Irene Hannon - The Doctor's Perfect Match

“You’re very welcome. I’ll be back a little later to see how you enjoyed the tea.”

Returning to the foyer, Marci continued to seat the guests, mindful of the pair of men at the corner table every time she entered the sitting room. Once the tea got underway, however, she worked a wedding shower in the dining room while Julie handled the twin sitting rooms on the other side of the foyer.

But—much to her annoyance—her thoughts kept straying to the blue-eyed doctor. And each time they did, her fingers grew clumsy. She dropped a silver server on the floor. Sloshed some hot water on the white linen as she set down a fresh teapot. Knocked over the sugar bowl, sending cubes tumbling across the starched tablecloth.

She tried to blame her fumblings on a simple physical awareness of the man’s striking good looks, but she knew it went deeper than that. Since his faux pas in the restaurant, he’d been a total gentleman. It didn’t seem fair to hold a brief lapse against him. He wasn’t the first man to notice her legs. Or her body. Nor would he be the last. But he was the first to apologize for his rude behavior.

And that made him special.

Who was he, really? Marci wondered, peeking over her shoulder as she lifted the lid on the tea chest so the bride-to-be could make her selection. She could just catch a glimpse of his strong profile as he spoke with Henry, the fragile bone china teacup looking child-size in his long, lean fingers. Had he been born on Nantucket? Where did he live? What did he do in his free time?

Did he have a girlfriend?

But none of those questions mattered, she reminded herself, turning back to the bride-to-be. Least of all the last one. She wasn’t going to be on Nantucket long enough to get to know anyone. She was here to rest and relax after seven grueling years of school and work. Then she’d begin her job search and build a future for herself that didn’t include slinging hash at Ronnie’s. Or relying on others to validate her.

She’d done that once, and it had been a huge mistake. One she didn’t intend to repeat. Going forward, only the two men she trusted to love her for the right reasons would be granted access to her heart: her brothers, J.C. and Nathan.

Yet as she closed the tea chest and took one more wistful glance across the room toward the tall, handsome man juggling a teacup, she found herself wishing there could be an exception to that rule.

Even though she knew such romantic fancies were only the stuff of fairy tales.

“Now that was a mighty tasty birthday feast.” Henry wiped his mouth on the linen napkin and leaned back in his chair, nursing a final cup of tea.

“I second that.” Christopher slathered his last miniscone with generous layers of wild strawberry jam and imported clotted cream. “Not so good for the cholesterol, though.”

“I’m eighty-five. If cholesterol hasn’t gotten me yet, I doubt it will. And if it does—” he gestured to his empty plate “—what a way to go.”

Christopher consumed the scone in one bite and chuckled. “It’s hard to argue with that.”

Scanning the room, Henry folded his napkin and set it beside his plate. “I hope Marci remembers to stop by. She’s a nice girl.”

“Seems to be.”

“She’s not wearing a ring.”

Uh-oh. Christopher knew where this was heading.

“She’s also only here for a short time, Henry.”

“Doesn’t take long.”

“For what?”

“To know if someone’s a good match.” A soft smile tugged at the older man’s lips. “When I met Marjorie at that USO dance, things clicked right away. I won’t say it was love at first sight, but I knew the potential was there. We were married for fifty-four years, so I guess my instincts weren’t too shabby.”

Christopher swallowed. “Not everyone is blessed with sound instincts.”

“You were. Otherwise you wouldn’t be such a good doctor.”

He gave a slight shrug. “Then I guess they don’t translate to my personal life.”

“What happened with Denise wasn’t your fault, Christopher. The problem was her, not you.”

Brushing a few crumbs into a neat pile on the snowy linen, Christopher picked them up and deposited them on his plate. When he’d come to Nantucket, he’d had no intention of sharing the story of his ill-fated romance with anyone. But he’d changed his mind one stormy night a few weeks into his stay after he’d discovered his landlord trying to batten down the gazebo his late wife had cherished.

Though Christopher had pitched in, they’d been unable to stop the brutal wind from ripping it apart and hurling pieces of it down the beach. Christopher had wrapped a protective arm around the older man’s shoulders and guided him inside, to safety. But he hadn’t been able to pry Henry away from the window. As the older man had watched the storm destroy the gazebo, tears streaking down his cheeks, he’d told Christopher he’d built it for his beloved wife years ago. That it had become her favorite place. And that it was the only spot where he could still feel her presence.

Now it was gone.

Christopher had stayed to console Henry. But later, over strong cups of coffee and a stubby candle—the electricity had also been a victim of the storm—he’d found their roles reversed when Henry asked him about his own life and what had brought him to Nantucket. As the wind howled and the world was reduced to the diameter of a candle flame, he’d opened his heart—and sealed their friendship.

In the ensuing months, Christopher had come to value the man’s insights and advice. About everything except Denise.

“I’m not sure the problem was all hers, Henry. Besides, you didn’t know her.”

“I know you. That’s enough.”

Though he was gratified by his friend’s loyalty, Christopher was far less certain where the blame lay.

“Well, gentlemen, how was your tea?”

They both looked up. Marci stood beside their table, a small white box in hand.

“Best tea I ever went to,” Henry declared, beaming up at her.

Christopher quirked an eyebrow at him. As far as he knew, this was the only tea Henry had ever gone to.

The older man ignored his skeptical reaction. “What did you think, Christopher?”

“Very nice.” He smiled at Marci, appreciating how the simple but elegant white silk blouse showed off her figure. “Thank you again for the invitation.”

“It was the least I could do. I was in desperate straits the day you stopped by. The antibiotics worked magic.” Transferring her attention to Henry, she set the small white box on the table. “Julie told me you were partial to the chocolate tarts, Mr. Calhoun. Here are a few more to take home so you can extend your birthday celebration.”

He laid a gnarled hand on the box and gave her a pleased smile. “That’s mighty sweet of you. And it’s Henry, please. Now tell me, how are you enjoying Nantucket?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t seen much yet. But I intend to make up for that as soon as my brother and sister-in-law get back.”

“How long will you be staying?”

“I have five weeks left. One more to work, and four to play. I plan to take a month of vacation before I get serious about looking for a job. I just finished my master’s.”

“In what?”

“Social work.”

“My, that’s impressive.”

“Hardly.” She gave him a wry grin. “Most people my age are already well-established in their careers. I was a late bloomer.”

Henry cocked his head. “Couldn’t have been that late. You don’t look more than twenty-four, twenty-five.”

She chuckled. “Try thirty-one.”

“Thirty-one.” Henry shot his host a speculative look. “That’s a perfect age.”

The sudden gleam in Henry’s eyes reminded Christopher of the one he’d seen in Edith’s the day he’d made the house call. It was time to steer the conversation to a safer topic. Like sightseeing.