“What?”
She shook her head. “You just amuse me.”
“I thought you said I make you nervous.”
“I’ve decided nervous is the wrong word,” she admitted. “I’m not nervous around you, James.”
“Good.”
“The correct word would be wary. Definitely wary,” she repeated, nodding in satisfaction with the choice.
His expression shifted from pleased to somber again. Maybe she was beginning to read him a little better, after all. It was quite obvious to her that he didn’t like “wary” any better than he’d liked “nervous.”
Cass set their drinks in front of them. “Let me know if you need anything else,” she urged them before heading back to her station.
Shannon was usually called to the counter to pick up her own drink. No table deliveries for her.
James must be one generous tipper, she decided, taking a sip of the drink that even tasted slightly better than usual this evening. She nodded toward the steaming espresso James had ordered. “Isn’t it a little late for that?”
He lifted one shoulder in a hint of a shrug. “I’ve developed a caffeine immunity in the past couple of years. Whenever I get a chance to sleep, I’m gone the minute I hit the pillow, even if I’ve had a whole pot of coffee beforehand.”
“I’ve heard med school is a nightmare.”
“The first two years are the most difficult. Third year involves long hours and a lot of procedures and information to learn. This year is a cakewalk in comparison, though it has its own challenges.”
“You’re at the top of the class, aren’t you?”
He shifted a little uncomfortably in his chair in response to her deliberately blunt question. “I’ve done well enough.”
“The top.”
He shrugged. “I had the advantage of earning a Ph.D in microbiology before I entered med school, so the basic science was already familiar material to me.”
She blinked. “You earned a doctorate before you started medical school?”
“Yes.”
“How old were you when you graduated high school?”
He toyed with his coffee cup. “Sixteen. Both being educators, my parents thought it best for me to skip ahead of some of the early grades.”
“So you?
??ll be a double-doctor.” She tried not to let him see that this new bit of information made him even more intimidating.
“I’ll have an M.D.-Ph.D,” he corrected, then changed the subject quickly away from his accomplishments. “You said you dated a doctor?”
He was determined to finish the conversation they had started in the parking lot. She supposed they might as well. Once he understood her qualms, he would realize it wasn’t anything personal against him, she figured, and her conscience would be clear about hurting his feelings.
“I dated a dentist. He made a huge point of calling himself ‘Doctor.’ Introduced himself to everyone as Dr. Smith. Corrected people when they called him Mr. Smith,” she added wryly. “He even signed a birthday card to me ‘Dr. Philip Smith.’”
James looked uncomfortable again. “I know a few people like that,” he murmured. “Somewhat pompous?”
“The very definition of pompous,” she emphasized.
“So why did you get involved with him?”
“Because he was also charming and amusing and my family pressured me into ignoring my instincts and giving him a chance. And to be honest, I was on the rebound from another long-term relationship that had ended badly. Philip’s attention was flattering—just what my bruised ego thought I needed at the time, I guess—and for a while, I let myself ignore the warning signs. He was always trying to make decisions for me, subtly criticizing my choices, assuring me he had my best interests at heart when he told me what I should or shouldn’t do with my life.”