Family Practice. Judy Duarte

might imagine.

      “Boston is historic,” he said. “And seasonal. Snow in winter, new leaves and blossoms in spring, hot and humid in the summer, colorful foliage in the autumn. I’m sure you’d like it.”

      “Tell me about the holidays.”

      Holidays? What kind of question was that? They had the usual; it wasn’t like Boston was a continent within itself. “What do you want to know?”

      She shrugged her shoulders, then her eyes widened. “Christmas. Did your family have a wonderful Christmas?”

      Michael didn’t like the reminder of stiff, formal holidays. It seemed as though his mother had insisted he and his father wear suits for the entire month of December. Droves of the elite swept into the house, but never more than was expected, more than was polite. “We always had snow, if that’s what you meant.”

      She laughed. “I would expect a white Christmas in Boston. Tell me about your tree.”

      Somehow, Michael doubted she wanted to hear that his mother hired professional florists to come in and decorate not only the tree but the entire house in holly, ivy, baby’s breath, bloodred roses, Irish lace and gold trim. He wished she’d go back to searching the library for answers to her questions. It wasn’t a memory he relished thinking about. “Our tree was always tall and green. Smelled like pine.”

      “You’re no fun,” she said, waving him off with a hand.

      He wasn’t a fun person. His job was a serious one. His life had always been one of commitment, responsibility. Clinical detachment. He held other lives in his hands. Emotional detachment was necessary for their survival. Vital for his own. “I told you before, I’m not considered a fun-loving person.”

      “Christmas is a magical time of the year. You’re supposed to remember the wonder of it all, the excitement, the heartwarming things.”

      How could he tell her his Christmases hadn’t been heartwarming, hadn’t been magical? They were pretty much like the rest of his life, only more lavish, more formal. “Why don’t you tell me about your holidays?”

      “There’s not much to tell,” she said with a sigh. Then she brightened and pointed a small but elegant finger at him. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not planning on having the biggest, most wonderful Christmas ever. This December will be my first with Lizzie and the kids. We’re doing it up special—cranberry and popcorn trim on the tree and a real tree, not one of those store-bought models.”

      “It sounds great,” he said, easily imagining it would be, if Kara had anything to do with it. He almost wished he could be there, see the magic she would set into motion. Before changing the subject, he glanced down at the swordfish steaks. Done and ready to eat. He speared each one and set them on a plate. “Come on,” he told her. “Dinner’s ready. Do you want to eat inside or out?”

      Kara glanced at the nearly full moon overhead, then at the small glass-topped table and two wrought iron chairs Lizzie had purchased for the patio. She flashed her host a smile. “Outside, of course. I’ll help set the table.”

      She was on her feet and heading for the kitchen when she heard the roar of Jason Baker’s modified Ford pickup outside. No one else in this town had an engine that blasted that loud. It announced his arrival before he turned into the drive. Her first concern was that he would wake up Ashley and Eric. Her second, that he had come to see her.

      When he honked his horn, as though Kara and the entire neighborhood should run to greet him, it took all her gumption not to march outside and give him a piece of her mind.

      “Who’s that?” Michael asked, striding toward the living room window. He peered through the wood-slat blinds.

      “Jason Baker, I imagine.” Kara slowed her steps, not at all wanting the arrogant jerk to know where she was. He’d been pestering her lately, ever since she’d told him she wouldn’t date him any longer. Not that she’d actually dated him before. As far as she was concerned, a Saturday matinee and a humiliating dinner party didn’t mean they had a budding relationship.

      “He’s knocking at your door.” Michael stepped away from the blinds and gave Kara a cautious glance. “I’ll put the fish in the oven.”

      “Don’t you dare. It’s bad enough that he comes by the Pacifica where I work, but I’m not going to encourage him to start dropping by my house.”

      “What does he want?”

      Kara shrugged. Who ever knew what Jason wanted, other than public attention and a flock of female admirers? “Maybe he wants to lay on the charm and convince me I made a mistake by not going out with the richest guy in town.”

      Michael lifted a brow. “He’s rich?”

      “Well,” Kara said, “by virtue of his birth. His parents own the EZ Suds down the street and a chain of five or six others in the county. As far as I know, he’s thirty years old and his only job has been to play hard, especially at the gym. His parents give him a pretty hefty allowance.”

      Michael slid her a slow, easy grin. “Sounds like he’s the pick of the litter.”

      “He’s the whole litter. Jason’s an only child—Daddy’s boy and Mama’s baby.”

      Tires squealed and gravel crunched as Jason pulled out of the drive, obviously unhappy to find Kara away from the house.

      Michael opened the refrigerator and pulled out a salad he’d made. “Sounds as though he thinks you’re his girlfriend.”

      Kara rolled her eyes and sighed. “That’s the problem. He’s the only one who thinks that.”

      “Here.” Michael handed Kara the salad bowl. “You can carry this out to the table. I’ll bring the plates and silverware as soon as I locate a candle.”

      “A candle? I think we’ll be able to see. The porch light puts off a nice glow.”

      “The candle is for ambience,” Michael said. “Besides, it will keep the bugs away.”

      Kara laughed. “Well, then bring on the ambience.”

      The fish was cooked to perfection. And the salad was so light and tasty the dressing couldn’t have possibly come from a bottle. Kara couldn’t remember the last meal she’d enjoyed so much. “Dinner was delicious. Where did you learn to cook?”

      “In college. My roommate’s parents owned a restaurant. He made it look so easy, I decided to try a few simple dishes myself. I don’t get a chance to cook very often, and my wife—” He paused, and a pained expression crossed his face. Had he not meant to tell Kara he was married? Had something happened to her? “We ate a lot of meals out.”

      The fact that he had arranged a dinner, one that had subtle hints of a romantic ambience, caused an uneasiness to surface. She furrowed her brow. “I had no idea you were married.”

      “Was married,” he said. “The divorce was final three months ago.”

      “Any kids?” Kara asked, suddenly realizing there was a lot she didn’t know about this man.

      “No, thank goodness. The divorce was messy. I’m glad I was the only one to suffer through it. I don’t know what I would have done if I would have had to explain things to a child.”

      Kara reached out a hand to touch his forearm in comfort but wasn’t prepared for the surge of heat her compassion had unleashed. Her stomach did a somersault, and she quickly withdrew her hand.

      But it was too late.

      Their eyes locked, and something passed between them. Understanding and friendship, she hoped, but it was more than that. It was something she’d never felt before—a strange kind of push-pull. Something that felt as though it was too much and not enough at the same time. “It’s too bad things didn’t work out for you.”

      “The divorce was for the best.”