she was holding back, and how he could get her to unleash it.
The truth was, he’d been totally sucked into that conversation with her, had felt a speck of irritation, even, when Becca had interrupted them.
If she hadn’t pushed her sister on him, what would have happened? Given five more minutes in her company, time to admire her smile, her eyes, her intelligence, her
spark,
five more minutes to wonder what lay buried beneath—what would have happened?
And there was the baseball game—
She and Becca had a third ticket to a Mariners game and had invited him to drive up from the base to attend with them. Becca had sat between them, and he’d spent a lot of time trying to restrain himself from PDAs, mostly involving the tantalizing gap between her dress and lace-clad breast. But when his mind hadn’t been on groping Becca, he’d chatted with Alia. She was scoring the baseball game, which was a thing he’d always wanted to do but never known how to, and she explained the process, all eager and bright with excitement over the intricacies. She bought them beer and hot dogs: two each, drowned in mustard, ketchup, and relish, which—she explained happily—was how they were meant to be eaten.
Becca had been quiet that day, had let Alia jabber joyfully and discourse on baseball and the proper doctoring of hot dogs. He hadn’t, he realized, interacted with Becca much until he’d gotten her alone later, and then they hadn’t done much talking. And yet he’d had a blast that day. It had become a bright spot in his memory, one of those days his heart reached for when he thought about times he’d been happy. He’d always attributed his joy that day to baseball and Becca.
But now he wondered.
What if there had been more time? More conversations. More baseball games, more of that giddy joy on Alia’s face. What if he’d gotten a chance to witness her kindness and learn the workings of her mind? To admire the spattering of freckles across her nose, and the strength in her lean but curvy body?
What if he’d known the letters were from her?
On the other hand, maybe he was just suffering from long-term sexual deprivation—it had been nine months solid since he’d gotten laid, and what red-blooded American male wouldn’t appreciate some massage by that point?
It was probably just stupid penis stuff. Pretty much any woman could get to him right now.
Right?
Chapter 7
“Hey, baby sister.” Alia tucked the phone audio bud into her ear so she could jog the woods path while she talked to Becca.
“Hey, big sister.”
They always greeted each other that way. They’d been doing it forever. Alia couldn’t even remember anymore when it had started.
“Don’t mind the heavy breathing. I’m talking to you while I run.”
“I won’t take it personally.”
“I heard a vicious rumor. Just calling to confirm it’s not true.”
It was a typical morning near the Oregon coast, fog lying cool and low over the treetops. A mist, like the Seattle one Nate had written about, wrapped itself against her skin like an embrace.
“Oh, yeah?” Alia kept her voice light.
“I heard Nate Riordan is there.”
They hadn’t talked about Nate, not once, since the breakup. Becca had mentioned his name, raised the topic, made it clear she was open to hearing the whole story—but Alia had always found a way to change the subject.
“Mira emailed me from Hawaii. She wanted me to check on you and make sure you were okay.”
Mira knew only the vague outlines of the story. That Alia had helped with the letters, that things had ended awkwardly. But it was so Mira to be worried about Alia’s well-being. She was everyone’s mom.
“Is he your
patient
?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny.”
Becca laughed. “Well, if he is, that must be awkward.”
If Alia had been able to talk about it to Becca—if it hadn’t been a) sealed in the virtual patient vault, and b) buried under layers of Alia’s own guilt—she would have
The truth was, he’d been totally sucked into that conversation with her, had felt a speck of irritation, even, when Becca had interrupted them.
If she hadn’t pushed her sister on him, what would have happened? Given five more minutes in her company, time to admire her smile, her eyes, her intelligence, her
spark,
five more minutes to wonder what lay buried beneath—what would have happened?
And there was the baseball game—
She and Becca had a third ticket to a Mariners game and had invited him to drive up from the base to attend with them. Becca had sat between them, and he’d spent a lot of time trying to restrain himself from PDAs, mostly involving the tantalizing gap between her dress and lace-clad breast. But when his mind hadn’t been on groping Becca, he’d chatted with Alia. She was scoring the baseball game, which was a thing he’d always wanted to do but never known how to, and she explained the process, all eager and bright with excitement over the intricacies. She bought them beer and hot dogs: two each, drowned in mustard, ketchup, and relish, which—she explained happily—was how they were meant to be eaten.
Becca had been quiet that day, had let Alia jabber joyfully and discourse on baseball and the proper doctoring of hot dogs. He hadn’t, he realized, interacted with Becca much until he’d gotten her alone later, and then they hadn’t done much talking. And yet he’d had a blast that day. It had become a bright spot in his memory, one of those days his heart reached for when he thought about times he’d been happy. He’d always attributed his joy that day to baseball and Becca.
But now he wondered.
What if there had been more time? More conversations. More baseball games, more of that giddy joy on Alia’s face. What if he’d gotten a chance to witness her kindness and learn the workings of her mind? To admire the spattering of freckles across her nose, and the strength in her lean but curvy body?
What if he’d known the letters were from her?
On the other hand, maybe he was just suffering from long-term sexual deprivation—it had been nine months solid since he’d gotten laid, and what red-blooded American male wouldn’t appreciate some massage by that point?
It was probably just stupid penis stuff. Pretty much any woman could get to him right now.
Right?
Chapter 7
“Hey, baby sister.” Alia tucked the phone audio bud into her ear so she could jog the woods path while she talked to Becca.
“Hey, big sister.”
They always greeted each other that way. They’d been doing it forever. Alia couldn’t even remember anymore when it had started.
“Don’t mind the heavy breathing. I’m talking to you while I run.”
“I won’t take it personally.”
“I heard a vicious rumor. Just calling to confirm it’s not true.”
It was a typical morning near the Oregon coast, fog lying cool and low over the treetops. A mist, like the Seattle one Nate had written about, wrapped itself against her skin like an embrace.
“Oh, yeah?” Alia kept her voice light.
“I heard Nate Riordan is there.”
They hadn’t talked about Nate, not once, since the breakup. Becca had mentioned his name, raised the topic, made it clear she was open to hearing the whole story—but Alia had always found a way to change the subject.
“Mira emailed me from Hawaii. She wanted me to check on you and make sure you were okay.”
Mira knew only the vague outlines of the story. That Alia had helped with the letters, that things had ended awkwardly. But it was so Mira to be worried about Alia’s well-being. She was everyone’s mom.
“Is he your
patient
?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny.”
Becca laughed. “Well, if he is, that must be awkward.”
If Alia had been able to talk about it to Becca—if it hadn’t been a) sealed in the virtual patient vault, and b) buried under layers of Alia’s own guilt—she would have
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