Page 23 of Bonds of Shame, Bonds of Lust

I stood in front of my closet for forty minutes.

I pulled out the cream silk blouse first, the one I'd bought for a cardiology conference two years ago, worn once for the keynote, never since. It was beautiful. It was too beautiful. It said I tried, which meant it said I want you to like me. I put it back.

Navy sweater. Something a thirty-five-year-old doctor wears to a sensible lunch with a friend's acquaintance who means nothing yet and might mean nothing ever. I put it on, looked in the mirror, and thought, I look like I'm going to a committee meeting. I took it off.

Back to the silk.

Slacks or jeans. Slacks felt like armor. Jeans felt like I was trying to look casual. I went to the slacks, then the jeans, then stood holding both. I was a woman who made life-or-death decisions without breaking a sweat and was paralyzed by trousers.

I put on the jeans. I put on the silk blouse.

I drove across town telling myself this was just lunch. People had lunch with new people all the time. I parked across from The Bluebird at 12:55 and sat a minute with my hands on the wheel, getting up the nerve to go in.

Bread, coffee and a garlicky scent from the kitchen hit me at once. Half the tables were full. I found Janice at a corner table by the window, already on her feet and beaming, and some of the tightness went out of my shoulders at the sight of her.

Behind her, a man.

Average height, slim, dark hair swept back, a mouth that went easily to a smile. Brown skin, dark eyes with something playful working in them. Very good looking. He was comfortable in his body in a way I noticed because I never had been.

Janice reached me first. I let her hug me and held on a second longer than I meant to. "I'm so glad you came." She pulled back, both hands on my arms. "This is my friend, Ricardo Guzmán García."

He put out his hand. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Lacey." His voice was low and warm.

I accepted his hand. Warm, firm, a callus ridge across one fingertip from the strings. His eyes went over me once, half a second, frank and unbothered about being frank. "Nice to meet you too."

"Janice told me you were beautiful," he said. "She undersold it."

Brad used to compliment me like he was checking a box. You look nice tonight. This was not that.

"Thank you," I said, and heard how small it came out.

His smile shifted, amused and not unkind.

"Lacey," Janice said, laughing. "Lacey. Hello. Do you want to sit down?"

I startled. "Right. Yes. Sitting. Good idea."

I sat. They sat. I folded my hands in my lap.

The server came. Ricardo ordered sparkling water with lime, Janice her iced latte, and I asked for black coffee even though I'd had two cups already and my heart didn't need the help.

"So," Ricardo said, leaning back. "Janice tells me you save tiny hearts for a living."

"I try. Most days they save me right back."

A woman with dark hair and a fitted dress passed the table on her way to the restroom, and Ricardo's eyes tracked her for a full two seconds before they snapped back, and he didn't seem to know he'd done it. Janice looked at the ceiling, recalculating something. I caught her eye and shook my head a little. It's fine. She mouthed work in progress and picked up her cup.

"Sorry," Ricardo said to no one in particular. Then, to me, without a trace of embarrassment, "You were saying?"

"I wasn't saying anything yet."

"Good." He grinned. "Then I didn't miss anything."

He was charming.

"Janice said you’re studying music theory."

"Grad student, yes. I play guitar, write songs that will never leave my apartment, and teach undergrads who are all certain they're about to be famous."