I glanced down at my navy slacks and flowing white blouse. There was a fine line between trying too hard to look good and trying too hard to look casual and not dressing up enough. I’d picked this outfit because I’d seen ladies wear similar ones in the museum. I didn’t spend much time with men from New York. They seemed sophisticated and snobby to this Midwest girl, but I was beginning to think that was on me—not them.
Dr. Mitchell didn’t seem like he was snobby. Not anymore. But I still couldn’t shake the feeling that I was not in the same league as him as far as art appreciation, etc. Didn’t people in NY spend all their free time browsing museums and discussing the latest piece by an artist with only one name? Okay, that was stereotyping, but it came from my most insecure place.
This was ridiculous. I didn’t have any reason to be nervous—this was not a date.
I caught sight of Dr. Mitchell walking up the concrete stairs, and my nerves made complete sense. Just at the sight of his chiseled jaw and broad shoulders, my breath hitched. It wasn’t fair. When we were apart, I didn’t think much about how handsome he was. Sure, I replayed conversations we’d had and giggled to myself over flirting with him. But when I saw him after being apart for a while, I was sucker punched with his good looks and my breath was stolen.
His hair was neatly trimmed, like he’d just gotten a haircut. My temperature rose. Had he done that for me? For our not-a-date? I wondered what it would be like to run my fingers through that hair. Would it feel soft and silky or coarser like mine?
Oh my gosh, what was I thinking? I had to stop.Dr. Mitchell and I were colleagues and barely friends.I had no right to fantasize about him.
He saw me at the top of the stairs, and a big smile quickly spread across his face. My knees went weak at the sight of it.I didn’t think I’d ever seen him smile before. Not like that. And the fact that it appeared because of me was satisfying and freaking me out all at the same time.
“Hello, Dr. Mitchell,” I somehow managed to squeak out.
“Hi, Emma, and you can call me Alex.” His blue eyes crinkled at the corners.
“Okay. Hi, Alex.” I tried out the name on my lips. It was a good name, solid like him.Oh my gosh! Stop thinking about his muscles.“Should we get started?”
He fell into step beside me. “What’s first?”
“Well, we enter on the ground level. On this floor there is the underground exhibit and one on ancient Egypt.”
“Let’s start with Egypt,” Alex replied. “I read up on some of this online, and I don’t think I really want to see the bugs in the underground. Maybe we can do that another time.”
“Are you afraid of spiders?” I teased.
“Not at all. But centipedes …” He mock shivered, making me laugh.
“Fine, we’ll save the scary bugs for another time,” I casually replied. My subconscious was secretly squealing at the thought of another excuse to spend time withAlex.I wasn’t on a first-name basis with any of the doctors at the hospital, and calling AlexAlexbrought a whole level of intimacy to the outing that I hadn’t expected.
As we turned to get our tickets, our shoulders brushed and I felt warmth spread through my arm. There was no denying it: my body was attracted to him. Which was all physical—chemical, really. I mean, just because I was chemically attracted to the man didn’t mean I had to act on that attraction. The key was keeping my wits about me. Though I’d never really had to work at that before. Even with my ex-husband, I’d had a handle on my hormones.
In hindsight, that should have been a warning sign. Why had I married a man who I wasn’t over-the-moon attracted to in the first place? Because he was a master manipulator, that was why. But really, I hadn’t known that this kind of attraction was real. I’d thought it was something they put into movies to draw in an audience. To suddenly become aware of it in myself—and for Alex—was a bit overwhelming.
My thoughts were wrapped up in what was happening between us on a physical level—even though we weren’t touching—so I wasn’t much of a conversationalist.
As we made our way to ancient Egypt, Alex asked. “So in the reading I did prior to coming today, I understand this museum has one of the largest collections of mummies in the United States.”
I jerked out of Physical Chem 101 and snagged his conversation. Of course he had done his homework—in detail. I shouldn’t have expected anything less. “Yes. In fact, the entrance to the exhibit is a replica of an Egyptian tomb that houses two authentic chamber rooms from the burial site of 5th Dynasty Egyptian Pharaoh Unis’s son Unis-Ankh.”
“That should be pretty interesting to see,” he replied with a slight tilt to his head and that crooked smile that took my breath away. “But I have to know after that last statement—do you literally know every detail about this place?”
My cheeks heated, and I could imagine that they turned a dark pink. “My dad is a museum curator. He loves history. I don’t know if it is nature or nurture, but I’m never tired of his stories or facts. When I was little, I wanted to be a history professor when I grew up. I don’t know every detail, but the ones that grab my attention … let’s just say I like to know all I can about it.” More like I binged on every book, movie, documentary, and online article until I’d satiated my interest on that particular subject.
We crossed through the exhibit entrance, which was as spectacular as I’d promised, and started looking at the displays.Alex was particularly interested in the floor to ceiling hieroglyphs.
“They explain about everyday life and the Egyptians’ thoughts on death,” I softly said.
“You can read hieroglyphs?” His eyes were big, amazed.
I laughed. “No, that’s what the sign says.” I pointed to the plaque, and he joined in my laughter.
“After all your talk about your dad, I pictured family night around a papyrus.”
I grinned. “What little girl wouldn’t love that?”
We continued the small talk as we slowly meandered through the exhibit. I found myself enjoying Alex’s company more and more, though he still seemed … guarded.What would it take to get him to let me in? I wasn’t sure, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to dive into that project. I’d already tried to reform one man and failed miserably. If Alex wasn’t willing to let me close, then I’d handle it. Better to know now, before my heart sided with my hormones.
