Rebecca gasped. “Whaaaat? I am shocked,” she mocked. “Never had an oxtail?”
Nick frowned in feigned offense. “Don’t judge me, woman. This is not common food.”
“It’s common, Nick.” She chuckled. “Especially where Paula is from.”
“And that is?”
“A small parish on the island of Jamaica.”
“Oh. So, oxtail is a Caribbean dish.”
“The way I’m preparing it, yes.” Rebecca swept the carrots from the cutting board into a colander and collected Nick’s carrots. “This is enough.”
As she took them to the sink to wash, she thoughtfully contemplated the discussion she wanted to have. After following him to the hospital room of a dark-haired woman and seeing the way he behaved when Dr. Thantos entered her hospital room, she needed to know what haunted him.
She turned and rested against the sink. Nick was busy wiping the counter with a dishcloth. He looked up as if he could feel the questions burning in her.
“This I can do,” he said with the sexiest of boyish grins.
“I’m proud of you,” she quipped.
“Ha-ha. What’s on your mind? I can see the wheels turning.”
Rebecca walked over and joined him at the counter.
His face was etched in concern. “What’s on your mind?”
“Dr. Thantos,” she said softly.
His expression changed immediately. Her face warmed from the sadness that clouded his blue gaze. The sad look in his eyes disappeared as quickly as it came. He avoided her scrutiny by looking away.
“That smells delicious,” he muttered, moving to the sink. “I can’t wait to try your oxtails.”
“Nick? Dr. Thantos,” she pressed.
“What about Dr. Thantos? I would think you knew everything you needed to know about the doctor. After all, it was you he paid a visit.”
Rebecca nodded. “Yes. I am acquainted with the doctor, but I want to know why you’re acquainted with him.”
He turned his back to fold the washcloth and hung it from the sink.
“Nick? We met in his office, I know what he specializes in, and I’ve seen you with the woman.”
He turned quickly and glared pointedly at her. “What woman?” His tone warned that he was losing patience, but Rebecca needed to know what caused the sadness that often consumed him.
“The woman you visited in the hospital, the woman with the long, dark hair.”
“How did you—”
“I followed you,” she admitted in a whisper. Her chin lowered in shame.
“What?” He gasped as if disgusted.
“I’m sorry.”
He turned his back to her again and clutched the sink tight enough for his knuckles to turn white. “That’s not creepy at all,” he muttered under his breath.
“It was unintentional,” she lied. “We happened to be headed in the same direction.”
