Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
claire
The stranger smirks and takes the empty EpiPen case from me, and I can’t help but simper back.
He might be the most handsome man I’ve ever seen, aside from his flushed cheeks and the dark purple splotches crawling up his neck.
I mean, I’m not usually into the combo of light hair and eyes or the clean-cut look, but it’s working for this guy.
There’s also something vaguely familiar about him, but I can’t put my finger on it.
Is it his face? Or his voice? I’d have sworn we met before if he weren’t acting like he didn’t know me, reaching up to scratch his jaw absently while he waits for my reply.
“Are you always so willing to risk your life for a free meal?” I ask coyly.
He lets out a short laugh as he bends to pick up his jacket, his shoulders flexing with the movement.
“Not intentionally, but there’s apparently a hidden peanut allergen in the jambalaya,” he says, tilting his head toward the ballroom across the hall from my grandparents’ celebration.
He’s a guest at a charity banquet for a local crisis pregnancy center, according to the sign outside the door, which means he probably paid a hefty price for that meal.
“And you’d think my instincts would have told me to stay inside, since I was surrounded by doctors. But for some reason, I went with the classic panic-and-run tactic when my throat started closing up. Thank God you were here,” he continues, holding out his right hand. “I’m Rowan, by the way.”
“Claire,” I return, sliding my hand into his. He shakes it gently but doesn’t let it go.
“This could be the epinephrine talking, but,” he pauses to gulp, his nerves giving him a boyish charm I never thought I’d be into until now, “can I buy you a coffee or something? As a thank you.”
“Oh. Um, well … I …” I turn to glance in the direction of my family. “I’m actually supposed to be at an anniversary party.”
“Right. That’s probably why you’re …” He takes a step back and gestures over me with his left hand.
His ring finger is bare, and unlike mine, absent of the indentations or tan lines that would suggest he wore a wedding band before.
“I mean, why you look so lovely. I should let you get back to your husband.”
My lips quirk at his awkward demeanor. “My great-grandparents are actually the guests of honor. Sixty years,” I explain. “But don’t you need to get back to your own party?”
“Eh, I doubt anyone will miss me,” he says with a self-deprecating shrug.
“Not even your date?”
His dimpled smile grows wider, and I think he might be blushing and not just red from the hives now. “No date. What about you?”
I shake my head. “It’s actually just me and Tante Verna at the singles table.”
“Well, we can’t leave sweet Aunt Verna all alone, can we?” he replies adorably, scratching his neck again.
“Wait a second.” Leaning in closer to get a better look, I tip his chin up and find a line of raised welts forming.
“Aren’t you supposed to go to the emergency room after using that EpiPen?
” I ask, ignoring the strange urge to press my lips to his neck.
Maybe it’s because he smells so good—good enough to eat.
And I haven’t had a nice meal in a while …
“Ah, that’s not necessary,” he replies after a second, his voice hitching.
“Are you sure?” I drop his chin, but I don’t move away as I allow my eyes to meet his. “You still sound like you’re having trouble breathing.”
His tongue darts out to wet his lips, drawing my gaze down to his mouth as he fumbles to speak again. “It’s probably just a side effect of the medicine. Then again, it could also be the beautiful woman touching me.”
I stifle a grin. “And the hives are completely unrelated?”
He coughs lightly. “Hives? What hives?”
My hormones get the best of me for a second, and I graze a fingertip down his neck, eliciting a shaky exhale from him.
“What, these old things? Nah, that’s nothing,” he says before he growls in defeat and reaches up to scratch, making me laugh.
“You should at least let one of your doctor friends check you out,” I suggest, though I can’t keep a flirty quality from seeping back into my tone.
“I’m fine, really, just a little itchy,” he tells me, rubbing his palm over his chest now. “It’s not my first time.”
“Oh, so you’ve already popped your EpiPen cherry?” I lift an eyebrow and watch his face grow visibly darker again.
“I’m also a doctor,” he offers shyly, dodging my question. “Just not the kind that usually treats anaphylaxis or dermatitis.”
“That explains why you’re too stubborn to go to the ER, but not why you’re here alone,” I muse, crossing my arms. “I’ll play along, though. Are you some kind of surgeon with crazy work hours? Or maybe you’ve spent the past year on a charity mission in a third-world country?”
His lips twitch. “I may have used the second one as an excuse before, but I’m an OB-GYN—a maternal-fetal medicine specialist. While my hours aren’t all that bad, sometimes I travel to work at different clinics and hospitals.”
“Hmm. And you’re straight?”
He snorts and pushes his collar aside to scratch at his shoulder, and I notice a brown cord hidden beneath his shirt. “I’m very fond of women. You could even say I have a healthier appreciation for the female body and all its inner workings than most.”
An unexpected giggle bubbles out of me, but I’m unsure whether it was triggered by the sight of his collarbone or his witty comeback. Either way, he’s sexy enough to turn me into a simpering teenager, and I can’t remember that happening to me since … Well, ever.
“And how do I know you weren’t faking an allergic reaction just to hit on the first woman willing to help you?” I take another step closer, but his posture straightens and his throat bobs as if he’s intimidated.
“I think the hives have ruled that out. But if you’re asking me whether I’d purposefully eat a peanut just to get you to put your hands on me again, I’m afraid my answer is going to sound lamer than you think,” he says, though he doesn’t deliver the line as confidently as he could.
Could he really be this shy and wholesome? There’s no way anyone this fine would still be available and not a total creep, right? Not to mention, he’s a doctor—a specialist, no less. What’s the catch? Where are all the red flags?
“So did you ask me out for coffee because you want to get to know me or because you think you have a shot at getting me back onto my knees before the end of the night?” I venture, lifting my chin daringly. He chokes, to my equal surprise and delight.
“I’m … sorry,” he rasps between coughs, holding a finger up until he collects himself. “Maybe … maybe I should have let you call that ambulance for me.”
I laugh softly, pleased with the way I’m affecting him until his demeanor seems to shift.
“I didn’t mean any disrespect. I just wanted to say thank you,” he takes a step back and adds once he catches his breath.
So the flirtier I get, the more he pulls away? This guy is a walking freaking paradox. Or maybe I’m just flattering myself by thinking he’s as attracted to me as I am to him. Maybe he’s simply grateful for my help, and I’m reading too far into this after being out of the dating game for so long.
Or maybe I’m just too much for a nice guy like him.
“Sorry,” I say after a while. “A single woman can’t be too careful these days, you know.”
“No apology necessary,” he replies with a less genuine smile. “I should probably try to find some antihistamines and get myself home before it’s too late, anyway. Thanks again for your help.”
“Right. Well, good luck with those hives,” I mutter, unable to disguise the wobble in my voice after he shuts me down. I spin on my heels to go, but he reaches out and grabs my arm.
“Claire, wait,” he says, turning me back to face him. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I ask, shrugging out of his grasp.
“I’m not actually sure,” he admits, cringing. “Look, I don’t know what I’m doing right now, and I don’t usually ask women out on the spot like this. But,” he pauses for a deep breath, “I don’t think it’s the EpiPen making my heart race.”
I feel my lips tugging up into a smile, against my better judgment. “So that’s what you’re going with? I make your heart race?”
He groans and runs a hand over his face.
“I swear I’m not a creep. It’s just … I’ve never panicked during the whole anaphylaxis thing before, but I was already feeling sorry for myself tonight, and I think I’d genuinely started to worry I might die alone.
Then you stopped to help me, and now all I can think about is how beautiful and funny you are and that I’d be crazy to let you go without at least taking a shot. ”
I narrow my eyes as I study him. He seems sincere. And the longer I stare at him, the more I sense something so familiar about him, something that makes me feel like I can trust what he’s saying.
Either way, he’s the handsome and witty one, while I’m the sad, lonely loser. Let’s face it—I’d be an idiot to turn him down.
“So you are asking me out … but just to talk?”
He smiles and scrubs the back of his neck. “Only if Tante Verna wouldn’t mind sparing you a little longer.”
“And you’re sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?”
He drops his hand. “I’m totally fine.”
I pull out my phone and flick to a ride-share app, then punch in our information before I address him again.
“All right, we can hang out for a bit, since you probably need someone to keep an eye on you and make sure your symptoms don’t get any worse.
I’ve got a room upstairs—” I click my tongue when his brow shoots up.
“Don’t get too excited. That wasn’t an invitation.
But there’s a twenty-four-hour pharmacy a couple blocks down, so after we raid the hydrocortisone aisle, you can walk me back here … to the lobby.”
“Thank God, because I really need that itch cream,” he says on an exhale before he returns to scratching behind his ear, making me laugh again.
“And, speaking of Aunt Verna, you’ll have to come with me to check in with her first. You know, in case they need someone to identify you later,” I add.
“Look at me. You can’t really think I’m dangerous?” he asks with a smirk.
“Oh, honey, we both know I’d eat you alive,” I retort, fluffing my hair over my shoulder. Although, after having wrapped my hands around Rowan’s surprisingly thick hams earlier, I’m not as sure of that as I sound.
“Ah, so I’m the victim in this scenario,” he says, his tone more playful.
My only answer is a shrug, and he grins and gestures for me to lead the way.
He follows at a respectful distance as I weave through the ballroom toward the table where my mom is seated alongside my great-aunt and great-grandmother, the three of them making up the matriarchy of our family after my maternal grandmother passed away when I was a baby. Their eyes widen when we approach.
“Well, now I see what’s been taking you so long in the powder room,” Aunt Verna declares. My great-grandmother Daphne smiles and elbows her gently, while my mom presses her lips together in a hard line.
“I ran into a friend,” I say, fibbing slightly. “This is Rowan. He’s a doctor.”
My great-grandmother coos, obviously impressed, and I introduce her first.
“Happy anniversary. Sixty years is quite the accomplishment,” Rowan declares, making her smile again. “And you must be the famous Tante Verna,” he says when my aunt reaches out to take his hand for longer than appropriate.
“You bet your adorable ass I am,” Verna replies before glaring at me and adding, “Nice work, cowgirl.”
My mom rolls her eyes, though I can’t tell whether her disapproval stems from our eccentric aunt or the fact that I’m toting around a man who isn’t my husband. “Hi, I’m Claire’s mom, and apparently the only one of us with manners,” she offers after a moment of awkward silence.
Rowan chuckles good-naturedly. “It’s a pleasure to meet all of you. I hope you don’t mind if I borrow Claire for a bit. I’m, uh, kind of having a rough night, and she’s offered to doctor me up.” He gestures to the rash covering his face and neck.
“Food allergy,” I volunteer when they all look confused. “We’re going out for antihistamines. Don’t wait up.”
I grab Rowan’s hand and drag him out to the lobby, snorting to myself when my Aunt Verna calls out, “Go get ‘em, Claire Bear!”