“I’m disappointed.”
“Disappointed?”
“I had you pegged as a chocolate girl,” I told her.
“Did you want the vanilla?”
“Not at all. I just thought you’d be a chocolate girl.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Don’t all girls like chocolate?”
“I’m not saying I don’t. It’s just not my first choice,” she admitted, taking another scoop.
“And what is your first choice?”
“Macarons.”
“Macarons?”
“Specifically pistachio macarons. But I wouldn’t turn down any.”
“Good to know.”
“So, what makes you an ice cream expert?” Charlotte asked.
It was weird in a way but not at all uncomfortable. We were sitting here talking about desserts as if the last twenty minutes didn’t happen. Like she didn’t just cry on my shoulder, leaving a damp patch on my sleeve.
“My daughter Isla. Anytime she’s hurt or upset, ice cream seems to be the magic trick that dries her tears.”
“She’s a lucky girl.”
“God help me when she’s a teenager,” I chuckled, dreading the day. I didn’t know if ice cream soothed a broken heart, but God, I hoped it did. It was the only ace I had up my sleeve.
“How old is she?”
“She’s six going on sixteen,” I grumbled, stuffing ice cream in my mouth loving the chocolate flavor. It was rich and indulgent.
“Aren’t they all.” Charlotte chuckled. “Well, I’m sure your wife will have some tips for the dreaded teenage hormones coming your way.”
I wasn’t sure if that was her backhanded way of asking if I had a wife, but I liked the idea that it might. Which was strange. I hadn’t dated since Isla’s mom. I hadn’t wanted to. Isla was the most important person in my life, and nothing was going to change that. I was already stretched so thin between work and making sure I was there for her as much as I could be, when I did finally get a moment to myself, I squeezed in a workout or a couple of beers with the guys.
I’m not claiming I was a saint. I’d had my fair share of hookups, but I was clear they weren’t ever going to eventuate to a happily ever after.
But this doctor, this sad, exhausted doctor, had me rethinking my stance and I’d known her all of a hot minute.
“Nope. No wife,” I clarified. If anything came of this attraction, and I meant if, I refused to let it start with a misunderstanding. “It’s just me and Isla.”
“Well then, she’s one very lucky girl,” Charlotte replied.
We sat there eating our ice cream, enjoying the moment of peace. I had a feeling Charlotte’s work, like mine, was a rollercoaster. The highs of saving someone or helping them were intoxicating. But the lows, they could be debilitating.
“So, you’re a doctor here?”
“I am. I’m an oncologist,” Charlotte confirmed. “And that … right there is a normal reaction to that.”
“What reaction?” I didn’t say a word.
