Also, it was a good excuse to see her. He hadn’t been down to the Cape since her brother’s bachelor party, and he’d been jammed with surgeries. This party gave him a great reason to get her here.
She emailed a list of questions—how many people would be invited, what kind of venue he wanted, what kind of food, all that—and he told her to make it nice enough so people would be glad they came. Honestly, he had no idea what would constitute a good party, but Winnie would.
I have surgery until about four. Let’s meet at the apartment after that.
Sounds good.
Maybe they could get dinner together. Maybe it would be dark and late enough that she’d want to spend the night in Boston. Not in his bed, but just…well, in his bed would’ve been fine, if the situation had been different. But it wasn’t, and he should get over it. Sex was one thing. A relationship was another. He didn’t know how to do relationships. He’d tried twice, and both times the women had broken up with him in under a month. He hadn’t felt it was worth pursuing, because each woman, while intelligent and attractive, hadn’t affected him enough to think more on it.
But the thought of a night talking to Winnie was different. Calming. Relaxing. Energizing, too. Her smile. Her sass. Her complete lack of fawning. Her ability to take him at his word, not try to read into things or dissect his thoughts. The way she seemed to like him just as he was. Her fascinating eye color. The slight dimple that occasionally appeared when she smiled.
On the appointed day, he texted her when he left the hospital ninety-seven minutes later than he’d hoped.
Meet me at the Hatch. Dropping you a pin now.
He left the hospital, pulling his wool coat over his scrubs. Usually, he showered and dressed in his street clothes, not wanting to be one of the masses who wore scrubs outside the hospital, but the surgery had run long, and he didn’t want to waste time. It was already growing dark as he headed to the iconic shell, home of the Boston Pops July 4th concert, among others.
There she was, dressed in a parka and winter hat. She waved, and he felt his whole being lighten.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi, Satan,” she said. “How was your day?”
Was it weird that he really liked her calling him Satan? “Good. How was yours?”
“Excellent. Let’s walk and talk, since it’s so nice out.”
It was cold and getting darker, but he wasn’t about to argue.
“So there’s good news and bad news,” she said. “Since you’ve left this to the very last minute, we’re kind of limited in venues. Most places are booked, so next year we should start planning this in about August.”
It was nice to think they’d be doing something together next year.
“But for this year, we can either do something at your place?—”
“No,” he said.
“—but I figured you’d hate that, so I looked into Sunday brunch?—”
“Who would want to take time out of their weekend for a work event, even one with food?”
“—but I assumed no one would want to take time out of their weekend for a work event, and please stop interrupting, Lorenzo.”
“Sorry.” He almost smiled, though he wasn’t sure why.
She narrowed her eyes at him, though she didn’t seem irritated. “Which left me with the idea of a dinner cruise on the Charles.” She headed into Fiedler Field, veering past the playground toward the dock.
“A dinner cruise sounds a little…cheesy.”
“It does,” she said. “But I’m about to blow your mind, so be patient.” She went out on the dock. “For one, a dinner cruise has a two-hour time limit on it. Everyone has to disembark at the end, so there would be no lingering.”
“I like that aspect,” he said. The wind gusted off the river. “Won’t it be too cold, though?”
“For two, it’ll probably be wicked cold, which will keep people inside the boat. Huge windows, nice and toasty, and no one gets drunk and falls overboard.”
“Another plus,” he said.
“For three, look at that skyline. I mean, it’s not Manhattan, but it’s not ugly, either.” She indicated Boston, and he had to agree. It was no Manhattan. “The food on the ship is supposedly five-star, and there’s a really nice bar area. It won’t be horrible.”
