Page 18 of Crocodile Tears
Our conversation flows with surprising ease as we order dinner and start sharing stories about our respective career challenges.Calvin asks intelligent questions about my research, showing genuine interest when I describe the public aspects of my work on regenerative healing.I’m careful not to mention the classified genetic sequencing that makes the process truly revolutionary, but there’s enough published research to keep the conversation fascinating.
“So, you’re essentially studying how reptilian shifters heal faster than other species?”Calvin asks, cutting into his steak with the precision of someone who’s comfortable with knives, at least in his hands.
“Among other things.The applications for trauma medicine could be extraordinary if we can identify the specific genetic markers responsible for accelerated cellular repair.”I pause, realizing I’m getting into lecture mode.“Sorry, I tend to get carried away when I talk about my work.”
“Don’t apologize.It’s refreshing to hear someone talk about their career with genuine passion.”
“You don’t find it boring?”
“Dr.Lawson—Rebecca—I’ve spent the last fifteen years in situations where advanced medical knowledge would have saved lives.Your research could prevent the kind of permanent damage I’ve seen too many good people suffer.”Calvin’s expression grows serious.“What you’re doing matters.”
His words mean more than I’d expect.Here’s someone who’s seen the practical applications of medical research in high-stakes situations and understands exactly why my work is important.“Thank you for saying that.”
“I’m curious about something,” he says.“Red mentioned you’ve had some challenging dating experiences.Mind if I ask what went wrong?”
I consider how much honesty this situation requires.“Most men seem to want a successful woman in theory but find the reality intimidating.They like the idea of dating a scientist until they realize I’m actually passionate about science.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning they want someone who plays a brilliant woman on television, not someone who actually lives and breathes research.”I take a sip of wine, noting the excellent vintage pairs well with both the food and the conversation.“My last boyfriend suggested I ‘tone down my ambition’ if I wanted to find a mate.”I manage a brittle smile.“Apparently, my dedication to my career was intimidating to potential partners.He recommended I take up cooking or some other traditionally feminine hobby to seem more approachable.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing printable, but I may have accidentally shifted and destroyed his ugly jacket in the process, and some lab paraphernalia.”
Calvin’s grin transforms his entire face.“What kind?”
“A rack of test tubes, a filing cabinet, and my framed PhD certificate, which ended up balanced on my iguana’s head like a graduation cap.”
“I remember seeing his picture, but I don’t recall his name if Red said it.”
I’m touched he remembers that from my dating profile photos.“Galileo.He’s three feet long and has witnessed more relationship disasters than any reptile in recorded history, I’m sure.His only compensation is an occasional serving of extra blueberries.He’d eat them all the time, but they don’t have calcium, and I don’t want him to get metabolic bone disease.”
“He must have a tough life,” he says with mock sympathy before laughing—a genuine sound that immediately puts me at ease.“I once spent four days in a jungle observation post eating nothing but military rations and questionable berries.Galileo probably has better dining options than I did for most of my twenties.”
“What’s the longest you’ve gone without leaving a work situation?”
“Seventy-two hours in a sniper’s nest during a hostage situation.Three days of energy bars, rainwater, and trying not to move enough to compromise my position.”Calvin shrugs like this is perfectly normal.“What about you?”
I stifle the urge to ask how he handled more personal/practical matters, figuring it’s not the best topic over dinner.“I spent four days without leaving my lab during a crucial experiment phase.I survived on vending machine peanut butter cups, terrible coffee, and determination.”
“Peanut butter cups?”
“They’re scientifically optimal for sustained energy during research marathons.High protein, enough sugar for brain function, and individually wrapped for sterile handling.”I speak matter-of-factly before grinning.
Calvin’s smile grows wider.“That might be the most practical approach to nutrition I’ve ever heard.”
Dessert arrives as a decadent chocolate creation that immediately captures my full attention.The presentation is artistically perfect, the aroma is intoxicating, and the first bite triggers an involuntary sound of appreciation that probably shouldn’t be made in public.
The excitement of excellent chocolate combined with phase two approval and Calvin’s engaging conversation causes my emotional state to shift beyond my conscious control.I feel the familiar tingling in my forearms as scales begin to emerge, creating an iridescent pattern that catches the restaurant’s lighting.
Most men would be horrified.Trenton certainly was when I shifted during our arguments, but Calvin leans forward with obvious interest, studying the scale pattern with the kind of appreciation usually reserved for works of art.“That’s beautiful,” he says simply.“The pattern is similar to my own markings but much more elegant.”
I look down at my arms, seeing the green-black scales that have appeared along my forearms.“It happens when I’m excited or happy.Usually, it’s embarrassing.”
“Why embarrassing?”
“Most people find shifting unsettling, especially when it’s triggered by positive emotions rather than threat responses.”
