Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
The warmth from the diner wrapped around Marie like a blanket.
The place was narrow, with booths lining the wall beneath a long row of fogged-up windows and a counter running parallel across the room.
Muzak trickled from the overhead speakers, a syrupy instrumental of “Just the Way You Are,” blending with the murmur of late-night conversation.
A waitress in a pink uniform and white apron smiled as she passed with a tray of steaming plates. “Sit wherever you like, hon.”
Chuck gestured toward an empty booth midway down. “That work for you?”
Marie nodded, unbuttoning her coat as she slid into the seat across from him.
The vinyl squeaked softly beneath her, and she folded her hands on the table to keep from fidgeting.
Her sudden edginess caught her off guard.
She wasn’t afraid of Chuck—far from it. Her nerves seemed out of sorts because being with him felt like a pivotal moment in her life—unexpected and impossible to explain.
He shrugged out of his sport coat, draping it over the seat beside him, and the simple movement caught her attention again—the fluid motion of his muscles and the way his shirt stretched over solid flesh.
He didn’t have the gym kind of physique, but one earned through real work.
She found herself wondering what kind of work that was.
Selling houses couldn’t possibly build a body like that.
“Feels good to sit somewhere that doesn’t smell like smoke,” he said, glancing around.
She smiled faintly. “And where we don’t have to shout.”
He grinned. “That too.”
The waitress came by with two laminated menus. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Coffee, please,” Marie said. “Black.”
“Same,” Chuck added.
“Be right back, folks.”
As the waitress moved off, Chuck tilted his head, studying her with mild curiosity. “Black coffee, huh? No cream or sugar?”
Marie smiled faintly. “Old habit that started in college. During many late nights of studying, I learned to appreciate caffeine without the sweetness. It kept me awake better when it tasted like jet fuel.”
“That makes sense.”
She glanced down at the menu, pretending to read, though the prices and dish names blurred together.
What she really wanted was to take a moment—to breathe, to figure out what this was.
She hadn’t meant to agree to coffee. Usually, she was the responsible one, the careful one.
Yet here she was, sitting in a booth with a man she’d known for less than an hour, and it didn’t feel reckless at all. It felt... easy.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the edge of the table. “You seem more relaxed now,” he said. “Guess I passed the background check after all.”
A soft laugh bubbled past her lips. “You did.” She held up her thumb and pointer finger with the pads about a half inch apart. “Barely.”
He splayed a hand across his chest in mock offense. “Barely? That hurts.”
“Maybe I just like to keep people humble.”
“You’re doing a good job of it,” he said with a chuckle. “And, no, I’m not offended by that.”
The waitress returned with two steaming mugs, setting them down with a practiced smile. “Y’all ready to order?”
Chuck gestured toward Marie. “You first.”
She hesitated, fingers resting lightly on the edge of her mug. “Hmm... I don’t know. I’m not that hungry.”
“I’m getting a slice of pie,” he said, leaning back a little and giving her a mega-watt smile. “But I’d hate to be the only one eating.”
An amused smile tugged at her lips—his teasing carried more warmth than arrogance. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” She peered up at the waitress. “Pecan for me, please.”
The waitress jotted it down and looked at Chuck.
“Apple, please.”
“Coming right up,” the woman replied before heading off again.
Marie wrapped her hands around the mug, letting the heat of its contents warm her fingers and palms. “So, you’re a pie man.”
Leaning back, he rested one arm along the top of the booth. “You learn a lot about people by their pie choices.”
“Oh?” She arched a brow, the corner of her mouth twitching. “And what does apple pie say about you?”
“That I’m simple, dependable, and occasionally full of myself.” His tone was so casually honest that it left her wondering if there was more depth behind the humor than he wanted her to see.
She set the spoon down and angled her head, studying him. “And what does pecan say about me?”
He pretended to think, his gaze roaming her face with a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Sweet with a little bite. Looks like sugar on the surface, but not something anyone should underestimate.”
Fighting back another smile, she tilted her head. “Is that your attempt at charming me again, Mr. Sawyer?”
He lifted his mug in mock innocence. “Just an observation, Ms. O’Toole.” After taking a sip of the dark brew, he continued. “So, I told you what I do—real estate. What about you? What kind of work keeps you too busy to go out?”
She hesitated, afraid her answer might kill the spark between them before it had a chance to grow.
It was almost the 1980s, but the medical field still predominantly belonged to men.
Nursing was nevertheless considered the default for women, and being an M.D.
was something she constantly had to defend.
Women like her were expected to prove themselves twice over just to be seen.
“Technically, I’m between jobs at the moment. I just finished medical school.” She watched for his reaction. “I start my residency at Queen City Medical Center in January.”
For a beat, he just stared at her—surprised, but not in that condescending “A female doctor? Really?” way she’d seen too many times. It was genuine admiration, and she found herself sitting a little taller.
“That’s impressive,” he said finally, that same admiration in his voice. “You must’ve worked your tail off.”
Pride and relief flooded through her veins. “I did. Most of my twenties have been spent in hospitals or buried in books. Sometimes both.”
“That kind of grind sounds familiar. I spent four years in the Army after high school while earning my business degree. Different fields, same kind of exhaustion—when your body’s running on fumes, but you keep going anyway.”
His toned physique now made more sense. She tried to imagine him with a crew cut and failed. He would’ve undoubtedly still been handsome, but she liked his slightly unruly dark hair. Her fingers itched to touch the soft-looking strands. “The Army? What made you enlist?”
He shrugged, staring into his coffee. “My mom did well in real estate—well enough that we never went without, but there weren’t a lot of extras either.
She would’ve found a way to send me to college if I’d asked, but I didn’t want that on her.
And I wasn’t about to spend the next two decades paying off loans.
So I enlisted right after high school. The Army covered my degree while I served, and once I got out, I took the real estate exam. Figured I’d follow in her footsteps.”
Her fingers idly traced the rim of her mug. She was impressed by the practicality behind his decision. “That makes sense. You took care of yourself—and her—at the same time.”
He met her gaze, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah. Something like that.”
“Did you at least enjoy your time in the military?” She suddenly wanted to know everything about him.
“Yeah, I did. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t all great, but I learned a lot and made some good friends. It also taught me discipline. Patience. How to deal with people I didn’t always like but still had to work with.” He chuckled. “All skills that come in handy in real estate, believe it or not.”
“I can imagine.”
He tilted his head, his eyes warm. “What about you? Why medicine?”
She hesitated, thinking back to the countless nights of studying, the exhaustion, and the pressure.
“I like helping people,” she said simply.
“It sounds cliché, but it’s the truth. My mom says I’ve been that way since I was little—always patching up stuffed animals and pretending to check if anyone had a temperature. ”
Chuck smiled. “Guess it stuck.”
“It did.” She shrugged, taking a small sip of coffee. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m ready for what comes next, though. Residency’s no joke.”
“I don’t doubt that. But something tells me you’ll handle it just fine.”
She studied him over the rim of her mug. “You sound awfully sure about that.”
“I’m good at reading people—it comes with the job. And I’d place a solid bet that you’ve got the kind of drive that doesn’t quit just because things get hard.”
His confidence in her felt different—not rehearsed, not obligatory, just a simple belief. It shouldn’t have mattered, but somehow it did. “You really think so?”
“Yeah, I do.”
Before she could respond, the waitress returned with their pie. The warm, buttery smell filled the air as the plates landed in front of them.
“Enjoy, folks.”
Marie smiled. “Thank you.”
When the waitress left, she picked up her fork. “So, your mom’s in real estate?”
“Yeah. When I was younger—too young to stay home alone—she used to take me to private showings and open houses. I’d sit in a corner and watch her work a room.
She had this way of making people feel like she was helping them find a home, not just closing a sale.
She taught me how to read people, what features mattered most, and that good ethics beat profit every time.
She never tried to sell anyone something they couldn’t afford.
I didn’t realize how much work actually went into it until I started doing it myself. ”
The way he talked about his mother was heartwarming. They were obviously close. “Sounds like she set the bar pretty high.”
He smiled faintly, his eyes softening. “Yeah. She did.”
There was a subtle shift in his tone, so she didn’t press. Instead, she veered the subject in a slightly different direction. “You said you want to open your own business someday?”