Picking up the Pieces

He grinned, a little sheepishly, and thrust a bunch of flowers at her. ‘For you.’

She took them, flustered, and then found she was holding a handful of wet stems.

She met his laughing eyes suspiciously. ‘Where did you get them?’

‘One of the wards.’ His grin was infectious, but she tried not to be influenced.

‘I should make you take them back.’

‘No point — she’s gone home without them. Discharged herself. Can I come in?’

She stood back and he pushed the door shut behind him and pursed his lips thoughtfully.

She glanced down at the flowers. They were lovely, their bright jewel colours bringing sunshine into the room. So what if he had lifted them from a ward? She smiled at his cheekiness.

‘So, to what do I owe these…?’ She gestured with the flowers, and he smiled slightly.

‘I owe you an apology,’ he said eventually. ‘I came on to you like a hyperactive schoolboy — I’m sorry.’

Good lord, he was flushing! Cassie hid her smile.

‘Please, don’t worry. It was sort of mutual.’

He snorted with laughter. ‘I beg to differ. No schoolboy ever came on to me like that before!’

The giggle escaped before she could stop it. ‘I’m relieved to hear it. Look, I was just making tea — would you like some?’

He looked slightly surprised — as if he was expecting her to throw him out. She probably should.

She dumped the flowers in the sink, washed her hands and wiped them on her jeans. God knows where the towel was.

‘Yes or no?’

His gaze dragged up from her hips and focused blankly on her eyes. ‘What?’

‘Tea.’

He flushed again. ‘Yes — please.’

‘How do you like it?’

His eyes flew up to hers, startled, and then fluttered shut.

‘On second thoughts, perhaps this isn’t such a good idea,’ he muttered. His voice sounded strained, slightly choked. He went to turn away but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

‘Nick? Why did you come?’

He sighed and turned back to her. His eyes were staggeringly blue, clear and bright and filled with conflicting emotions.

‘I wanted to get to know you. I’ve been thinking about you all day. You’re driving me crazy. I want you. It’s ridiculous; we have to work together. I thought if we spent some time just talking, getting to know each other — perhaps it would all simmer down and we could — oh, hell, I don’t know. You got any good ideas?’

She shook her head, compelled by his honesty to be truthful. ‘None. I feel the same. Nuts, isn’t it?’

Her smile was tentative, uncertain, and Nick felt the tension inside him ease a little.

‘Absolutely crazy,’ he agreed. ‘White, no sugar.’

Her jaw sagged a little, and then the smile broke out in earnest and brushed her eyes with gold. ‘Find yourself a seat.’

He looked at the bed — tugged up rather than made, the cover still turned back, doubtless laden with that delicate fragrance — and chose the solitary chair for the sake of his sanity.

‘So,’ she handed him a mug, dropped on to the bed and hitched her legs up, crossing her bare feet at the ankle, ‘what do you want to know?’

‘Everything — anything. How old are you?’

‘Twenty-eight.’

His brows shot up. ‘Really? You don’t look it.’

‘You’re supposed to say that to ladies in their eighties,’ she teased.

He felt a grin pluck at his lips.

‘Touché. What else? Oh — where did you train?’

‘The Westminster. You?’

‘Barts. Did you know Simon and Jodie Reeve?’

The question was totally unexpected, and Cassie felt shock crawl over her skin. She managed to answer, though, but her voice sounded strained to her ears.

‘I worked with Simon for a while. I only met Jodie once.’ The once she had come and begged Cassie not to ruin her marriage — the marriage Cassie hadn’t known existed.

They split up about three years ago — some heartless bitch got her claws into him.’

She controlled the urge to deny it, to tell him that she hadn’t been heartless, just endlessly, blindly, stupidly in love with a manipulative snake and a compulsive liar. Instead she simply nodded. ‘So I gather. I’d left by then.’ She took a steadying breath and changed the subject — fast. ‘So, about you — how old are you?’

‘Thirty-three. Have you ever been married?’

‘No. How about you? Are you married?’

He shook his head. ‘No. No, I’m not married.’ Not any more. He wasn’t ready to enlarge on that, though. It was all too fresh, too raw. He turned the conversation back to her.

‘Anyone special in your life? Anybody you love?’

She thought of Simon. She had loved him once, or so she thought, but not now, and maybe not ever. She shook her head. ‘No, no one special. No one at all, actually.’ Her smile was wistful, and covered a wealth of loneliness. ‘How about you?’

Only Tim, he thought, but she didn’t mean that, and, if he wasn’t ready to talk about Jennifer, he certainly wasn’t ready to talk about his son. ‘No. I am, as they say, footloose and fancy free.’