Chapter Three #2
After Walt locked up and headed to his car, Rhett and I stood in the library parking lot, our breath forming clouds in the cold December air. The sun had long since set, and the streetlights cast everything in a soft golden glow.
We looked at each other, and I couldn't help the nervous giggle that escaped me. That broke the tension, and suddenly we were both laughing, the absurdity of our charade hitting us at the same time.
"That was quite an experience," Rhett said, once we'd caught our breath.
"Right? The way you said 'sometimes you just know?’ Perfect delivery." I held up my hand for a high-five. "We definitely pulled that off."
He returned the high-five, his palm warm against mine. "Would you like to grab dinner? It's late, and I'm guessing you haven't eaten."
"I'd love to," I said, surprised by how much I meant it.
"I'll follow you home, then you can leave your car and ride with me from there."
"Sounds good."
The drive to my apartment was short, and soon I was sliding into the passenger seat of his BMW, trying not to notice how the car still smelled faintly of his cologne—a woody scent that made me want to lean closer.
"Where to?" he asked. "You're the local expert."
"How do you feel about quirky?" I bit my lip, considering.
"Define quirky."
"There's this place called Starlight Pi. Yes, that's Pi like the mathematical constant. The whole restaurant has equations on the walls, placemats with riddles, and all the menu items have terrible math puns."
His eyes lit up. "That sounds fantastic."
"Really? You're not just being polite?"
"Piper, I was in Phi Beta Kappa at Dartmouth. Did problem sets for fun. This is basically my dream restaurant."
I laughed and gave him directions. "Head toward downtown, then take a left on Cedar Street."
As he navigated through town following my instructions, I turned the conversation to something I'd been curious about.
"So, tell me about this sabbatical you’re supposedly on—even though you’re still performing surgeries part-time here in Cape Cod. You mentioned it the other day but didn't elaborate."
His hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. "It's complicated."
"We've got time."
He was quiet for a moment, turning onto Cedar. "Officially, I'm on a six-month sabbatical from Boston Memorial. They think I'm using the time to mostly write research papers and care for my mother."
"And unofficially?"
"Unofficially, I'm trying to figure out what the hell I want from the rest of my life." The admission seemed to surprise him. "I've been a doctor for over twenty years. It's all I've done, all I've been. But after Dad died and Mom started deteriorating... I began questioning everything."
"That must be scary," I said softly.
"Terrifying," he agreed. "I took the part-time position at Cape Cod Regional to stay busy and be closer to Mom, but it's temporary. Everything feels temporary right now. Boston Memorial wants an answer by New Year's—am I coming back full-time or not?"
"What's keeping you from deciding?"
He pulled into Starlight Pi's parking lot but didn't immediately turn off the engine. "I don't know if I want that life anymore. The hundred-hour weeks, the politics, the pressure. But I also don't know what else I'd do. Performing heart surgery is who I am."
"Maybe," I suggested carefully, "It’s what you do, not who you are."
He looked at me then, really looked at me, and a moment of understanding passed between us.
"We should go in," he said finally. "I need to see these math puns you've been threatening me with."
The restaurant was everything I'd promised and more.
The moment we walked in, Rhett's face transformed with childlike delight.
He stood in the entrance, taking in the Fibonacci spirals painted on the ceiling, the pi digits running along the crown molding—3.
14159265358979323846...—and the famous equations framed on the walls.
"This is amazing," he breathed, like a kid at Christmas.
"You really like it?" I couldn't hide my pleasure at his enthusiasm. Was I hoping if he fell in love with Starlight Bay's quirky places, he might stay? The thought came unbidden and I pushed it aside.
We settled into a booth under a framed diagram of Pascal's Triangle. The waitress—a college-aged girl with green streaks in her hair and glasses that screamed math major—brought us menus and water.
"Welcome to Starlight Pi, where the food is irrational but the prices make sense," she recited with energy that suggested she actually enjoyed the joke. "Can I start you with some Fibonacci Fries or perhaps our Pythagorean Potato Skins?"
"Fibonacci Fries definitely," Rhett said immediately, then looked at me. "And whatever else you recommend."
We ordered the "Exponential Expansion Pizza" and "Newton's Law of Gravy-tation Fries," and while we waited, we both immediately attacked the placemat puzzles. It turned into an impromptu competition—who could solve the logic problems faster, who could crack the number sequences first.
"Aha!" I crowed, filling in the last number of a particularly tricky sequence. "Beat you!"
"You reversed the last two digits," he pointed out, showing me his correctly completed version.
"Dammit." But I was laughing. "I was never good at these in school."
"Whereas I did them for entertainment," he admitted, looking slightly embarrassed.
"That's adorable." The word slipped out before I could stop it.
"Adorable isn't usually an adjective applied to me."
"What adjectives are usually applied to you?"
"Difficult. Demanding. Detached." He ticked them off on his fingers. "My ex-wife had a whole list."
"Tell me about her," I said, then immediately backtracked. "Unless you don't want to—"
"It's fine." He took a sip of water. "Adrienne and I were together twenty-seven years, married for twenty-five. We met in undergrad—she was in the business program while I was pre-med. It made sense on paper. Two ambitious people, similar goals, complementary careers."
"But?"
"But that's all it was—a partnership that made sense.
Over time, we pretty much turned into roommates who shared a mortgage and raised two kids but rarely spoke, much less spent any quality time together.
" He played with his napkin, folding it into neat squares.
"I started wanting more. She thought I was having a midlife crisis. "
"Were you?"
"Maybe. Or maybe I was finally waking up." He met my eyes. "Either way, Adrienne wasn't interested in exploring it with me. We'd been sleeping in separate bedrooms for years anyway. The divorce was just paperwork acknowledging what already existed."
Our food arrived, and we dove into the ridiculous portions. The pizza was perfect—wood-fired with creative toppings that somehow worked together.
"What about you?" he asked, stealing one of my fries. "Any significant relationships?"
"One," I admitted. "Lasted eight months, which was a record for me. He was a lawyer, very proper, very... beige."
"Beige?"
"Everything in his life was neutral. His apartment, his clothes, his personality.
He was pretty much exactly the same, all the time—no big emotions of any type, decidedly risk-averse.
He liked that I was “bubbly”—as he called it—at first. Said I brought excitement to his life.
But then the excitement became exhausting.
I was too loud at his firm dinners, too spontaneous for his scheduled life, too everything. "
"His loss," Rhett said simply.
"That's what everyone says, but after a while you start to wonder if maybe you really are too much. If maybe you should try to dial it back, be less... you."
"Don't." The conviction in his voice made me look up from my pizza. "Don't dim yourself for anyone."
"Being alone is better than being with someone who doesn't appreciate who you are."
"Speaking from experience?"
"Very much so."
We continued eating, the conversation flowing to lighter topics—his kids (Eliza was acing med school, Aiden had just sold his first painting), my business (December was crazy but January was dead), the upcoming town events.
"So what's your plan?" I asked, stealing a bite of his pizza. "Long-term, I mean."
He was quiet for a moment. "That's what keeps me up at night. My mother's care gets more complex every month. She's still in her own home now, but that won't last forever. I've been looking at memory care facilities, but none of them feel right."
"That must be hard."
"It's impossible. How do you choose a place for someone who spent fifty years making a home for everyone else?
She ran that bakery like it was the town's living room.
Everyone was welcome, everyone was family.
" His voice caught slightly. "Now I have to decide if she stays in the house with round-the-clock care or moves somewhere with more support.
And then there's my career—Boston wants an answer, but how can I commit to eighty-hour weeks when she needs me here? "
"Sounds like you're trying to solve everyone else's needs without considering your own."
"Story of my life," he said with a rueful smile. "My kids need to know I'm stable. My mother needs care. The hospital needs surgeons. Everyone needs an answer."
"What do you need?"
He stared at me for a long moment. "I honestly don't know. I've been what everyone else needed for so long, I forgot that was even a question worth asking."
Movement at the restaurant entrance caught my eye. A figure stood there, silhouetted against the glass door, watching us. Tall, poised even in shadow—a woman from the way she held herself. When Rhett started to turn, following my gaze, the figure melted back into the evening crowd on the sidewalk.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Someone was watching us through the door." I rubbed my eyes. "But they disappeared when you turned. Probably just someone deciding whether to come in."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, it's nothing. I'm just tired. This week has been non-stop with the campaign events."
"When's the last time you took a real break?"
"What's a break?" I laughed, but it sounded forced even to me. "The campaign ends Christmas Day. I'll rest then."
"That's still a week away."
"I'll survive. I always do."
His expression shifted—concern mixed with frustration. "You shouldn't have to just survive, Piper."
The weight of his words, the way he said my name, made my chest tighten.
"We should probably get the check," I said, needing to break the moment. "It's getting late."
He signaled for the waitress, and despite my protests, paid for dinner. "You're helping me with the gala. It's the least I can do."
The drive back to my apartment was quiet, comfortable. The radio played soft Christmas music, and I found myself stealing glances at his profile in the dashboard light. When he parked in front of my building, he immediately got out.
"I'll walk you to your door," he said when I started to protest.
"It's not necessary—"
"My mother raised me right," he said with a small smile. "Humor me."
We climbed the two flights slowly, neither of us eager for the evening to end. The hallway was dimly lit, one of the fluorescent bulbs flickering in that way the landlord kept promising to fix. At my door, I turned to face him, keys clutched in my hand.
"Tonight was wonderful," I said. "Thank you for dinner."
"Thank you for showing me Starlight Pi. It's going on my regular rotation."
"You're planning to stay in town long enough to have a regular rotation?"
"I'm considering it." He stepped closer, and my breath caught. His hand came up to trace the curve of my cheek, his fingers lingering at my lips. "Piper..."
I tilted my face up, lips parting slightly. He leaned down, and I could feel the warmth of his breath, smell that cologne that made my head spin. My eyes fluttered closed, my whole body tensing with anticipation—
"Oh! Sorry, sorry!"
We sprang apart like guilty teenagers. My neighbor Mr. Kowalski stood in his doorway with his recycling bin, his eyes wide behind thick glasses. "Didn't mean to interrupt!"
My face burned with embarrassment. Rhett had already stepped back, his reserved demeanor returning.
"I should—goodnight, Piper." He gave me an awkward, brief hug—barely more than a shoulder pat—then practically fled down the stairs.
I escaped into my apartment, closing the door and leaning against it, my heart still pounding. Through the thin walls, I could hear Mr. Kowalski muttering apologies to himself as he headed to the recycling room.
I touched my fingers to my lips, imagining what that kiss would have felt like. The way his eyes had darkened, how his hand had felt against my skin, the solid warmth of him so close...
I got ready for bed, but sleep didn't come for hours. I lay there staring at my ceiling, replaying every moment of the evening. The way he'd lit up at the restaurant. His honesty about his life feeling temporary. The almost-kiss that left me aching for more.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A text from Rhett: Thank you for tonight. For listening. For the math puns. For being you.
I typed back: Thank you for proving that not all careful, methodical people are boring.
Three dots appeared, then: And thank you for proving that vivaciousness can be beautiful to behold.
I set my phone aside, a smile playing at my lips despite the confusion swirling in my chest. Tomorrow would bring more events, more pretending, more of this dangerous game we were playing.
But tonight, in the dark of my apartment with the memory of his almost-kiss still burning on my skin, I let myself admit the truth:
I didn't want to stop.