Susan Mallery - Sizzling

Lori did her best not to react, and that included blushing. “I wear scrubs because it’s appropriate for my job.”

“They’re shapeless and ugly. Your hair isn’t horrible, but you pull it back in that ridiculous braid. No makeup, those glasses.”

“They help me see,” Lori said. “Blind nurses are much harder to employ.”

“You use humor as a weapon. I would say I’m not the only one pushing people away. So what’s your excuse? When did you stop trying?”

A long, long time ago, Lori thought grimly. When she’d realized her older sister was totally perfect and that she, Lori, would never measure up.

“So, now you don’t have quite so much to say,” Gloria said calmly.

“I prefer telling other people what’s wrong with them, but I can handle whatever you say. I wear my hair back because it’s practical. I dress like this because it’s appropriate. I don’t wear makeup because I have limited time in the morning and I’d rather spend it on a run than painting my face.”

“Excellent excuses. Have you used them before or did you come up with them all right now?”

Lori stared at her patient. The good news was Gloria was showing a healthy, if slightly twisted interest in life. The bad news was she’d shot a few unpleasant truths right into Lori’s gut while doing it.

“What do you want from me?” Lori asked. “Is there a purpose or are your comments their own kind of fun?”

“I want you to wear regular clothes. Jeans and a sweater. Looking at you in those…what did you call them?”

“Scrubs.”

“Right. Looking at you in those scrubs is depressing. I’m already near death. I don’t need my demise hurried along by looking at your ugly clothes.”

Lori flipped up the hem of her shirt and pretended to look for a tag. “There’s no warning label that being seen in scrubs can cause death.”

“Insolent child.”

“Crabby old biddy.”

Gloria pressed her lips together, as if holding in a smile. “You will wear regular clothes starting tomorrow.”

“You actually can’t make me.”

Gloria ignored her. “In return, there is a slight chance I might be willing to see one of my grandchildren.”

That was a victory. And worth wearing jeans. “You have a deal.”

Gloria eyed her head. “We also need to do something about your hair.”

“Not likely. The price for that is you singing karaoke.”

DANI WAITED for her large nonfat latte at the crowded Daily Grind across the street from the downtown Nordstrom.

This had always been her favorite of Seattle’s Daily Grinds—probably because it was the first one her brother Cal had opened. She’d stood in line the very first day while Cal had worked the counter and waited to see if his business would take off.

It had. Now there were Daily Grinds all over the West Coast. The company was expanding and giving Starbucks a run for its money.

Of course, thinking about Cal’s success made her own life look just a tad more grim, she thought with a wry smile. Decisions were going to have to be made. No, that wasn’t right. She’d already made the decisions. What she lacked was action.

The barista called her name and she grabbed her coffee. It was time to give notice at The Waterfront and go look for a new job. One where she would succeed or fail based on her performance and not because of her family.

She turned, only to have someone bump into her from behind. She glanced over her shoulder and saw a pleasant-looking man backing away.

“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I zigged when I should have zagged.”

“That’s okay,” Dani said.

“Did you spill?” he asked.

She liked that he visually inspected her coat instead of taking the chance to touch her.

“No. You look good.” Instantly he took another step back. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. Not that you don’t look good. You do. But I wasn’t trying to compliment you. Not that I wouldn’t want to, it’s just…”

He stood there looking so uncomfortable, she momentarily forgot her rule of never again speaking to an unrelated man under the age of seventy-five.

“It’s okay,” she said with a smile. “I totally know what you were trying to say. My coat looks untouched by any form of coffee.”

Relief darkened his pale gray eyes. “Exactly. I didn’t spill.”

“Good.” Impulsively she held out her hand. “I’m Dani.”

“Gary.”

They shook hands and she felt nothing. Not a spark, not a hint of a spark. There was an absolute lack of sparkage. Thank God.

“It’s crazy in here,” she said. “I’d try to avoid the rush, but I don’t know when that is.”

“Me, either.” A couple moved toward them and Gary took a step toward her. “I’m here several times a week for my cup of courage.”

She stepped into a less crowded corner. “You get courage from coffee?”

“From the caffeine. I teach nearby and my afternoon students are surly. This keeps me on my toes.” He raised his cup as he spoke.

He was the kind of man easily overlooked and forgotten, Dani thought. Light brown hair, pale eyes, pale skin. Slender. Nicely dressed, but not flashy. He seemed sincere rather than charming, intelligent rather than physical. All good things.

“What do you teach?” she asked.

“Theology and math at the community college. Most of my students are taking theology to fulfill a requirement, and everyone knows people hate math. I should try to find a fun subject that everyone would like.”

“Is there one?”

“What did you like in college?” he asked.

“Not math,” she said, then smiled. “You probably hear that a lot.”

“I can handle it.”

“I took a lot of classes in restaurant management. That’s what I do now—work in a restaurant. I’ve been an assistant to a chef for a while. I used to manage a place in Renton. Burger Heaven.”

He nodded. “I’ve been there. Great milkshakes. Do you like being an assistant to the chef?”

“I love working for Penny, but it’s time for me to make a change. That’s what I was thinking about when we bumped into each other. That I need to take the risk and go for it. But I’m nervous. What if I fail? What if I succeed? I can’t…”

She stopped talking and stared at him. “I can’t believe I’m just blurting this all out.”

“I appreciate you talking to me, Dani. I’m happy to listen.”

There was something about the way he said it—as if he really meant it.

“But I don’t know you.”

“Sometimes we recognize a kinship in another person,” he said.

If any other guy had tried a line like that on her, she would have hit him in the stomach. But the way Gary spoke the words made her think he really meant them.

“Still, I don’t usually dump stuff on strangers,” she muttered.

“I’m glad I was your exception.” He glanced at his watch. “But I have forty-five bored students waiting to hear about comparative theology through the ages. I have to go.”

He sounded as if he regretted the fact. She kind of did, too.

“Thanks for listening. I appreciate your time,” she said.

“I’m glad I ran into you.”

“Me, too.”

They stared at each other for a second, and then he was gone. Dani walked out the other door and headed for her car.

That was good, she thought. Meeting Gary had reminded her that all men weren’t lying, cheating, smarmy weasels. There were still some nice guys around.

REID FLIPPED through the fan letters in front of him. Some were typed and sounded more like they were from forty-year-old truck drivers than actual kids, but a few really got to him.

He kept returning to the one from Frankie. A kid dying from some form of cancer Reid couldn’t begin to pronounce. The kid who had asked to meet Reid as his last wish.