Page 47 of Paging Dr. Breakup
Deirdre worried her lower lip. “That’s all very… logical. And thorough. Maybe a little devious, but for a good cause.” She paused, then dropped her eyes toward the hands in her lap. “Wow. I might’ve jumped to a conclusion there. That’s not like me.”
“Hey, we’re all guilty of making assumptions.” Had he survived a Deirdre Steen grilling and lived to tell about it?
The scowl on her face suggested that might be the case.
“I should know better. I’m a trained administrator. My job is to gather all pieces of information and sides of the story before reacting.” Her beautiful lips turned down at the edges. “Tonight was pure reaction without any data.”
A barked laugh erupted. “I want to make a snide remark about the usefulness of healthcare administrators, but this might not be the right time or place.”
Her giggle made him hope that things might be okay on the other side of this conversation.
Relief that he didn’t have to lie, exactly, unclenched the rigid muscles of his back and shoulders.
He could focus solely on Deirdre now. “Don’t beat yourself up. We all deal with events that challenge our beliefs and create doubt.” Like everything he thought he believed regarding his feelings about Deirdre. He kept one hand pressed firmly on his knee and the other on the back of the couch cushion instead of wrapped around her shoulders, which was what he wanted. Badly.
“Doubt?” She rolled her lips together, then nodded. “Damn, that’s a good observation.”
A few seconds passed in thoughtful silence. “Is the issue that you didn’t trust me”—he kept his voice neutral—“or that you didn’t trust yourself?”
“You’re cutting to the bone, aren’t you?”
“It’s not my intention to hurt.” He cleared his throat. He didn’t want to push, but it was necessary. “I do feel like we need to clear the air between us. After the other night.”
She didn’t meet his eyes. “The air is clear. Remember, we’re not dating.”
The words were out before he could stop them. “What if we wanted to change that?”
The sound of her intake of breath shot into his chest.
Despite the warm lamp glow, her skin paled. “I don’t—It’s not—”
Leaning forward, he took her hand in his, cradling her fingers. Lightly. She could pull away whenever she wished. “We need to talk about Elijah.”
“I don’t want to talk about Elijah.” The name cracked as she said it.
“It’s necessary.”
Her eyes widened. The hand he held trembled.
“For what?” she said.
“For us to move forward, separately or together. It’s like he’s the third person in this relationship. Only he’s a ghost.”
Her fingers curled around his. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault. He was a great guy.” That was part of the problem.
Deirdre held up her free hand. “You are, too.”
“Not like that. Elijah was special.”
“You’re not wrong. He was loved here in Yukon Valley. Mourned by everyone when he died.”
“I know he was special. You picked him.”
She pressed her mouth into a line and took a breath.
Finally, she looked up at him, pain and hope and fear all written starkly on her beautiful face. “Calvin, it was complicated,” she started out slowly. “I was very happy with Elijah, but our love was more friendship. We had a wonderful friendship, don’t get me wrong.”
