Page 13 of Falling into Place
Her hair was brown, wavy, and long—so long he wasn’t sure where it stopped—and he had the strangest urge to walk behind her or ask her to pull the mass over her shoulder so he could find out. Her features were similar to the girl he knew but matured and notably more confident than he remembered, even with her hesitant half smile.
He was nervous, too. Plus, he was staring at her like a total jackass.
“Hey. Sorry. I didn’t recognize you.”
She stood and offered her hand in a formal, professional gesture. “You look different, too.”
Hard to say whether she meant that as a compliment. He shook her hand, firm but gentle, and after a beat of awkward silence he tipped his head to the counter. “Have you already ordered?”
“Not yet.”
“Will you let me buy?” He’d need the bonus points when she saw how terrible he’d done on that questionnaire.
She hesitated for a beat, then shrugged. “Okay.”
Another customer was at the counter, so they stepped up to wait. She stood quietly beside him, and he had no idea what to say, so he studied the menu as if he didn’t know damn well he’d be ordering a quad Americano.
Thankfully, they didn’t have to wait long. Carly ordered a latte, and once they were settled back at the table with their drinks, he eyed the thick leather binder on the table.
It seemed a little rude to jump right into the reason they were here, but he wanted to get this over with. He should probably ask how she was and what she’d been doing the last fifteen years, but the words wouldn’t come.
Small talk wasn’t something he did much of these days. His conversations usually either had purpose, like discussing patient statusand treatment plans, or occurred with someone he’d known forever and felt comfortable enough with not to fill empty space with bullshit.
He took a drink of his Americano, keeping his eyes on the table.
“So you’re a doctor now?”
He looked up and met her brown eyes. They were pretty. Warm and friendly and framed by long, dark lashes. “Yeah.”
“And you work at a hospital?”
“Yeah. In the ICU.”
“How much school did that take?”
“I finished last June.” What were his sisters so worried about? Clearly he was a conversational wizard.
“Holy shit. You’ve been in school almost this whole time?”
“Pretty much.” How did he not remember those eyes? Had he ever noticed them at all?
“And here I was proud of my four-year bachelor’s degree.”
“You should be,” he said honestly. “That’s a major accomplishment.”
She muttered a few words that sounded both humorous and self-deprecating under her breath, bringing her cup to her lips.
Something about it relaxed him. “What’s your degree in? Something with fashion?” Was that a thing?
She shook her head. “Nah, that sort of always came naturally to me. My degree’s in accounting, actually.”
“Oh.” Seemed like a significant deviation from fashion, but when he thought about it, math for a career made sense for her, too. She’d always seemed ridiculously smart. “Is that your day job?”
“Yeah. I’ve been at Mode for two years now, though. It might not seem like long, but I’ve always had solid intuition when it comes to clothes. You’ll be in good of hands with me, I promise.”
Did she think he thought she wasn’t good enough to work with him, or something? God, the idea of doing this with a stranger was ten times worse. “It’s not like I’d know the difference. According to Sasha, I have no fashion sense.” He glanced down, then back at her. “You probably already judged what I’m wearing, didn’t you?”
“Of course not.”
