers texts, aye?”

She snorts which is adorable and also makes me scrub a hand over my eyes.You’ll be in the grave soon enough, no need make yourself sound like a moldy old geezer.

“You realize I’m an adult, right? Like in my thirties and everything. But yes, texting is good. Much less disruptive than a phone call. But you know, feel free to use emojis. I hear the kids these days are totes into them.”

She’s mocking me and I don’t mind. In fact, I rather like it. Far better than her hanging up on me, and I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, particularly when it’s gifted me with time spent with Starla.

“I, uh, totes will.”

Her laugh is a tinkling light thing that I’d like to hear again and again no matter how much a fool I need to make of myself to have it. I would throw all the pride I have at Starla’s feet for her to tread on if it would make a difference.

“I won’t keep you, then. But I’ll see you Thursday.”

“Looking forward to it,” she says, and something like hope surges inside me. Yes, hope, not anything more sinister or lascivious than that.

What does it matter that I have to moderate my tone when I respond, “I am as well. Good night, Starla.”

Chapter 5

Starla

Not a date.This isn’t a date. This is a psychiatrist wanting to catch up with his former patient and make sure all the work he did with me didn’t go to waste. That’s all it is.

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