Page 18 of The Accidental Dating Experiment
I laugh mirthlessly. “That obvious?”
She holds up a thumb and forefinger. “Only a little.”
“And I was hoping I appeared less tense.”
“If you want to be less tense, I highly recommend the spicy olive mix. Locally grown olives with farm-to-table chili peppers. A little olive oil and salt takes your mind off the day.”
“I’m sold. But no drink. I’m driving. I’ll place an order for takeout.”
“Sounds good,” she says and taps the placard with the QR code to start an order. “I’ll get those olives fired up.”
As she heads to the open kitchen to give the order, I pick a meal for myself then a salad and a risotto dish I think Juliet will like.
Juliet, my friend.
Juliet, my co-worker.
Juliet, the woman I was gifted a house with.
I take a deep breath, finally, finally feeling like my momentary bout of lust has burned off. I am all good.
After Clem brings the olive and pepper mix, I munch on a few Castelvetranos as I return to my book. A few minutes later, a throat clears behind me.
“Monroe?”
Shit. I turn toward the familiar voice. Yup. That’s my dad alright, shrewd blue eyes crinkled at the corner, gray hair thick like a lucky motherfucker, and questions—always questions—in his tone.
“Hello, Doctor Blackstone,” I say.
“Hello, son.” His head is tilted as if he can’t believe I’m here. I RSVPed to his party, but I didn’t tell him I was coming early. “You’re back in town already?”
I square my shoulders. “Yes, I am.”
“The party’s not for a week.”
“I’m aware. I’ll be here for the week.” I don’t share the details.
He blinks like he can’t make sense of me, which is standard for us. Then, he seems to remember that fathers hug sons, and he comes in for an uncomfortable embrace, punctuated with staccato back claps. It has to be as awkward for him as it is for me.
He steps back, glancing at the stool next to mine. “I’m meeting a friend here in a few minutes, but I’ll join you till she arrives.”
“Great,” I say, pasting on a smile.
There’s an uncomfortable silence for a few moments. “I was surprised to see you. I wouldn’t have thought you could take a random week off. I suppose your new line of work allows you more free time.”
My jaw ticks.
Here we go again.
Down Therapy Isn’t as Tough as Medicine Road and then onto Should Have Been a Practicing Medical Doctor Lane. The street he always travels.
“I do have appointments.”
“Right, right,” he says, amiable at first, then sliding back to critical. “I just mean it’s different, having a session versus a?—”
“Surgery?”
He smiles, sort of self-deprecating, but there’s nothing truly unpretentious about the surgeon who practices at the prestigious university on the outskirts of town.