Shock cracked him over the head. ‘Of course I do.’ If only she knew. There were so many he couldn’t count them. She would know just how many memories you hold if you told her. His skin prickled. Tell Fiona about those? That would mean getting close and personal, and he was not prepared to do that. That would let her creep back in under his skin, and then he might have to start all over again exorcising her from his heart. He doubted he had the strength to go through that a second time.
She muttered, ‘If you give me a chance I think you’ll find that I tend to put other people first these days.’
‘I never thought you were selfish. For a start you’re a doctor, and by the very nature of doctors you can’t be. Doctors help people by giving—their skills, their time, their compassion.’ But she had been on a mission to prove how clever she was all the time, which had been hard to live with.
Her eyes widened and a tentative smile grew, sending warmth through his starved soul. He’d missed that smile. It was the first thing he’d looked for on waking every morning, and in the weeks after she’d left his heart had broken all over again every time he’d rolled over in bed to find his day wasn’t about to start with a sunny smile.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t know you thought that.’
Surely he’d told her? What a mess they’d made of everything.
‘Didn’t we?’ she agreed.
That was when he realised he’d spoken aloud.
She added, ‘We really bungled everything. If only we’d known how to talk to each other.’
‘Neither of us was at fault for not saving our marriage. We were out of our depth back then.’ Damn it, he was out of his depth now. Talking had never been his strong point. Actions were stronger, more eloquent, than anything he could verbalise. There would be no actions with Fiona, though. Not now, and not at any time during the coming week.
Fiona leaned against Tom’s kitchen door, shaking her head at the small table he’d set ready for dinner. A chuckle pushed up her throat.
Tom spun around from the vegetables he was preparing, his eyebrows lifted. ‘What?’
‘You still do that.’ She nodded at the cutlery placed very straight beside the placemats, at the glasses square to the top right corner of the mats. Carefully folded serviettes were under each fork. She waved her hand at the table. ‘Line everything up perfectly.’ She slipped across the room and moved the forks so that they were at angles to the placemats. Then she shifted the glasses. And gave Tom a satisfied smirk.
‘And you always did that,’ he said.
‘And then you always straightened them up again.’
‘It’s a sign of an orderly mind.’
‘Not that old excuse,’ she laughed.
‘It’s the only one I’ve got.’
Sometimes she’d used to mess up his settings and then stand with her back to the table, as though defending her changes. And sometimes she’d demand a kiss before letting him at the table, and that had inevitably led to the bedroom.
Her smile faltered. She didn’t need to remember that right now. Glancing at him she found him staring at her, his mouth open in an O. She saw recognition of those same memories in his eyes.
After a long moment she crossed to the stove to see what Tom was cooking. When she thought her voice would sound normal she commented, with as much nonchalance she could muster, ‘I haven’t had a decent steak in ages.’
‘Still like it medium rare?’
She thought she heard a hitch in his voice. Standing close to him, she smelt a faint whiff of that morning’s aftershave, overlaid with chlorine from the pool. It distracted her, brought her focus to his hands as they deftly sliced broccoli florets. Confident hands that could evoke all sorts of heated responses from her body. She swallowed hard.
‘Well-done these days,’ she croaked. ‘We couldn’t always trust the meat where we worked, so cooking it very thoroughly became our safety measure.’ She opened the fridge to rummage around, adding, ‘Actually, I will try medium rare.’
‘You might find you can’t take the taste now.’
She made the mistake of looking at him. Taste. What she wanted to taste was his tantalising mouth. What she really wanted was to kiss him!
No, she didn’t. She couldn’t.
She did. She could.
‘Fiona? Your steak?’
She wouldn’t. Her steak? Oh, yes, that’s right. ‘I’ll give the medium rare a go. I can always put it back in the pan if I don’t like it.’ In the fridge she found the juice. ‘What do you want to drink?’
‘There’s a bottle of red in the pot cupboard.’
‘Pot cupboard? Who are you hiding it from? The cleaning lady?’ She tugged open the door he indicated beside the stove, staying well clear of his legs. Of him. She didn’t breathe in case his aftershave distracted her again.
‘I don’t have a lot of cupboard space in here.’ Tom moved a step further away. Keeping his distance too?
When Fiona had poured his glass of Pinot she placed it on the bench, carefully avoiding any inadvertent touch of his hand. She had to keep her imagination under control and remember why she was here. ‘There you go.’
‘Thanks. You don’t want wine instead of juice?’
‘I’m not a red wine fan—never have been.’
So far it seemed to be the only thing he had forgotten. She imagined there were plenty of things he wished he couldn’t recall.
They ate in silence. Fiona devoured her steak and the sautéed vegetables as though she hadn’t eaten for days.
‘It’s been a long time since breakfast,’ she said as she pushed her plate aside and picked up her j
uice. ‘That was great, thank you. You cook a mean steak.’
‘All compliments accepted.’
‘Tasty vegetables, too. I’ve missed fresh green vegetables.’ She picked up her fork and speared a courgette stick from his plate.
‘Don’t mind me.’ He watched her nibbling at the vegetable, his throat working overtime.
This kitchen felt small, claustrophobic. Tom’s presence filled the spaces and heated the air. It stole her determination to ignore everything except her role as a surgeon, for tonight at least, so that Tom had time to get used to her being around.
His chair screeched over the tiles when he shoved back. Picking up their empty plates, he placed them neatly in the sink before topping up his wine glass.
As she watched him Fiona stretched back, pushed her legs out under the table. ‘Why did you decide to open a small children’s hospital? Couldn’t you have done the same thing within the public sector?’
Tom straddled his chair, resting his arms across the back, his glass in one hand. ‘I wasn’t getting the level of satisfaction I felt I should. No matter how many children I saw, there were countless others waiting. I was driven to help more and more.’
‘Because of Liam? This is your way of dealing with what happened?’ Understanding tugged at her.
His head dipped in acknowledgment. ‘Probably. Yes.’
‘We both seem to have immersed ourselves in work to forget the past.’
‘Not to forget. To accept, and maybe to move on,’ he corrected her.
‘You’re right. I’ll never forget.’ She paused, wishing she did enjoy red wine, because right now she could do with a hefty slug of something stronger than juice. Just to take the edge off the pain of remembering her baby. Being with Tom brought Liam so close she felt she only had to reach out and she’d be able to touch him. Don’t do this. He’s not here. But Tom is, and you need to concentrate on finding a way through to him. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip as she waited for the pain to pass.
Tom seemed unaware of her agitation. ‘Work is supposed to be a panacea for grief.’ He shrugged. ‘Who knows? I did what I thought was right at the time.’