* * *
The moment I saw Vivian, my intuition had pinged. She was special. Very special.
She wore a one-piece swimming suit in a shimmery turquoise that exposed one lightly freckled shoulder. Bright pink toenails peeped out of the sand while big, soft silver eyes met mine. Her bangs tickled her eyelashes, and she brushed them back into that tangle of loose reddish-brown curls tumbling down her back.
She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever met, and my attraction to her was deep, strong. I had to hope it was mutual.
“So…a drink?” I asked once we’d reached the boardwalk. Kids and seagulls shrieked while parents washed sand from their bodies and kids’ toys. The sky was bright blue and the sun hot enough to make me sweat.
She nodded, offering me a shy, partial smile. “I’d like that.”
“Let me know what looks good.”
“Oh, um, you sure?” She tucked a few loose strands of hair back and blinked.
I hated missing even a second of staring into those gorgeous eyes. “Absolutely. I want you to be comfortable.”
Her smile lit me up from the inside. “Okay. Well, how about there?” She pointed to a café tucked down at the end of the strip. Its little blue awnings rustled in the breeze. It was more than half full but not in the main action.
“Great choice,” I said.
We walked down the wooden path. “So, what do you do, Vivian?” Not my greatest conversation starter, but then, I hadn’t planned on meeting a beautiful woman today. I’d thought I’d read my book, take a dip in the lake, have a couple of good meals. Then, Sunday evening, I’d fly back to Houston and kick my training into high gear.
Already I was rearranging my schedule so I could spend another day, maybe two, with Vivian.
“I’m an oncology nurse,” she said. “That means I work with cancer patients. Mine are mainly older adults, but I get some younger people in the mix. Too many,” she said with a sigh.
“Wow. That’s got to be emotionally tough. My friend’s wife is an art therapist for kids who suffered trauma. I must say, I’m as impressed by your choice as I am Ida Jane’s. Compassion and an iron will.”
We entered the café’s outdoor seating area. I looked to Vivian when the hostess asked where we wanted to sit. She nibbled her lip. “Is inside okay? I think I’m on the brink of a sunburn.”
“Whatever you want,” I said.
Once we were situated in a booth at the back, we returned to our conversation. I tensed when Vivian asked me what I did for a living. Moment of truth. Some women wanted to hook up with a professional athlete. Others were turned off by the schedule.
“I play hockey for the Houston Wildcatters.”
Her eyes widened. “I don’t know what I expected you to say, but that wasn’t it.” She smiled at the waiter who brought us water and menus. “Do you like it?”
“I love hockey. I’ve been playing since I was ten, and the moment I strapped on skates, took the stick in my hands, I was home.”
“Wow. That’s amazing. I wish I had that type of connection to my work. Though I don’t like the potential for concussions. We’ve heard so much about those in recent years. Didn’t some football star mention a Parkinson’s diagnosis related to hits to the head?”
“Yeah, he did, and it’s something the team and each player takes seriously. I’ve had one concussion, about five years ago, right after I started playing for Houston. I was a mess for days—hallucinations, headaches, unable to focus, light sensitivity… You name it, I had the symptom.”
Vivian bit her lip. “I just wish sports weren’t so dangerous, that you could enjoy your career without such big inherent risks.”
“Everything has risks. Even nursing, though maybe not the type you do. But I know an ER doctor, and he has some crazy stories.”
“I bet he does,” Vivian said. “Substances like drugs and pain are a rough combination.”
“You sound less than enthused about your career choice,” I said, leaning back against the cushion. “I thought that was a calling.”
Vivian’s face fell, and she sighed. “I chose to be a nurse, and to go into oncology, because my mother died of ovarian cancer five years ago.”
I reached across the table and touched my fingers to the smooth, cool skin on the back of her hand. “That’s tough. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
Her expression turned wistful. “Me, too. My mother was an amazing woman, and I miss her.” Vivian’s teeth sank into her lower lip. “I’m actually here because of her.”
