Moonlight over Manhattan (From Manhattan with Love 6)

She picked up the clothes he’d dropped on the floor, not because she particularly felt the need to tidy, but because it made it easier to hide her face. “Charlton Morris.”

“Where did you meet him, how long did it last and why did you break up?” He started coughing again and this time she looked at him without sympathy.

“That’s your punishment for asking so many questions, none of which are your business.”

“I was supposed to be taking you on a training date. Consider this research.”

“I don’t need a training date. I don’t plan on dating a man who makes me feel so uncomfortable I have to be coached to get through the evening. I want someone I’m comfortable with. How hard is that?” She threw his clothes into the laundry hamper as if they were personally responsible for her deficiencies in that area.

“Hard. It’s not easy to meet people, least of all someone you feel comfortable with.” He reached for his water and it was so obviously a struggle that she took pity and handed it to him.

“Sit up. And you probably need another dose of antibiotics. I like Susan, by the way. You should marry her. She’d be good for you.”

He choked on the water. “I’m not marrying anyone ever again, least of all Susan.”

“Why ‘least of all’? She came round here after her shift to check on you. She cares about you.”

“And I care about her. But all we have is friendship. If it turned to anything more we would kill each other in a day.”

“You could try being less sure of yourself all the time. That might make you a little more endearing.”

He put the glass down, spilling some of it. “So next time a patient is bleeding out you want me to tell him I’m not sure what I’m doing? Believe it or not, when people are sick they want to feel as if they’re in good hands. They want confidence.”

“Tell me about your marriage. What went wrong?” She mopped up the water he’d spilled.

“That’s a personal question.”

“No more personal than the ones you were asking me.”

“But you didn’t answer.”

She shifted the pillows behind him so that he was more comfortable. “I told you about Charlton.”

“You told me nothing about Charlton. Was he good in bed?”

She paused, the pillow in her hands. She didn’t know whether to put it down or suffocate him with it. “I don’t know. I didn’t sleep with him.”

“Why not?”

“Because I could never quite relax around him and I can’t imagine ever going to bed with a man if I can’t relax. How would that even work? Don’t answer that,” she said hastily, stuffing the pillow behind his back. “It was rhetorical.” She reached for the throw and pulled it over his legs. “Now that you’ve cooled down, we need to be careful you don’t get cold.”

“I had no idea you knew so much about caring for someone with a fever.”

“Susan gave me a list of instructions. And she called earlier to see how you were.”

“So if you didn’t sleep with Charlton, who was the last man you slept with?”

Harriet sighed. “I’m starting to wish Susan had found a way to knock you unconscious. Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“I’ll rest when you’ve answered my question.”

“His name was Eric. He worked as a vet in our local practice. Are you done now?”

“No.”

“I think I preferred it when I thought you might die.”

His smile was faint, but definitely there. “That could still happen. This is a lull, brought on by an excess of painkillers and antibiotics.”