Alex
Six
Gather is already hopping when I step inside the next evening.
I was pleased when Josie responded to my email, and I’m glad the scheduling worked out so quickly.
I don’t mind having to start with drinks.
It’s better than being stuck at dinner with someone who isn’t interesting or seems hateful on the inside like my ex.
But given that Josie didn’t correct me while I was busy making a fool of myself, I feel pretty good about the prospect of dinner.
I glance at my watch as I survey the scene. I’m early, and I don’t think Josie is here yet. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out.
Zara: Apparently it’s a flying dinosaur because regular ones are boring.
Next is a photo of Eloise sitting at the kitchen table with a purple marker
A second photo arrives a moment later. In this one she’s holding the page above her head, smiling directly into the camera with the kind of unfiltered pride only a seven year old can produce.
Me: Tell her it’s the best dinosaur I’ve seen all week.
I slide the phone back into my pocket just as the door opens behind me. And Josie steps inside.
The reaction around the room is subtle but immediate. Two men at the bar look up at the same time, and a conversation near the windows pauses just long enough for someone to recognize her.
Not curiosity, but recognition. I suppose that makes sense, and I’m certainly familiar with the concept. I’ve made it a point to ignore most of the gossip around town, but I’ve still heard about the Dempsey family. I just didn’t put it together the night I met Josie.
Josie seems accustomed to this kind of attention. She doesn’t slow down or look to see who noticed. Her focus is on me.
“You came,” I say in greeting.
She smiles. “You sound surprised.”
“I was trying not to be overconfident.” I rub the back of my neck. “We’ve seen where that gets me. I had an exit speech ready in case you stood me up.”
Her mouth tilts. “That’s thorough preparation.”
The hostess appears beside us. “Evening, Josie.”
“Hi, Megan.”
“Dinner for two?”
“Drinks,” Josie clarifies. “We’re not sure about dinner yet.”
With a nod, Megan grabs two menus and leads us to the bar section. The space grows louder as we move into it—the rhythm of cocktail shakers, the scent of citrus and whiskey drifting through the air. Once again, people notice Josie as we pass.
Megan stops at a small table tucked along the windows. Once we’re seated, she hands us a drink and a Happy Hour menu. “Stuart will be right with you.”
“Thanks,” we say in unison.
She disappears, and for a moment neither of us speaks. The pause isn’t uncomfortable so much as observant, two people deciding how this conversation is going to begin. A tall server with dark hair approaches the table, his eyes sparking with recognition.
“Evening, Josie,” he says.
“Hi, Stuart.”
He stands with his hands behind his back. “What can I get you tonight?”
“I’ll take a Manhattan.”
He nods and shifts his attention to me.
“Whiskey sour.”
“I’ll be right back.”
He moves toward the bar, and I lean forward slightly, resting my forearms on the table. “You must come here often if they know your name.”
She smirks. “No. It’s the curse of growing up in Paradise—Megan’s older brother was in my class at school. He’s now a fireman. And Stuart was in my younger sister’s class. It’s not even six degrees of separation. It’s rarely any more than two.”
“I’ve not had that experience, but I’ve lived in my bubble since I got here about seven years ago.” I take a breath. ”Anyway, I should probably start with an apology.”
Her eyebrows lift a fraction.
“For what I said to you at the fundraiser.”
She shakes her head before I finish the thought. “You made my day. I’m so glad you appreciate that wine. There’s no need to apologize.”
“Well, you should definitely take the compliment, but I was confidently wrong in the sense that I forged ahead without considering all the possibilities. And I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you or your name.”
Her mouth curves. It’s small, but it’s real. “Most people do know me in town,” she says.
“I considered lying,” I confess, because honesty is the only thing that works here. “But then I remembered I’m a terrible liar. That would for sure have made me look worse.”
That does it. A laugh escapes her. Her shoulders lower. She isn’t a different person, but she’s less armored. It’s like watching someone step out of a heavy coat.
Stuart returns with our drinks. He sets Josie’s Manhattan down first and then places my whiskey sour in front of me, the lemon sharp in the air. He asks if we need anything else, and when we both shake our heads, he’s gone again, absorbed back into the movement of the room.
I take a sip. It’s balanced, tart enough to wake up my mouth, and sweet enough to smooth it out. Josie wraps her fingers around her glass and takes a slow sip, watching me over the rim.
My phone vibrates on the table where I set it when we sat down.
Josie’s gaze finds it, and then moves back to my face, giving me the opening to decide whether I want to keep my life separate or let it sit here with us the way it actually does everywhere.
“Sorry,” I say as I reach for it. “Don’t hate me for checking this. I never know if it’s the hospital or the nanny with a problem.”
This time it’s the hospital, notifying me of another consult. But I’m not on call, so I’ll deal with that tomorrow. I switch to Zara’s earlier message and turn the screen toward Josie.
She leans in, her hair falling forward over one shoulder. “She’s adorable,” she says, her voice soft.
“She knows it,” I confirm. “Her name is Eloise, and she’s seven going on twenty-five. She runs our household with an iron fist and a rotating playlist.”
Josie’s eyes lift to mine. “You’re a single dad?”
“I am.” I nod. “Eloise lives with me. Her mom is in Toronto. But she’s not part of our lives.”
The word Toronto lands with a weight I don’t show. It’s home, and it’s not. It’s where I learned to be who I am, and it’s where parts of my life are still filed away in people’s memories like old paperwork they refuse to shred.
Josie studies the photo one more time before leaning back. “So she doesn’t see her mom?”
“No,” I say. “After my residency, we moved here and had Eloise, but Anastasia left when Eloise was a little over a year old.” I pause, and then add a bit more, because I know how small towns work and how questions build.
“She gave up custody. I send pictures and updates sometimes, but I never hear from her. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t think about this part of her life very often. ”
The corner of Josie’s mouth lifts, and the expression makes her look younger, but no less like herself. “Well,” she says, “that’s her loss.”
Something warm moves through me at the way she says it like it’s obvious. I take another sip of my drink and let the moment hold instead of rushing past it.
“So,” Josie says after a moment. “Oncology. Matt told me that’s what you do?”
I nod.
“I don’t know how you handle that,” she says. “I can’t imagine carrying that home.”
I appreciate that perspective. It’s recognition of something heavy without demanding I make it lighter for her.
“Some days are better than others,” I admit.
“There are weeks when it feels like all I do is deliver bad news in different formats. But when the stars align—when a treatment works, when someone’s pain drops, when something moves in the right direction—it’s…
fulfilling.” I glance at her and then back to the glass.
“It reminds me why I went into it in the first place.”
Josie’s fingers tighten around her Manhattan. “That difference you make matters.”
“It does,” I say. “I wouldn’t do it if it didn’t.” I lift my gaze to hers. “I’m still stuck on the wine, though, honestly. Can you tell me all the things I clearly don’t know about you?”
Josie’s expression sharpens again, more alert now and seeming on guard, like she’s back in a space she understands completely. “Like what?”
“Well, full disclosure, I’ve educated myself a bit since we met, so my ignorance is slightly less profound.
” I smile at her, and she returns it. “I noted on your website that Black Bear is woman-run,” I begin.
“That’s rare in any business, and it’s almost unheard of in the wine industry. How did you end up as a vintner?”
Josie takes a sip of her drink and sets the glass down. “Honestly?” she asks, and I nod. “My grandmother ran everyone else away.”
The line is delivered with humor, clean and light, and I laugh with her because it lands like a punchline. “That’s one way to encourage the rise to leadership,” I say.
Josie lifts one shoulder. “It’s effective.”
“I can’t argue with the results, though. You obviously love it and are very good at it. The wine speaks for itself.”
Her gaze holds mine for a moment, steady in a way that suggests she’s used to praise coming with an angle. “What do you and Eloise do when you’re not saving lives or analyzing wine?” she asks, shifting the subject back to me.
I smile. If that’s what she wants, I can talk about Eloise all night without running out of things to say.
“She’s all about ballet,” I say. “Everything is ballet. Every room is a stage. Every hallway is a rehearsal space. She can turn putting on pajamas into a performance.” I take another sip. “And she’s obsessed with K-Pop Demon Hunters.”
Josie’s face changes, brightening, and it’s so immediate it makes me laugh. “I love that movie.”
“The songs are addictive,” I agree.
“They’re on my playlist,” she says, looking pleased with herself.
That does something to me, the simple fact that she’s willing to be delighted by something uncomplicated. It makes her feel less like a name everyone recognizes and more like a real, three-dimensional person sitting across from me.
“I didn’t expect that,” I say.
“Why not?”
I gesture vaguely. “You have the energy of someone who drinks espresso and listens to jazz and judges people’s playlists.”