Austin laughs. “Noted. I’ll keep that in mind for next time. Maybe we could picnic or something.”
“Maybe.” I glance down at the menu, which is surprisingly extensive.
“I always get the burger and fries,” Austin suggests. “They do it really well here.”
“Sold.” I can start my diet again tomorrow.
“So,” Austin says. “What’s it like being back in your hometown?”
“Mostly good,” I say thoughtfully. “I’d never have been able to afford a house in Toronto, and I like having a yard for my kids.”
He nods. “How many kids do you have?”
“Two. Claire’s nine and Liam’s three.”
The waitress appears, a perky redhead with a nose ring, and I’m grateful for the interruption. I’ve never been great at small talk, and if I’m not careful, I’ll spend most of the date talking about my kids.
“So Sophie mentioned you’re a plastic surgeon?” I ask, after we’ve ordered burgers and beer.
“Yeah. The black sheep of the family.”
“The black sheep?” I repeat. Austin’s educated, personable, successful—a far cry from the stereotypical black sheep.
“Yeah.” Austin grins ruefully. “See, my dad’s a politician. A Member of Parliament for the Liberals.”
“Ah. Are the rest of your family in politics too?”
“No. Mom’s a family doctor who works in addictions, and my brother plans to join her practice when he finishes his residency. So that looks great on Dad’s website.”
“Ah.”
“And my sister’s an immigration lawyer who works with refugees, so that looks pretty good too.”
The waitress brings our drinks, and Austin takes a sip of beer before continuing. “And then there’s me, the guy who does nose jobs and breast enhancements to finance his BMW. I get a lot less space on Dad’s website.”
He speaks casually, as though it doesn’t bother him, but I can tell that it does.
“But not all plastic surgery is cosmetic, right?”
“Oh, sure,” Austin agrees. “There’s burn work, and reconstruction after cancer surgery. I do a fair number of skin cancer cases too. But the truth is, I like the cosmetic stuff. There’s an artistry to it.”
“I can see that.”
He nods. “Yeah. And I think if you do it right, you can do a lot of good.”
“Yeah?” I ask, unable to hide my skepticism.
“Yeah,” he says earnestly. “You can tell people that appearance doesn’t matter, that they shouldn’t worry about their crooked nose or big birthmark, but a lot of them won’t believe it. A procedure can change the way they see themselves, give them more confidence.”
“I guess so.” I sure can’t argue with him. I’d feel a lot more confident right now if I looked like Olivia does.
The waitress arrives with our food, and after a week of fairly disciplined dieting, the taste of the hamburger almost overwhelms me. My delight must show on my face, because Austin grins.
“Told you it was good,” he says with a smirk.
“It’s delicious.” And it’s all I can do to keep from inhaling it, which wouldn’t be a great look on a first date. I take a sip of beer and let my gaze wander around the pub—and almost drop my drink.
Luke is leaning against the bar, looking good enough to eat in a brown leather jacket and jeans. On his right, a scantily dressed blonde is flirting her heart out, and on his left, a brunette is trying to catch his attention. But Luke’s eyes are on me.
