The Children's Doctor's Special Proposal. Kate Hardy

know each other a little better.

      They spent the rest of the evening talking about food and films and books, and Katrina was surprised by how much their tastes meshed. But it wasn’t just that. There was something about Rhys. Something in his blue, blue eyes that made her heart beat a little bit faster and made her wonder what it would feel like if that beautiful mouth slid across her own. Which shocked her, as she hadn’t wanted to kiss anyone—hadn’t even thought of kissing anyone—since Pete. Hadn’t thought of a man in terms of anything other than as a colleague for the last couple of years.

      This was crazy.

      Particularly as Rhys worked with her.

      Been there, done that, worn the T-shirt to shreds. She certainly wasn’t going to risk a repeat of what had happened with Pete—the horrendous atmosphere that had, in the end, forced her to move hospitals to get away from the awkwardness. She loved working at the London Victoria—really loved the way everyone on the ward was like a huge extended family. No way would she be stupid enough to forget that lesson now, have an affair with Rhys and end up having to leave here, too.

      Finally, after hot sweet mint tea and tiny pastries soaked in honey, she leaned back in her chair. ‘I’m almost too full to move.’

      ‘You should’ve left me the lamb,’ he said with a grin.

      ‘Baa,’ she retorted. Then she glanced at her watch. ‘Do you know, we’ve been here three hours?’ And yet it had felt like minutes.

      ‘I’d better get the bill,’ he said.

      ‘No, we’re going halves,’ she protested.

      ‘Absolutely not. This was my idea—my apology to you.’

      ‘Ah, but we’re friends now. And friends share.’

      He folded his arms. ‘Don’t argue with me, Dr Gregory, or I’ll pull rank.’

      ‘Bossy, huh?’ But she wasn’t going to argue—she’d had much a better idea. ‘Tell you what. You can pay this time, but next time’s my bill. We can go and see a film in Leicester Square or something and talk about it over tapas afterwards.’

      ‘That,’ he said, ‘would be lovely. I’d like that.’

      After Rhys had paid the bill, he insisted on seeing Katrina home.

      ‘There’s no need, you know,’ she said. ‘I’ve lived in London for ten years now. I’m used to being independent.’

      ‘Humour me. It’s a Welsh thing.’

      ‘So you’re Sir Lancelot?’ she teased.

      ‘Lancelot was French. Gawain, on the other hand, was Welsh.’

      She laughed. ‘Oh, I can see I’m going to enjoy being friends with you, Rhys Morgan.’

      He laughed back. ‘So are you going to let me see you home?’

      ‘If you insist. You could probably do with walking some of this food off, too,’ she added cheekily.

      They left the restaurant and walked through the back streets. Eventually, Katrina paused outside a small Victorian terraced house. ‘This is mine. Would you like to come in for a coffee?’ she asked.

      Although Rhys knew it would be more sensible to refuse—things were already going fast enough to set alarm bells ringing in his head—at the same time he didn’t want the evening to end just yet. ‘Thanks. That’d be nice.’

      ‘Good.’ She unlocked the door, then ushered him into the sitting room. ‘Take a seat. I’ll be back in a moment.’

      Katrina’s house radiated calm. Pale walls, plants everywhere, and shelves of books and films. No music, though, he noticed. That was clearly one of the areas where he and Katrina differed. And that probably had much to do with her hearing.

      There were framed photographs on the mantelpiece and he walked over to take a closer look. A picture of Katrina with her cousin at what was obviously Madison’s graduation; another of Katrina in graduation robes with people who he assumed were her parents; another taken of Katrina, Madison and both sets of parents in a garden; more photographs of Katrina’s parents. The warmth of the family relationship was so obvious that Rhys felt a twist of envy: it was the complete opposite from his own family background.

      Though in the circumstances he couldn’t blame his father for walking away and trying to find happiness elsewhere. And, given that she’d lost a child and her marriage had disintegrated, he couldn’t blame his mother for the way she was either. As Rhys had grown up, he’d come to terms with the way things were. And he’d worked out that it was much, much easier to be self-sufficient and keep people close enough to be professional, but far enough away so there was no risk of losing them from his life and getting hurt.

      It wasn’t as if there was a gap in his life. He had a job he was good at, a job he really, really loved; he had his music and his books and his films to fill his spare moments; and that was all he needed. Becoming involved with Katrina Gregory would just complicate things. He needed to get them back on the right sort of footing—colleagues and acquaintances only—and fast.

      Katrina, walking back into the living room with two mugs of coffee, noted the expression on Rhys’s face. Polite but distant again. Where was the man who’d chatted with her in the Moroccan restaurant, who’d relaxed enough with her to tease her back and laugh with her?

      ‘One black coffee,’ she said.

      ‘Thanks.’ He gave her a polite smile.

      She couldn’t think of a single reason why he would suddenly be so reserved with her, not after the evening they’d shared. Knowing how easily a small communication lapse could turn into something huge, she decided to face it head-on. ‘Rhys, is something wrong?’

      ‘Wrong? No.’

      ‘But you’ve gone quiet on me.’

      ‘I’ve just realised how late it is. And I’m afraid I’m a lark rather than an owl.’

      ‘Me, too,’ she said. ‘Which means I end up drinking huge amounts of coffee on team nights out to keep me awake.’

      ‘Sounds like a good plan.’

      She sighed inwardly. He was definitely back to being polite and reserved. And she couldn’t think of a single thing to say without it sounding inane or babbling.

      The silence stretched until it was almost painful. And then he drained his mug. ‘Thank you for the coffee.’

      ‘Thank you for the meal,’ she said, equally politely. ‘And I hope you weren’t just being nice when you said about going to the cinema with me. It’s so rare to find someone who likes the same sort of films I do.’

      He looked torn, but then he shook his head. ‘No, I meant it.’

      ‘Good. Then maybe we can check the listings together tomorrow, see what’s showing later in the week. If you’re not busy, that is.’

      ‘That’d be nice.’ He stood up. ‘Goodnight, Katrina.’

      ‘Goodnight.’ She saw him to the door. ‘See you on the ward.’

      And when she washed up their coffee mugs, she was frowning. What had made Rhys suddenly clam up on her like that? Unless… She swallowed as the memories came back. Unless Rhys had had time to think about things and took the same view as Pete had. That her hearing was going to be an issue.

      She’d thought she’d learned from her mistakes—but it was beginning to look as if she hadn’t.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      WHEN the going gets tough, Katrina thought, the tough get cooking. And as she was on a late shift the next day, she spent the morning at home baking brownies. Lots of them. The combined scents of chocolate and vanilla lifted her mood, and by the time she’d walked into work