Bella slipped into the nearest bathroom, where she took her hair out of its bun and finger-combed it around her shoulders. Then she changed from her white waiter’s shirt to the blouse she wore under her apron while cooking. That one wasn’t stained, thank goodness. Finally, she added a little lip gloss. In her jeans and blouse, she wouldn’t fit in with the doctors, but she wouldn’t stand out as a caterer, either.
The hotel was still buzzing with doctors from the conference. They were gathered in small groups, glasses of wine or champagne in their hands, talking and networking. Bella caught a few snippets of their conversations.
“… new attending with no qualifications that I can see?—”
“… and I invented a new bloodless surgery procedure in mysecond yearthat completely?—”
“… those little rice balls were just amazing?—”
Bella smiled a little at the last comment, but the rest of them made her want to roll her eyes. She gave polite nods as she slipped past the doctors, invisible in the crowd. Once they knew she wasn’t a doctor, which they could tell just from looking at her, they didn’t want to talk to her.
That was good. Bella didn’t want to talk to them either. All she wanted was a drink and a way to get over the bad mood that was pressing down on her like a too-heavy lunch. At the hotel’s bar,she spotted a few empty seats. Apparently, the doctors were too busy talking to sit down here.
As she approached, Bella saw the handsome doctor who’d given the speech sitting alone, his hands wrapped around a glass of dark liquid, probably whiskey, in front of him. He was gazing off into the distance, and he looked unhappy. Usually, Bella wouldn’t have approached him, or any stranger at a bar, but today, things couldn’t get worse than they already were.
“Is this seat taken?” she asked, gesturing at the free stool beside him. The doctor shook his head, so she sat.
“Mojito, please,” Bella told the bartender. He nodded and turned around, gathering limes and mint leaves into a glass.
Glancing at the doctor, she added, “I liked your speech.”
“Thanks.” He turned to look at her, and from this close, she saw the flecks of dark and light blue in his soft gray eyes. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, perhaps a little older than her thirty-four, but he was classically handsome, like a doctor in a TV show or on a poster. There was a little five-o’clock shadow across his strong jawline — maybe he hadn’t had time to shave that day. He also looked… tired. As though the weight of the world were simply too heavy.
Or maybe, more likely, Bella was just projecting her own exhaustion and bad mood onto this stranger.
“Are you a doctor?” he asked, taking a sip of the drink in front of him. He wasn’t looking at her.
“No, I’m not.” Bella met the bartender’s eyes as he handed over her drink. “Thanks, this looks great.”
The bartender winked at her and turned to tend to another group of clients on the far end. Bella turned back to the doctor, waiting to see how he’d react.
“Good,” he said simply. “I’ve had enough of doctors for today.” He glanced at her now, and his gaze was warm and weighty, like a hand on her shoulder.
“Same.” Bella sipped her drink, which was fresh and sweet and just the right amount of alcoholic. “A lot of the speeches seemed more about doctors promoting themselves than actually trying to teach anyone anything.”
The man grinned. The simple gesture transformed his face until he no longer looked world-weary. He angled towards her, still holding his whiskey.
“Thank you,” he said, nodding. “I’ve always thought so. Honestly, these events are just an endless blur of self-promotion and networking. The only good thing about them is the food.”
Bella chuckled, but she didn’t admit that the food was her doing. Still, warmth bloomed in her heart at the praise.
“What brings you here, anyway, if you aren’t a doctor?” the man asked. He drained the last of his drink and raised a hand to the bartender for another. “Are you in the medical field in some way?”
“Nope.” Bella shook her head. She didn’t want to talk about being a caterer today. She wanted to forget about food completely for a little while. So, instead of elaborating, she said, “Are you from around here?”
“I’ve lived in Portland for about five years,” the man said. “You?”
“All my life,” Bella admitted.
“You must be used to the rain, then.”
Bella rolled her eyes. “Classic transplant. I bet you think the rain is all we talk about.”
“It is,” the man said, raising his eyebrows. “In the last five years, I think ninety percent of my conversations have been about the rain.”
“Sure.” Bella drew out the word sarcastically. “So, where did you move here from?”
“Minnesota.” The bartender came back with the man’s drink, and he took a long sip, then turned to Bella. “Sorry, I should have offered to get you something.”
