15. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
Nicole
“You’re reading that menu like it contains a legal trap,” Brian said.
Nicole looked up at him across the courtyard table. “It might. This place used the phrase reimagined carrots.”
“That is worrying.”
“Carrots have been through enough.”
Brian laughed, and some of the tightness left her shoulders.
Serein’s courtyard was private without feeling hidden.
Low lights ran along the pale walls, and tall plants separated the tables.
The sounds from the main dining room reached them as a soft mix of voices and glasses.
Nobody had raised a phone when Nicole entered.
Nobody had stared long enough to make her wonder whether they recognized her.
It rarely happened that she was recognized when she was alone.
Brian closed his menu. “I should confess something.”
“You ordered the carrots before I got here?” She laughed.
“Worse. I asked for this table because I thought you might prefer not to sit in the middle of the room.”
Nicole studied his kind dark eyes. “That’s not a terrible confession.”
“I didn’t want to assume you’d be worried about being seen.”
“I am worried about being seen. I also don’t want to spend my life hiding because strangers are bored.”
“Then we have a table that’s private but not a bunker.”
“A strong start.”
It was a strong start. That made her more nervous, not less.
She hadn’t sat across from another man like this in more than a decade.
Brian was an old professional friend. He was also divorced, interested, and looking at her with quiet attention that didn’t pretend this was only dinner between former colleagues.
Nicole picked up her water. “Do I look as uncomfortable as I feel?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
“You look beautiful. You also look like you’re deciding whether to climb the wall behind me.”
She smiled despite herself. “At least you’re honest after the lie.”
“Would it help if I said I’m nervous too?” he asked.
“Are you?”
“Yes. I asked out a woman I’ve admired for years, and she said yes while her entire life is changing. I’d have to be an idiot not to understand that this is complicated.”
“You’re a surgeon. That doesn’t rule out being an idiot.”
“I’ve met surgeons. Your point is fair. How’s the studio?”
The question loosened something in Nicole. Work was safe ground, but his interest didn’t feel like small talk.
“Still ugly,” she said. “Less ugly than it was, but the carpet is fighting me.”
“Is it winning?”
“For now. The walls are done, and the cabinet door finally closes without a full-body shove. The light in the filming corner is even better than I hoped.”
“Natural light?”
“Some. I’ll add professional lights so I’m not changing my advice every time a cloud moves. But the window keeps the space from feeling closed in.”
“And the treatment rooms?”
“One already has a sink. They’re small enough that I can work alone without feeling like I leased half a medical center.”
“You always hated waste.”
Nicole tipped her head. “That’s what you remember about me?”
“I remember many things. You once made me remove six products from a post-procedure care sheet because you said I was trying to frighten patients into buying a pharmacy.”
“You were.”
“I was trying to be thorough.”
“You recommended three cleansers. People have one face.”
“Some people like choices.”
“People who’ve just had a procedure want their skin to stop feeling angry. They don’t want a test.”
Brian smiled. “That’s why I listened to you.”
Nicole remembered the work clearly. Brian had handled the medical care, then sent properly cleared patients to her when they needed simple help rebuilding a routine.
He’d never asked her to diagnose, treat a medical condition, or cross the line of her esthetics license.
She’d respected him for knowing where his work ended.
He’d respected her for knowing where hers began.
“Are you planning to take post-procedure referrals again?” he asked.
“Eventually. I want my systems working before another office starts sending people.”
“Which systems?”
“I need my consultations, records, follow-up, and treatment limits settled first. The boring things that keep good work good.”
“None of that is boring.” He chuckled.
“My idea of fun used to involve you telling my patients to ignore half the expensive nonsense in my waiting room.”
“Your product rep hated me.”
“She feared you. There’s a difference.”
Nicole laughed. The ease of it surprised her.
Brian asked questions and waited for the full answers.
When she explained that she wanted a limited practice that complimented her online education, he didn’t tell her to expand.
He didn’t suggest a staff, a second location, or a plan to turn her name into a chain.
“You don’t think it’s too small?” she asked.
“Do you?”
“No.”
“Then why would I?”
“Because people hear successful platform and think I should build an empire.”
“Do you want an empire?”
“God, no. I want clients I can help, work I can touch, and enough space left in my life to be a person.”
“That sounds serious to me.”
His answer landed deeper than she expected.
Brian didn’t treat her studio as a hobby because it was small.
He understood that limited could be a choice instead of a failure of ambition.
With him, she didn’t have to explain why direct work with one person’s skin could matter after she’d built an audience of millions.
Their food arrived. The conversation moved easily from her studio to his practice, then to the lies skincare brands told when they wanted medical respect without doing medical research. Brian described a product pitch that had promised to retrain facial memory.
Nicole set down her fork. “No.”
“Those were the exact words.”
“What does that even mean?”
“I asked. The answer was longer than the surgery.”
“Please tell me you said no.”
“I said I’d consider it when my face learned to do taxes.”
She laughed hard enough that the couple at the next table glanced over. Nicole lowered her voice. “That’s terrible.”
“It was effective.”
“I forgot you could be mean.”
“Only in defense of science.”
“A noble cause.”
By the time the plates were cleared, Nicole had stopped measuring every pause.
Brian was attractive. His brown hair had gone gray at the temples since they’d worked together, and it suited him.
His attention was calm. His interest in her felt grounded in the woman at the table, not in the Cohan name or the public mess around it.
She could imagine another dinner. She could imagine planning studio referrals over coffee, arguing about product claims, and being with a man whose work connected to hers instead of swallowing the space around it. The picture was pleasant. That was all it was.
When Brian asked whether she wanted dessert, Nicole shook her head. They left Serein still arguing about whether carrots had ever needed to be reimagined.
The drive to Hancock Park stayed easy. City light moved across the windshield and over Brian’s hands on the wheel. He didn’t fill every quiet second. Nicole watched familiar streets pass and let herself consider what the evening had given her.
Proof, maybe. Not proof that Brian was her future. Proof that she could have one that didn’t depend on Alexander. She could sit across from another man and be wanted. She could speak about her work and be understood. She could laugh without forcing it.
The knowledge should’ve made her feel free. Instead, part of her kept returning to Alexander’s voice during their last call. He’d listened when she said she wasn’t coming home. He’d let the answer hurt without asking her to change it.
Nicole turned toward the side window.
Brian glanced at her. “Did I lose you?”
“No. Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize for thinking.”
“That’s fortunate. I do too much of it.”
“About the studio?”
She could’ve taken the easier answer. Brian deserved better.
“About my marriage.”
His hands remained steady on the wheel. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not yet.”
“All right.”
He didn’t punish her with silence. They were talking easily again when he parked outside the Larson house.
Brian came around the car and walked with her toward the front door. The red-tile roof was dark above them. Warm light showed through the front windows, and the path crossed between hedges that gave them privacy from the street.
“I had a good time,” Brian said.
“So did I.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am. Not because of you.”
“That saved my pride,” he joked.
“I wasn’t sure I could do this without feeling like I was wearing somebody else’s clothes.”
“And did you?”
Nicole considered it. “Only a little.”
“I’ll take that as progress.”
They were a few steps from the door when Brian’s hand moved toward hers. He didn’t grab. His fingers touched the side of her hand with a question in the gesture.
Nicole pulled away. Not sharply and not in fear. Still, the answer was immediate.
“Brian.”
He stopped. Disappointment crossed his face, but he stepped back. “Too soon.”
“It’s more than that.”
“Okay.”
She folded her hands in front of her. “I’m happy we found each other again. I like being with you. I can see that there might be something here someday.”
“But not now.”
“I’m separated; I’m not divorced. And I know those aren’t the same thing legally, but that’s not even the important part.” Nicole breathed in. “I’m still emotionally married. I’m not ready to act like my marriage has ended when I haven’t decided that it has.”
Brian looked toward the house, then back at her. “Do you think you’re going home?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want to?”
The honest answer pressed against her ribs. “Part of me does. Part of me is scared that wanting it will make me accept too little.”
“From what you’ve told me, Alexander made too little look normal for a long time.”
Nicole’s shoulders tightened.
Brian continued, his voice careful. “He built a life where his work mattered and yours kept shrinking. He expected you to abandon the career you loved so his could take up all the room. Maybe being away from him is the first chance you’ve had to become yourself again.”
Anger rose fast and clean. “No.”
Brian went still. “Nicole–”
“No. Alexander did a lot wrong, but you don’t get to rewrite my life into something easier to judge.”
“I didn’t mean to judge you.”
“You did. You made me a woman who spent ten years being pushed down because that makes the story simple. It wasn’t simple.”
Brian nodded slowly. “Then tell me.”
Nicole looked at him, searching for defensiveness. She found none.
“Alexander never told me to quit working,” she said.
“He never said my career didn’t matter. He respected what I knew.
He was proud of my platform. When I stepped back from clients, I chose it.
It happened slowly because our life changed, then I was pregnant, then we had two babies.
I wanted to be with them. I wanted our home. I loved the life we built.”
“I understand.”
“Not yet.” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was firm. “I don’t regret becoming a mother. I don’t regret giving time to my family. Those choices were mine, and they were made with love. They weren’t proof that I was weak, or controlled, or too foolish to know I was disappearing.”
Brian listened without interrupting.
Nicole’s anger settled enough for the deeper hurt to come through.
“Alexander’s failure was that he accepted every sacrifice without asking what it cost me,” she said.
“When the girls needed more, my work moved. When his studio needed more, my work moved again. He kept taking the space I made because I was capable and because I loved him. He didn’t order me to become smaller.
He let the balance between us get so unfair that there was almost no room left for me, then he called it handled. ”
Brian’s face changed. “That’s different from what I said.”
“Yes. It is.”
“And I spoke about a marriage I don’t understand.”
“You did.”
“I’m sorry, Nicole. No defense. I filled in what I didn’t know, and I was wrong.”
The apology softened her. It didn’t erase the overstep, but he hadn’t asked her to pretend it wasn’t one.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For correcting me?”
“For listening after I did.”
“You shouldn’t have to thank me for that.”
“Probably not. I’m still going to.”
Brian gave her a small smile. “Fair enough.”
They stood facing each other with the front door only a few feet away. The evening hadn’t become a disaster. It had become honest.
“I meant what I said,” Nicole told him. “I can imagine there might be something between us. But I can’t promise that, and I won’t keep you waiting while I decide what to do with my marriage.”
“I’m not asking you to promise anything.”
“Good.”
“And I’m not going to wait in a tower.”
She laughed. “I wouldn’t ask you to.”
“But if you ever decide you’re ready for something more, call me. Or text. You don’t have to explain the whole journey first.”
Nicole held his gaze. “All right.”
Brian didn’t reach for her again. He wished her good night, walked back to his car, and left the next move entirely in her hands.