“It’s George. Please call me George.”
“Right. George.”
“Come on in.” Uma grabbed her arm. “Let’s get you set up with a drink and introduce you around.”
She followed the couple into the house, taking it all in and girding herself. A party. So very different from the way she managed to deal with people at work. Social situations did her in. The constant smiling, the small talk, the personal side of things was exhausting. She was so painfully bad at it. When Tom had been alive, he’d been her buffer, the social one, the guy who knew how to charm, but now…
After a quick round of introductions, George settled into a corner of the kitchen, bottle of beer in hand, and watched.
As they prepared things for the barbecue, her eyes kept returning to Uma and her man. Ive Shifflett smiled at his girlfriend, and anything that may have seemed scary in him disappeared, leaving George to gape for just a second at this man’s surprisingly sweet, handsome boyishness. He slid one big arm around Uma’s shoulder. She leaned into him, looking… Oh, what a transformation. The woman looked content. Unlike the first time she’d come into George’s office, almost a year ago, when she’d been so…hunted.
Hunted and frightened and clearly in the throes of something terrible. What chilled George now, as she recalled it, was the uncanny similarity to Andrew Blane’s demeanor yesterday. That was it, wasn’t it? That was why, when it came down to it, George hadn’t kicked him out or run screaming from his presence.
Right. She was fixating on him because he’d looked hunted. Not at all because of how he’d affected her.
My God, she had to stop thinking about him. All morning, she’d dwelled on the man. What was wrong with her?
A woman sidled up, beer in hand, and leaned against the wall beside George. “Don’t they just make you sick?” she said quietly.
“Hmm?” George said, eyeing the scattered freckles over the newcomer’s sun-browned nose. She’d have to watch that.
The woman smiled and lifted her chin at Uma and Ive canoodling on the other side of the room.
“Oh. Yes.”
“I’m Jessie Shifflett, sister to Ive, the massive lovesick puppy over there. I hear you’re the woman with the magic wand.”
“Magic wa… Oh. The laser.” The description surprised a chuckle out of George, who reached out and shook Jessie’s hand. “George Hadley. Good to meet you.”
“Well, George Hadley, you’re a miracle worker. Also hear you do a ridiculous amount of pro bono work for people around here.”
“Oh, I’m…” She wasn’t quite sure how to handle a comment like that. Praise wasn’t really her thing. “Thank you?”
Jessie laughed, the sound easy, casual in a way George admired. “Seriously, though. I hear you’re just about the nicest person on the planet. I should be thanking you.” The woman indicated the couple again, and her smile softened. “For that.”
“Not sure I can take credit for what’s happening over there. But…” George narrowed her eyes at the other woman. “I feel like we’ve met before.”
“We have. I work out right next to your office. At the MMA school. Teach there too. Monday nights.” Of course. George recognized her now. She’d seen her arrive at the gym in the evenings, usually around the time she was closing up the clinic. “You should drop in sometime. Check out my women’s self-defense class.”
“Oh, right. Uma mentioned it. I keep meaning to stop by.” Which was a lie. George didn’t need self-defense. She wasn’t scared of people. No, the dangers in life were invisible, microscopic things that snuck up on you before you knew it, killing indiscriminately.
“You should,” Jessie went on. “Come on Monday. Lots of great gals.” George tried to picture it—herself in a room full of women—and couldn’t manage. Jessie leaned in, smiling, and said, “If you’re really good, we let you beat up on a couple of guys. Including my brother and…hmm. Where’s Steve?” She looked around, apparently didn’t see the man she was looking for, and grabbed George by the arm. “Come on outside. I’ll introduce you to the others. You should know Steve, after all. He owns the MMA school. Good neighbor to have, actually. Never have to worry about anyone bugging you as long as he’s in business right there.”
Outside, less than a dozen people hung around the grill, drinking, chatting, and playing badminton. George eyed them warily, wishing she could leave, itching to head back to the office. She usually stuck out like a sore thumb at things like this—the stiff, pale-skinned woman who had no clue how to mingle.
Jessie, it turned out, was the perfect icebreaker, if somewhat embarrassing.
“You single, Doc?” she asked over her shoulder as they went down the back porch steps.
“Uh…yes?”
They approached a group of adults, and Jessie’s smile turned mischievous. “Excellent. Someone to take the pressure off.”
“What are you—”
“Hey, everybody. Meet George Hadley. Owns the skin clinic over on Main Street.” Hands reached out, names were given, and George shook blindly. “She’s single too, so you can set your friends up with her now instead of harassing me all the time.”
“Oh, I’m not—”
