My son glances up at my approach and offers me a small smile.
Off to a good start.
As I move closer, his companion comes into view—a woman in a red strapless dress, with long chestnut-colored hair flowing down her back. She turns to look at me, and my early optimism dies a painful death.
No. It can’t be her. Anyone but her.
“Hey, Dad.”
My son gives me a half-hearted wave. I manage a tight smile in return as I take the empty seat across from him.
“Good to see you, Oliver.” I steal a glance at a very wide-eyed Natasha. She looks about as shocked as I feel.
“Yeah. You, too.” He gestures to Natasha. “This is my friend, Nat. I’ve told you about her. We go to school together.”
I vaguely recall him mentioning a college friend named Nat during our brief phone conversations, but he never said her last name—not that I would’ve recalled it even if he had. Years ago, Oliver took on his stepfather’s surname when his mom remarried, which explains why Natasha didn’t make the connection this afternoon.
“Nat,” he says to Natasha, “this is my dad, Dr. Evan Ransom.”
Her gulp is audible as she meets my gaze head on.
Before either of us can respond, the waiter arrives to take our drink orders. While Oliver asks about the restaurant’s IPA options, I steal a glance at Natasha. She studies her menu intently, as if the laminated pages might hold the answer to life’s most important question: why has the universe conspired to torture us?
As soon as the waiter leaves, I clasp my hands in front of me and wait to take my cue from Natasha as to how I should approach this meeting. Finally, she sets her menu down and reaches her hand across the table.
“It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Ransom,” she says.
She wants to pretend we’re strangers. It’s just as well; why complicate an already awkward situation with the fact that I know she has a small brown mole on her inner thigh?
Her hand feels warm in mine. I can’t resist letting my gaze drift from her pink lips to her bare shoulders and slight bit of cleavage.
“You, as well, Natasha.” I force myself to release her hand and turn to my son. “How’s school going? You just finished your third year.”
“We both did,” Oliver says. “School’s been good. Didn’t quite hit a four-point-oh last semester, but I still made the Dean’s List. As did Nat.”
“That’s excellent,” I say.
He smiles, looking pleased.
The waiter returns with our drinks and a basket of garlic knots. I’ve been so distracted by the almost comical turn of events that I haven’t even bothered to look at my menu. After a quick scan of the specials, I place my order and hand off my menu. Oliver devours a garlic knot in three bites.
“So where are you working now, Dad?”
Natasha’s cheeks glow like embers. I didn’t think it was possible, but somehow, she’s even more radiant outside of the office. Her red dress cinches just below her breasts and cascades down her body like water. Whatever she’s done with her makeup brings out the copper specks in her eyes.
“A private OB/GYN practice near UT,” I say, hoping he won’t push further.
“Not the one on Highland Ave, right?”
I fight the urge to sigh.
“That’s the one.”
“No way,” Ollie says. “Isn’t that where you go, Nat?”
She pops a piece of bread between her lips and nods.
“Talk about small world,” he says.
“Perhaps too small,” I mumble.
Natasha chortles around the food in her mouth, and I can’t help but snicker. I wish we were here under different circumstances, laughing about some inconsequential irony. Maybe at a table set for two, tucked into the corner, candlelight flickering off her smooth skin. Her full, kissable lips curve into a modest smile as she glances up at me through dark lashes.
“What was the name of the hot doctor you saw today?” Oliver asks her. “My dad probably knows him.”
Natasha swallows hard. “I don’t remember.”
“What are you going to school for, Natasha?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
Her brow arches.
“Pre-law,” she says.
“Nat wants to be a big fancy lawyer,” Oliver adds.
“So you’re ambitious,” I say. There’s no missing the quirk of her lips at the compliment. “What made you decide to study law?”
She picks at the remaining half of her garlic knot. “I like helping people resolve conflicts. I’m the middle child of two stubborn parents, so there was a lot of arguing in my house growing up. I was always the one coming up with compromises, trying to keep everything fair. I know the law isn’t always fair, but it’s not going to get any fairer unless we fight for it.”
“And you don’t see that as a contradiction? Fighting to resolve conflict?”
Puzzlement flickers across her face, followed by amusement. She knows I’m playing with her. “I think becoming a good lawyer is about honing your instincts. Knowing when to fight, when to stand down—”