First Real Kiss

“Are we?” Uh, I didn’t know. But a guy who appreciated food wasn’t a bad thing. And he did seem to have a good, friendly demeanor. Unlike some other professional men I’d met recently, who should not be named lest I ruin my so-so mood at this party for Mom and Dad.

“We’re totally hitting it off.” DawsonCreek smiled at me. A little flake of fresh basil leaf was wedged between his front teeth.

Somehow it made his movie-star beauty accessible, and my heart thawed a degree.

A shriek rose from the far side of the room at the front door. “What do you think you’re doing here?” Jane’s voice was unmistakable.

Every head in the room swung toward where she stood, but the person at the door was in the shadows and I couldn’t see his or her face.

Oh, I certainly hoped it wasn’t Aunt Priscilla. Dad’s sister had made a nuisance of herself at too many family get-togethers with her drinking problem and I’d purposely not invited her tonight.

But Jane wouldn’t know that. I hustled to the door.

“Hello.” I pushed Jane aside. She really shouldn’t have been butlering at the door in her condition, and—gasp! “What do you think you’re doing here?”

Did I mention I can shriek twice as loudly as Jane can?

“Uh, Ms. Chandler?” Dr. Luke Hotwell’s voice contained a shocked tremor, and his eyes were as wide and shiny as CDs. “I—I wasn’t sure if this was the anniversary party for your parents or not. I …”

My mortal enemy looked very different in civilian clothes rather than scrubs and a lab coat, giving off even more of a Luke Perry air. A ball-cap covered his head, but a few stray brown tufts curled at its edges. He wore a black, open-neck button-up shirt, fitted of course because he was so vain, and charcoal-gray pants with a belt. Who did he think he was, a model? A refugee from the 90210? If I hadn’t detested him with the fire of a burning peat bog, I might have drooled over how attractive he was.

If. A big if.

“Dr. Luke Hotwell. The villain of my friend’s life.” Jane put her shoulder in front of mine, as if ready to defend me to the death. “Didn’t she offer to take you to court for malpractice? Are you here to threaten her in return? This is a private event. I’m calling the police, and we’ll see about charging you with trespassing.”

Jane already had her phone out and was about to dial, when her exceptionally tall cohort loomed up between us and struck out a hand to shake.

“Dr. Hotwell! Is that you?” Dusty Dawsonside shouldered me to the right and Jane to his left, pushing between us to greet my mortal enemy. “You’re the doc who totally saved my grandma’s life. Your work on that triple-bypass? Bodacious! Could I shake your hand? An honor, a real honor.”

DawsonCreek pumped Luke Hotwell’s hand up and down, soon yanking him up the step and into the house. Then, he hurricaned the doctor around, introducing him to everyone.

“Guys, everyone. Hey.” The conversations in the room hummed to a halt as Dusty hollered for attention, as though SurferHair were the host instead of Mom and Dad. “This here is Dr. Luke Hotwell. He’s the uh-may-zing surgeon who saved my grandma’s life with his totally mad skills in the operating room. I’m not worthy, but can I get a round of applause from everybody here for this guy?”

A few people clapped and pulled polite smiles, nodding. A few elbowed each other and asked, Who’s that tall guy? Someone said, I think he’s here with King’s daughter.

“Dusty!” Jane hissed, but it was no use—Dad had already homed in on Dr. Hotwell, like a heat-seeking missile.

“You’re a heart surgeon?” Dad’s eyes sparked brighter than if they’d been steel beneath a welding torch. “I have so many questions for you!”

Uhhhh. “Dad?” I bolted over to his side, but he’d already glommed onto Dr. Hotwell and was pulling him away. I dogged their heels, scrambling to think of how to prevent this train wreck. “Dad. Dad!”

It was no use.

“How did you get an invitation tonight?” Dad asked my question for me. “I’m hoping you’re here because of our daughter Sheridan.”

The villain’s head whipped around and his eyes met mine. “Sheridan … Chandler?”

Dad burst with joy—oblivious to the subtext that clearly stated that Dr. Luke Hotwell and I were so completely unacquainted that he didn’t even know my first name. I was Ms. Chandler to him. The woman who was suing him.

Probably suing, that was.

Ugh. Why was he here?

I trailed after them, a helpless, yelping, ignored puppy, until Dusty the Surfer Man caught my elbow. “So, Sheridan. I gotta bounce for now. Can I call you sometime?”

“Sure.” I strained to hear what Dad and the evil doctor were saying.

Dusty’s smile could have blinded a stadium full of sunglasses testers. “I’ll get your number from Janie-girl.” He gave my upper arm a fist-bump. “I can see everything she told me about you was spot-on. Later, ’gator.”