Page 35 of Hearts on the Table
I reared back as if slapped. “What kind of question even is that? Obviously, I do.”
Sam smiled that quiet smile of his. “Good.”
???
He claimed we could find the best croissants in the city on the fourteenth floor of an office building on the Loop. He was not wrong. As I marveled at the selection, trying to decide which I wanted, Sam was already ordering. Fruit-filled, chocolate-filled, brownie filled—he ordered six of them. I almost protested because surely between the two of us, we couldn’t put away six pastries, but I remembered our breakfast at Molido, and how quickly we’d taken care of a full plate, so I remained silent. A wise choice, since they were all delicious.
This early, Chicago was still waking up. We had our pick of tables on the outdoor patio overlooking the river. Chicago’s mercurial spring had turned chilly overnight and fog covered the city.
Before we’d parked, Sam had pulled on a thin quarter-zip and offered me his Cedar Patagonia. I had the same one at home, just about four or five sizes smaller. His swamped me and ruined the effect of my breezy, backless romper, but I was warm while I ate. It smelled good, too—like, superb—and I snuck sniffs while he wasn’t looking.
We eased into our conversation, talking about the weather and how the Bears were looking this year. By unspoken agreement, we stayed away from work-related topics. I liked the idea of keeping my attending, Dr. Reese, separate from the guy I was kind of, not really, dating, Sam.
The more I got to know him, the more I understood he was top-tier boyfriend material: generous, smart, funny (when hewanted to speak). Even before our dating trial agreement, I’d been increasingly interested in him. It was becoming a problem.
“So, what’s your deal?” I looked him up and down. He’d run his fingers through his hair a few times and it was sticking up on one side. Very cute.
“My deal?”
“Yeah. You know my deal. Tragic betrayal, absentee parents, perfectionist coping mechanisms, blah, blah, blah. I know why I’m still single. What’s your excuse?”
“Being cheated on isn’t an excuse, Lainey. That’s trauma. You’re allowed to process that.”
“Yeah, well, I’m starting to think my processing phase has actually turned out to be more of an avoidance phase.”
He nodded, looking me over. “I’d avoid people, too, if that guy and his stupid face had done that to me.”
I laughed, surprised to find that talking about my ex didn’t make me want to curl up in bed and wallow. “He does have a stupid face.”
“I know.” Sam shrugged.
“Katie said you were kind of mean to him at the reception. Cold, or something.”
“I could tell you didn’t like him. I knew there had to be a reason.”
He was so, so cute…and big, barely squeezing into the bistro chair across from me. He split the croissants neatly down the middle so we each had an equal serving, but if one half ended up bigger than the other, he slipped the larger piece onto my side of the plate. To top it all off, when he’d met my stupid ex and seen how uncomfortable the guy made me, he’d immediately sided with me. No questions asked.
“How are you single? Seriously?”
“Dating usually requires conversation. Not my strong suit, if you haven’t noticed. Plus, not many women outside the medicalfield understand how challenging it is to get through med school and residency.”
“Not a ton of time for extracurriculars.”
“Exactly. It’s hard to have a life outside of work until you’re an attending, and at that point, all a woman sees is a guy in his mid-thirties who doesn’t talk and has never really had a serious relationship. It gives serial killer vibes.”
I nearly spat out my tea, giggling. “You do not give serial killer vibes.”
“You say that because you know me. Everyone else assumes there’s something wrong with me.”
“Is there?” I sat back in my chair. A breeze fluttered past, lacking the chill I’d felt when we’d sat down. Sam paused to think. Again, I was struck by how much I liked his quiet consideration. Most people on a first non-date would have brushed off the question or made a joke out of it.
“Probably. Everyone has something.” He looked out over the city where the fog was beginning to burn off. “Hard to be the oldest kid in a single-parent home. My mom did her best, but I was responsible for Will and Con a lot. I resented it, sometimes.”
“Hard to be a kid when you can’t just be a kid,” I commiserated. He nodded, glancing down at his coffee. “Do you resent it now? How much you help your family?”
His attention fixed on me, pensive. “I wouldn’t say I help them more than the usual amount.” My mind readily supplied multiple examples just from the last week that told a different story. Sam leading our workout at the gym when it was crowded, handing Jas her favorite drink and telling her to sit. That kick he’d aimed at his mother’s back tire.
“I guess, since I grew up taking care of everyone, it’s become a habit. I’m not good at putting myself first. That can be a problem. You are good at advocating for yourselfwith patientsor other doctors. Will’s that way, too. I wish I were better about asking for what I want.”
