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“The third date is when you do it,” Leda said.
Faye laughed. “Who says?”
“That’s the rule these days, Faye.”
Faye pulled her water bottle from the holder near the machine’s console and took a drink. “Well, he probably doesn’t know the rules any better than I do,” she said. As their superior, she knew she was crossing a boundary by talking to Judy and Leda about her love life, but this was one area in which they were more knowledgeable than she was and she wanted their input. “We talked about that, actually,” she said. “About dating being new to each of us.” She hoped no one was filling Jim in on “the third-date rule.”
“It really depends on what those first two dates were like, though.” Judy let go of the handlebars to pull the scrunchie from her dark hair and stick it in the pocket of her shorts. “Where did you go?”
“Starbucks the first time, and out to eat the second.” Their first date had been a casual, impromptu sort of thing. He’d bumped into her in the hospital corridor, told her he’d read her new book and been impressed by it, and asked her if she wanted to get a drink after work that evening. They’d ended up at a Starbucks instead of a bar, and the coffee date lasted four hours. He did most of the talking, and that had been fine with her. As a matter of fact, she’d asked him questions nonstop to keep him from asking any of her. She was not good at sharing her life story. He had opened up easily about his, though, telling her about his North Carolina childhood, his marriage, his two daughters. He was so open that she’d felt guilty for all she was keeping to herself. But he didn’t seem to mind. He wanted someone’s ear to bend, and she’d been very willing.
“Starbucks doesn’t really count.” Judy took a swig from her own water bottle.
“How long did you stay there?” Leda asked.
“Four hours.” They probably would have stayed longer, but Starbucks had been closing.
“Oh,” they both said at the same time, nodding.
“That counts, then,” Leda said. “That’s totally a first date.”
“And do you talk on the phone a lot?” Judy asked.
“Not really.” He had called her a couple of times and e-mailed a couple more, but nothing lengthy or deep.
“Because a lot of phone calls count as a date.”
Faye laughed. “You two …”
“I would say that four hours on the phone equals one date,” Judy said.
Faye rolled her eyes, nearly too winded to respond. Her thighs were burning.
“Where was the second date?” Leda asked.
“The Sky Room,” she managed to say. Again, he had been the talkative one. By the end of the evening, she realized he had not asked her a single question about herself other than what she wanted to eat. Another woman might have found that annoying. She’d welcomed it.
“Very nice.” Judy nodded her approval. “Did he pay for you?”
“Yes … but I wasn’t sure how to handle that,” she said. “Should I have paid for myself?”
“No. Always let the guy pay,” Leda said.
“I don’t agree,” Judy countered. “You should at least offer to pay your share. Or pick up the check the next time you go out. So, you can pay tonight.”
“I would never pay,” Leda said. “Especially not with someone as wealthy as Dr. Price.”
“Where is he taking you tonight?” Judy asked.
Faye hesitated. She really was saying far too much. She pushed the button to lower the machine’s resistance. “We’re going to a party,” she said. “Some friends of his.”
“And then back to your house for a nightcap?” Judy asked.
“I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
“Oh, girl,” Leda laughed. “You are ending up in bed tonight. No doubt about it.”
“I barely know him.” Faye felt priggish. “Or rather, he barely knows me.”
“Well, what did you talk about all those hours in Starbucks and at the restaurant?” Leda asked.
“He did most of the talking.”
Leda groaned, shaking her head in disgust. “That is so typical. All they want is someone to listen to them.”
“You make sure he gets to know you before you sleep with him,” Judy said. “You know, you as a person.” She let go of the handlebar to take another swallow of water. “Otherwise you’ll feel used,” she continued. “He can say to himself, I slept with that hot-looking nurse and I didn’t even have to listen to her whine about her life.”
Faye was quiet, enjoying the fact that Judy had called her hot-looking. She hoped she was not being patronized.
“How long has it been for you?” Leda asked.
“Hey!” Faye said with a shake of her head. “I’m your supervisor, remember?”
“This conversation is off the record,” Leda said conspiratorially. “Okay? You need help.”
She let out her breath, knowing she was going to tell them. She did need help. “My husband was my first and only,” she admitted.
“Oh, my God.” Judy stopped her machine altogether. “And he die … passed away, what? Ten years ago?”
Faye had to smile at the euphemism. They worked in a hospital, for heaven’s sake, and Judy never used the term “passed away.” But somehow, everyone had learned to treat Faye with kid gloves when it came to the subject of her late husband.
“Nearly thirteen years,” she said.
“Wow, Faye,” Leda said. “It must feel like being a virgin all over again.”
She grew quiet. That was exactly how she felt, awkward and scared by the thought of taking off her clothes in front of a man, by the uncertainty of what to do, what would be expected of her. No one would call her fat—at least she hoped not—but she had grown bulky the way women often did at middle age, despite working out and watching her diet. She had little waistline left, her thighs were well padded. When she lay on her side in bed, she was aware of the force of gravity on her belly and breasts and could hardly imagine a man wrapping his arm around her in that position. Yet she had been imagining it lately. She’d been wondering what it would be like to lie in bed with Jim Price.
Judy reached out to touch her arm in sympathy. “It will be fine. He’s the type who’ll use protection and make sure you’re … you know, happy.”
“He wouldn’t need to use protection,” she said. “He hasn’t had anyone since his wife. And I’m menopausal.”
“Oh, my God.” Leda laughed. “You’d better take a tube of K-Y Jelly from the supply room.”
“Okay, that’s really enough!” Faye’s cheeks burned, although she was laughing herself. She stopped the machine and stepped off it too quickly. The carpeted floor felt as if it was moving beneath her feet. “I’m done,” she said. “See you downstairs.”
Jim picked her up at 7:30 p.m., looking handsome, his salt-and-pepper hair in contrast to his black suit and tie. It was to be a fancy event, something for charity, and she hoped she was dressed appropriately. Semiformal, he’d said. She wore a short-sleeved, tea-length burgundy dress. She had good ankles—of that she was confident. His eyes lit up when she opened the door for him, and she guessed she was dressed just fine.
He was talkative, as usual, on the way to the party, but the conversation was geared to the article she had written on the use of meditation in the treatment of chronic pain. She’d wanted his feedback on it before she submitted it to a journal. His comments were excellent, right on target, and she could tell the subject matter was nearly as close to his heart as it was to her own. She wondered if he was thinking about the pain of his patients or of his wife as he made a few suggestions for changes in the article.
The party was held on the twelfth floor of a downtown hotel, in a huge penthouse that offered a spectacular view of the city lights and the Coronado bay bridge. The crowd, slightly stiff and overdressed, was made up of doctors and politicians and their spouses. The women glittered with jewelry, and she wondered how obvious it would be to them that her earrings were made of cubic zirconium and her dress had been purchased at JCPenney’s.
Jim took her arm and held it locked through his own, as if to give her courage. She recognized many of the physicians and saw a few of them raise their eyebrows in what she gathered was surprise at seeing her so firmly tethered to Jim Price’s side. A photographer from San Diego Magazine snapped pictures of the guests as they milled around the huge, open room, and Faye wondered if she would see her face in the society pages of the magazine. She’d never cared for glitter, for the trappings of wealth, but she could not help but be impressed with both the other guests and with herself for simply being there. She wondered how much Jim had paid to get them into this party. It was a cancer benefit, though, she reminded herself. Cancer had killed his wife. He probably welcomed any opportunity to donate to that cause. He had not asked her what had killed her husband, and for that, she was grateful.
Conversation with the other attendees was easier than she’d anticipated. Several people knew who she was; a few of the doctors even knew about her book. Jim was good at introductions, telling her a little something about each person she met and giving that person a tidbit or two about her. He was used to this sort of high-powered social event. That much was obvious.
Halfway through the evening, when Jim had been taken aside by someone to talk business, one of the women ushered Faye away from the crowd and into the women’s lounge.
“I just wanted to tell you how thrilled we all are to see Jim with someone,” the woman said. She was very attractive, her dark hair twisted into a knot at the back of her head. She had to be close to sixty, but her skin was flawless. “He grieved for so long.”
Faye was touched by the woman’s words, but she felt a need to defend Jim. “Thank you,” she said. “I don’t think there’s a time line on grief, though.”
“No, of course not,” the woman said. There was a faint hint of an accent to her voice. Italian, perhaps. “It’s just that he hasn’t looked happy in years. He looks happy tonight, though.” The woman smiled. “We were worried that if he finally did find someone, it would be one of the young nurses he works with. We’re a little sick of watching the older guys leave the wives who’ve stuck by them all these years for some young babe.”
“Well, I guess I’m glad for once that I look my age.” Faye laughed. She knew a backhanded compliment when she received one.
“Oh, sorry.” The woman laughed at her own faux pas and squeezed Faye’s hand. “I didn’t mean to imply that you look old. Just—”
“I know what you meant,” Faye said, forgiving her with a smile.
“Just, someone with maturity,” the woman continued. “It’s refreshing. My husband has an oncology practice in Escondido and he read your book. He said you’re the real deal.”
“That’s so nice to hear,” Faye said, as sincere as she was surprised.
“I’m Rosa Stein, by the way,” the woman said. “How do you do.”
“So, is it serious between the two of you?” That question again.
“Not yet.”
“Well.” Rosa touched her shoulder. “I hope it gets that way.”
“Me, too.” Faye surprised herself with the words.
When they stepped out of the lounge, she spotted Jim across the room, near the window. He was engaged in conversation with a man and a woman, and the sight of him filled her chest with warmth. God, she liked him.
“Thanks for going with me,” he said later, as he drove her back to her house. “I know those affairs can be stuffy, but they’re for a good cause.”
“I enjoyed it,” she said honestly. She was wondering how to handle the next part of the evening. Leda and Judy’s discussion of the third-date rule still rang in her head.
He pulled into the driveway of her modest, one-story house, shut off the engine, and turned to her with a smile. Reaching over, he gently touched the short hair at the back of her neck. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch, both at his touch and at her uncertainty about what to do next. She had to say something.
“If I invite you in,” she said, “does it sound like I’m asking you for more than coffee and conversation?”
He laughed lightly, then took her hand. “That’s what I like about you,” he said. “You’re so straightforward. No games. And though I’d love to come in for some coffee and conversation, I think maybe I’d better not. I’m not ready for … for …”
It was the first time she’d seen him at a loss for words, but she understood.
“Neither am I,” she said.
He walked her to her door, where he leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips.
“I can’t believe I used to work with you and never even noticed you,” he said, drawing back to look at her.
“You were thinking about your patients,” she said. “And your wife.”
He nodded slowly. “I think that’s one thing that drew me to you.” He smoothed a strand of her hair away from her forehead. “You know, the fact that you were widowed. That you know what that’s like.”
“Yes,” she said, although the truth was, she didn’t know.
She was only pretending.
5
LACEY DIDN’T EVEN CONSIDER TELLING CLAY and Gina that she had a date. She left the keeper’s house at six-thirty, stating only that she was meeting a friend for dinner. They would assume it was a female friend; they knew she wasn’t up for dating. They were proud of her. Everyone was, as though she’d successfully battled her demons and won. For the most part, she had, although she knew she wasn’t yet ready for temptation.
A date with Rick Tenley, however, was no threat to the pact she’d made with herself to end her promiscuous behavior. He was the sort of man that might make other women swoon, but his preppy good looks did nothing for her. He was simply a nice guy, and she would have dinner with him as friends. She also had an ulterior motive in meeting with him: he was a lawyer. She might be able to pick his brain about how she and her family should approach Zachary Pointer’s parole hearing.
She’d had trouble deciding where to meet him, finally deciding on the Blue Point Grill in Duck. She would have preferred a restaurant less filled with tourists, but Shorty’s Grill, her favorite eatery, was not the sort of place she could picture a guy like Rick. Besides, everyone knew her at Shorty’s, and tongues would start wagging. If people wondered why they never saw her with a man these days, they were keeping their curiosity to themselves, and for that she was grateful. She didn’t need to stir the pot. It would be best if she and Rick simply blended in with the tourists.
He was already waiting for her when she pulled into the parking lot by the Blue Point. She could see him on the deck next to the little restaurant, leaning against the railing, looking into the water. He was dressed in a sports coat and crisply pressed trousers, and she wondered if her description of the restaurant had made it sound more formal than it was. Didn’t he realize he was at the beach? No one dressed up here. Plus, it was hot. He had to be roasting in that jacket.
She pulled a wide barrette from her purse and clipped back as much of her hair as would fit inside the clasp, letting the rest of it fall free over her shoulders. Her long sundress skirted her sandaled feet as she got out of her car and started walking toward the deck. The dress was loose-fitting without being matronly. At least she hoped it was not matronly. Her wardrobe had changed dramatically. She’d tossed out her more provocative clothing, shocked at how little that left in her closet, and she’d taken herself on one of the most depressing shopping sprees of her life. She might as well let her belly button piercing close up for all the exposure it had gotten this year.
Rick turned just as she climbed the last step onto the deck, and he smiled broadly when he saw her. “Great choice,” he said, motioning toward the restaurant. “The specials look fantastic.”
“I thought you’d like it,” she said. “Everything they serve is good.”
They had a short wait for a table and they passed the time standing on the deck, leaning against the railing and watching the sailboats on the sound.
“It’s going to be a beautiful sunset,” he said, noting the clouds on the horizon.
She nodded. “I grew up on the sound,” she said.
“That must have been wonderful.” He pointed south. “The cottage I’m staying in is just a mile or so in that direction. It’s on the water, too, but it doesn’t have a view like this. It’s very small and so deep in the woods you can barely see it until you’re on top of it. But there’s a path leading to the sound.”
“It must be perfect for someone working on a book,” she said.
“You’re right. It is.”
The hostess stepped onto the deck to call them into the restaurant, and Rick rested his hand on her back as they walked into the welcome air-conditioning. They were lucky to get a table by the window, and he held the back of her chair as she took her seat.
“Did you write today?” she asked as he sat down across from her.
“Not as much as I should have,” he said. “It was so beautiful out, I had to play a round of golf.”
“Ah,” she said. “Do you do that often? Play golf?”
“As often as I can.” He smiled at the waitress who brought them their water, and Lacey saw the young woman nearly melt under the power of Rick’s long dark eyelashes and white teeth.
