Page 21 of Under Southern Stars
“Beautiful label,” I comment as the waiter pours.
“Central Otago does produce some stunners,” Jack says neutrally.
He raises his glass. “To fake dates that aren’t actually fake?”
“To taking chances,” I counter, thinking of Madison’s words.
We clink glasses. The wine is incredible—rich, complex, probably costs more than I want to know.
“So, Jack McKenzie.” I set down my glass. “Tell me something that’s not in your personnel file.”
“What do you want to know?”
Everything, I think. But I start simple. “Why paramedicine? Really?”
Something flickers across his face. “You want the real answer or the interview answer?”
“Real. Always real.”
He’s quiet for a moment, turning his wine glass. “My family owns…businesses. Back home. The kind where you’re expected to take over.” He looks up. “I was supposed to run things. Had the degree, the training. Then I watched my dad save a tourist who was choking at a restaurant. Just grabbed him, did the Heimlich, kept going like it was nothing.”
“And?”
“And I realized I’d spent my life never doing anything that mattered. Never saved anyone. Never even tried.” He shrugs. “So I left. Came here. Became a paramedic. My mother still thinks it’s a phase.”
“How long has this ‘phase’ lasted?”
“Had my license for three years and counting.” His smile’s self-deprecating. “What about you? Always wanted to be a nurse?”
“God, no. I wanted to be a marine biologist. Saw dolphins at SeaWorld when I was seven and that was it. Dreams mapped out.”
“What changed?”
“Got pregnant at twenty-two. Married at twenty-three. Needed a real job with real benefits.” I trace the rim of my glass. “Turns out I’m good at it. The controlled chaos, the adrenaline. Making order out of disasters.”
“Like your life?”
I look up sharply, but his eyes are kind.
“Maybe,” I admit. “Troy—my ex—he was supposed to be the stable one. Finance degree, big dreams. Turned out hisdreams kept shifting. Day trader, cryptocurrency, life coaching. Whatever his podcasts told him was the path to millions.”
“While you held down the fort.”
“Somebody had to.” I take another sip. “Madison needed consistency. Health insurance. Food.”
“And now?”
“Now she’s fifteen and wise beyond her years, and I’m thirty-eight and having dinner with a man I told to ‘call me anytime with that accent.’”
His grin is immediate. “Still standing by that invitation.”
“It was a slip of the tongue!”
“Freudian, maybe? And I’m thirty-two. Since we’re sharing ages and embarrassing moments.”
I do the math. Six years younger. “Your mother must love that you’re dating older women along with playing paramedic.”
“Haven’t told her yet.” He grins. “Want to make sure you’ll stick around through appetizers first.”
