Emma nodded. “Well, they both have a lot of pros, but Declan has a lot more cons. And one of them seems pretty major—he lives in California, Molly. How much longer is he even here?”
I frowned. “A little over four months.”
“Is that where his family lives? Where his job will be when his work here is done?”
I nodded. “He has four sisters and both his parents there, plus nieces and nephews. Chicago was just a temporary assignment. He’s hoping to get promoted once he goes back to the corporate office in California.”
“So, say you pick Declan. What happens when his time here is up? Does he uproot his life and move here? Or do you leave your mom and sister and your sick dad?”
I sighed. Neither sounded ideal. Not to mention, we hadn’t even kissed. So thinking about any of this was putting the cart long before the horse. “I know what you’re saying.” The choice should’ve been simple. Yet it wasn’t.
“Do you want to know what I think?”
I had a feeling I already did. But I nodded anyway.
“If you pick Declan, you’re going to wind up very hurt in four months. And you’re going to be kicking yourself in the ass over the one who got away.”
After dinner, Emma and I both went back to work, but I couldn’t stop thinking about our conversation. Making a list of pros and cons was right up my alley—a way of organizing my thoughts to make the right decision. So later, when things were quiet on the floor, I took out a notepad and again listed all the pluses and minuses for each man. Declan’s were pretty much the same as I’d rattled off to my friend. But when I listed Will’s cons again, I realized I’d failed to admit the biggest obstacle currently standing in my way.
He’s not Declan.
***
That Friday night, Will and I were in the back of a cab, on the way to our date.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
With a glimmer in his eye, he placed his hand on my knee. “It’s a surprise.”
“Well, now I’m intrigued.”
A half hour later, Will took me up to an exclusive rooftop restaurant—except there were no other people. There was just one table amidst a gorgeous setup of lanterns and little white lights around the space.
“Will, what did you do?”
He held out his hands. “It’s all ours for the night.”
My mouth hung open. “How did you manage this?”
“Let’s just say the owner has felt like he owed me one since I delivered his breech daughter.”
“Wow. Who was that?”
“Richard Steinberg—he owns Steinberg Financial and this restaurant. That delivery was actually a couple of years ago, and I never thought to take him up on it until I met someone special enough to bring here. The rooftop is reserved for private parties. And this is ours.”
My heart fluttered. “Wow. I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything, beautiful. Let’s just enjoy tonight.”
I beamed as we settled into our seats at the candlelit table.
After our waiter came by with waters, Will unfolded his napkin and placed it on his lap. “How’s your father doing?”
I frowned. “He could be better. I’ve been keeping tabs on him every day. Right now, he’s stable. But it’s mentally hard on him. As a fellow physician, I’m sure you can understand. He’s always felt like his job is to take care of other people, and now that he’s unable to do that—unable to even take care of himself—you can imagine how tough it is.”
Will closed his eyes momentarily and shook his head. “I absolutely can, Molly, and you know, it’s very important that everyone rally around him right now. Distraction from his own mind is probably the best medicine. The last thing he should be feeling is inadequate. He needs all the strength he can get.”
“I agree.”
Will reached across the table to take my hand. “If there’s anything I can do for him, please let me know. If you’re not getting the answers you need, I know a lot of people.”
“Thank you, Will. I appreciate that more than you know.”
A short time later, the waiter brought the most delectable seafood I’d ever smelled to our table: king crab legs and lobster that had been taken out of the shell. From previous conversations, Will knew I loved seafood, so he must have preplanned the menu, considering we hadn’t even ordered.
“This is the most romantic dinner I’ve ever had,” I told him as we dug in. “I can’t thank you enough.”
His response was pretty abrupt. “Are you still seeing Declan?”
Well, don’t beat around the bush. I had to make a split-second decision, and what felt best was relieving myself of the lie I’d created. “No. Actually, I’m not.”
He exhaled. “That’s the answer I was hoping for.”
“Really?” I broke open a crab leg.