How long did she intend to keep up the pretense?
He subdued that side of him that was tempted to confront her.
“I was going to grab a coffee and something to eat before going to the clinic. Will you join me?” He saw her hesitate as she searched for an excuse, and he wondered if her hesitation was because she didn’t want to spend time with him, or because she was afraid of giving herself away. He felt a rush of frustration. Finally face-to-face with her, alone, and still he wasn’t able to have the conversation that was so long overdue.
She looked away. “I have Hero—”
“It will be good for his training to sit patiently, and Lulu can teach him a few things.”
“Like how to play dead and frighten the crap out of people?”
“That, too.” He saw her fumble for an excuse, and give up.
“Sure, why not.”
They walked along the beach, and he thought about the number of times they’d done exactly this, walked shoulder to shoulder, close. This time she was careful to keep a good distance between them. Before his relationship with Fliss, he’d thought, with the lack of depth that came with youth, that intimacy was a physical thing. It was naked bodies and carnal discovery. It was only with Fliss that he’d discovered that intimacy, real intimacy, was emotional. It was a sharing of thoughts, beliefs and secrets that deepened a relationship in a way that hot sex alone couldn’t.
He’d thought he’d been on the way to having that with her, but there had always been a part of her he’d never been able to reach. Before he’d come close to doing that, everything had fractured. Like a vase dropped from a height onto concrete, it had seemed that there were too many pieces to put back together.
They found a table at the beach café, and the moment they sat down he realized his mistake. Here, in such a public place, there was no chance of privacy. Not that there was much chance of that anywhere in this community.
“Hi, Dr. Carlyle.” Megan Whitlow was the first to approach him, smoothing her gray hair back from her temples. “Rufus seems a little better, but I’m wondering if I should have him checked again, just to be sure.”
“Call Daisy,” Seth said easily. “She’ll make you an appointment.”
Megan leaned forward, lowered her voice. “We’re just all so happy you’re back, Dr. Carlyle. You’re an asset to this community.”
“That’s very kind of you, Megan.” It was impossible for him to be anonymous here. Impossible for him to ask the questions he’d intended to ask. Patient, he listened as four different people approached and updated him on the status of their pets’ health.
“You’re popular. You don’t even need to rent premises. You could run a clinic right here by the beach.” Fliss picked up the menu, amused. “Still, I guess we should be re
lieved you’re not a doctor. At least people aren’t removing their clothes and updating you on their intimate problems.”
“I should have picked somewhere else.”
“No. I like it.” Her admission surprised him.
“You do?”
“Yes.” She glanced at the menu briefly and put it down again before sliding sunglasses onto her nose. “That’s what being in this place means, isn’t it? Community. It’s the reason you chose to practice here and not somewhere like Manhattan. You used to talk about it. How ultimately this sort of practice was what you wanted.”
“I don’t remember ever discussing it with you.”
There was a pause. “Fliss must have mentioned it.” She’d made a swift rescue, and he decided not to press.
Not yet.
But soon. If she didn’t tell him herself, he was going to have to make the first move.
“So you built a good business in Manhattan.”
“It’s growing fast.” She talked about numbers, growth, strategy and plans for the future.
If she’d really been Harriet, she would have been telling him about the dogs, not their profit projections for the next quarter.
They ate a fragrant Thai salad, flavored with lemongrass and the tang of lime, and he watched as the sunlight played over her hair, picking out silver and gold.
They talked about neutral topics. Business—his and hers—life in Manhattan versus life in the Hamptons, dogs. Nothing personal.