Chapter 3 #2
“Fine, ignore the Beau example. Your husband is an anomaly. He doesn’t count.”
I’d tried to be more critical of the man taking care of my sister when she first introduced us, but I quickly realized it was an impossible task. He gave her everything and more and was annoyingly nice about it.
Collins’ lips pressed together in a sheepish way that I recognized from any situation where Beau came into the conversation. And then her expression morphed as she began to drive home her point.
“Painting and art is my passion, though, Cam. I obsess over a painting, but I love it.”
“Who says I don’t love my job?”
“I don’t know.” She gave me a scrutinizing look. “Maybe those bags under your eyes.”
Rude, but okay.
“These bags mean that I got shit done this week. Every time they get bigger means I’ve won another case.”
I probably should invest in a good eye cream, though. My thirtieth birthday just passed, so I had no illusions that the bags would be going away anytime soon.
Collins sat back in her chair with her wine. “I’m proud of you. Don’t think I’m not.”
“I know you are. You’re just being you.”
Sometimes it seemed like Collins grew up too quickly, became an adult too fast. As her older brother, I felt guilty about that.
I should have shielded her more in the aftermath of Dad’s accident and death, shouldered more of the responsibility so she didn’t feel an ounce of it.
We were both young, but she was younger.
It was one reason I was glad she had Beau in her life, though. He was successful and smart, but also fun and adventurous, and he breathed life into her while she brought him back down to Earth every once in a while. They were perfectly complementary.
“I’m the only sister you’ve got.” She pointed an accusatory finger at me. “I have a job to do, and I take it very seriously.”
“It’s appreciated, Lins.”
“And you know it’s a part of my job to grill you about your dating life.”
Excellent. Great. Just what I needed.
“There really is no dating life,” I admitted before my gaze wandered around the outdoor patio we sat at—one of my favorite places on Tremont Street.
Ivy covered the brick exterior of a century-old building that didn’t have enough seating inside to fit the busy flow of patrons that visited daily, and for good reason.
They served stiff cocktails and knew how to make a good lobster roll, among other things.
“To be determined.” Collins flashed a smile when I looked back at her. “I’ll believe it after I ask my twenty questions.”
“That sounds like a waste of perfectly good dinner conversation.”
She ignored me. “Any dates since I saw you last?”
“None.”
“Match with any special guys, girls, people on a dating app?”
“You know I don’t have dating apps.”
I preferred to meet people in real life.
Like in little pubs.
And then drag them onto dance floors and into back hallways.
“I was hoping you’d give in and download one.” She drummed her fingers on the wooden tabletop. “We could use an addition to the family, give Christmas a little bit of excitement this year.”
“I’m telling Mom, Uncle Tony, and Pops that you think they’re boring,” I said, lifting a brow.
“I didn’t say that.” Her lips quirked. “I just don’t understand why you never bring anyone home.”
“Because there’s never anyone to bring home.”
“What about that hot actor that you went home with after Beau’s bachelor party? Mom would love him.”
My mom had worked in theater her entire life, so yes, she likely would. But that was not the point here.
“First of all, I can’t believe Beau told you about that. Second of all, that was years ago, Collins.”
“So?” She shrugged. “Nothing wrong with rekindling a one-night stand. Shooting your shot.”
True. But I didn’t want to. There was only one late-night meet-up I wanted to rekindle, and she was off-limits.
“Oh, one of Nessa’s backup singers recently split with her boyfriend, and she’s gorgeous. Super sweet, too. Her name is Bryn. Maybe I should set you up?”
“Isn’t Nessa on tour right now?” One of my sister’s best friends was the wildly popular singer-songwriter, Wednesday Elevett. “That sounds…complicated.”
She shrugged. “Doesn’t have to be.”
No, thank you. Not interested.
“No, Lins. Dating’s just not my priority right now, and you know it.”
Collins rolled her eyes. “It is possible to have a good dating life and a good career, you realize that, right?”
I considered her for a second, taking in her concerned expression. “I know. You’re proof of that.”
“Aw.” She brightened. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“As you should. But drop it, Collins. I’m focused on work, and I’m fine with that.”
Especially because my work right now included a very pretty trauma surgeon who was just a little bit distracting whenever she appeared in my brain.
Which happened to be a lot. It was likely concerning, especially since she was apparently so permanently in my head that she seemed to be materializing right now, before my very eyes.
Oh my God. What was wrong with me?
That couldn’t really be—
“What are you—who are you staring at?”
Collins twisted in the direction that I’d been looking, but I’d already ducked my head to stare down into my gin martini.
“No one,” I said, taking a swift drink of it.
Fuck, I needed to get my shit together.
I took another sip. Downed the whole damn thing, actually.
And then forced myself to look up again, not really sure if I was hoping to learn that I’d been seeing things or if I wanted it to be real—wanted her to be real.
But before I made up my mind, our eyes connected, and I knew, without a doubt, that there was nothing not real about the way Natalie London made me feel when she stared straight into my fucking soul from across the restaurant patio.