NYC Angels: The Wallflower's Secret

No, she couldn’t do that. It would kill her to see the babies. She would cry. “Um, why don’t I just meet you in the lobby?”

“I would’ve thought you might want to meet the family, if they are there.”

“I’ll just wait and see if you are assigned the case.”

He gave her a quizzical look. “Okay. I’ll see you in the lobby as soon as I can.”

Lucy breathed a sigh of relief as Ryan walked off. She just wasn’t ready to face the nursery.

In the taxi, Ryan grinned when Lucy had to give the address of the restaurant for a second time. The cab driver didn’t quite understand her sweet Southern drawl. He himself liked it, a lot. Her slower, softer accent was soothing. He especially liked it when she said his name.

Lucy had a way about her that relaxed him, and others as well. She wasn’t authoritarian when she spoke but people listened to her. Plus her manner implied that everything would be all right given time. He’d seen it first hand when she talked to his patients’ families. She’d given of herself. At one time, he’d done that more freely but now he had nothing left.

If he ever discovered he had something to give, he hoped someone like Lucy was around to share it with. But now wasn’t the time. He’d never confided in anyone from work and he wouldn’t be starting now, no matter how tempting it might be.

Lucy sat beside him in the back seat, staring out the window. He wasn’t sure if she was avoiding looking at him or was just engrossed in the lights of the “city that never sleeps”.

“Have you been to New York before?”

“Once, when I was a kid. With my parents. I don’t remember much about it, though.” The wistful tone in her voice made him think that it hadn’t necessarily been a happy memory.

“I bet you never thought you’d be living here.”

She glanced at him. “No, never,” she said, before turning back to the window. “And with your accent, I’d guess you’ve never lived anywhere but here.”

“Brooklyn boy, born and raised,” he said proudly.

“So that’s why you have the baseball picture in your office.”

“Yeah. I’m a big Yankees fan. Do you keep up with baseball?”

“If you live in Atlanta you have to follow the Braves. My brother-in-law gets season tickets so I’ve gone to a few games.”

“I have season tickets to the Yankees. Maybe you’d like to go to a game some time?” He shifted uncomfortably. What in the world was he doing, inviting her out to a game? That sounded too much like a date.

The taxi pulled up at the curb.

“Volpentesta’s. That’s some of the best pizza pie in the city. For someone who has been in the city no longer than you have, you sure know where to get a good meal.”

Lucy smiled as she climbed out of the taxi. When she offered her share of the taxi fare he said, “It’s on me. My idea for the pizza.”

She didn’t fight him, just waited on the brick sidewalk gone wavy with age. She tensed a second when he lightly touched the curve of her back but she eased just as quickly. As they came to the door of the restaurant, he reached around her to open it.

“Someone taught you good manners. That’s the second time you’ve opened a door for me.”

The dull pain that he carried in his chest sharpened for a second. “My father was very old school. He would say, ‘Ryan, my boy, you treat a woman like you want your sisters to be treated. It’s the O’Doherty way.’”

“Kind of got off track when you first met me, didn’t you?”

“Hey, I showed you up to the floor.”

“Yeah, but you would’ve liked to drop me down the elevator shaft.”

“Was I that bad?”

She nodded.

“Then I’ll try to make up for it over dinner, okay?”

She smiled. “I’ve really gotten over it, so don’t let it worry you.”

A man who was almost as round as he was tall approached them, his hands outstretched. He asked with a strong Italian accent, “Miss Lucy, how are you today?”

Her smiled reached her eyes. Ryan felt a hot stab of jealousy. What would it take to have her smile at him like that? He wasn’t going to analyze that thought.

“Mr. Volpentesta, I’m doing fine. We would like a table.”

“Anything for you, my dear.”

Ryan gave her a quizzical look. The wait even on weeknights for a table at Volpentesta’s was long and she’d just waltzed in without a reservation.

The restaurant was an authentic Italian bistro right down to the red checked cloths and the candle on the table. The room was dark enough to make for a pleasing ambiance but not so dim that he couldn’t appreciate Lucy’s incredibly expressive face.

She wore little make-up. On occasion he’d noticed that she’d applied a gloss to her lips that made them dewy looking. Her hair was always contained by a ribbon or clip or was braided. More than once he’d pictured what it might look like free. She was unique. He’d give her that.

It had been a long time since he’d found a woman so interesting. She reminded him of Irish coffee. Sweet, fresh cream on top with a stout bite beneath. What kind of magic was this woman conjuring over him?

“Come this way, my dear.” Mr. Volpentesta led them to a table for two in a far corner of the room.

“How do you know him?” Ryan said close to her ear.

“I live upstairs.” She turned and followed the man again.

“Good choice,” he said, more to himself than her when they were given a cozy spot. What he’d had in mind had been more of a friendly meal than a lovers’ evening. He looked around the room but not finding a better option he accepted his fate. He held her chair out and waited until Lucy was settled before he sat.

“Your father has left nothing out.” She spread her napkin in her lap.

“He was a thorough man.”

“Was?”

Left no choice, he said, “He died.” He couldn’t keep the heartache out of his voice.

At her stricken and pitying look, he wished he’d lied. She placed a hand on his forearm and gave him an earnest look. “I’m sorry.”

Her touch and concern diminished his feeling of loss for a moment. For the first time he actually felt comforted by another human being. Why was it that this Southern belle touched more than just his arm? “I’m doing fine.”

Mercifully, the waiter came to take their order and bought them a bottle of house wine. Ryan wasn’t surprised when Lucy ordered a salad. When the waiter left he leaned forward and said, “Do you have any idea on how many levels of wrong it is to order a salad in a place like this?”

“I’m just not that hungry.”

He gave her a speculative look. “If I were to guess, you haven’t been eating like you should.”

She shrugged and toyed with her silverware.

“Not going to comment on that one?”

“No,” she said with less zeal than she had earlier, confirming he’d been correct.

He fished for something to keep the conversation going that wasn’t too personal. He didn’t think she’d answer more questions if they were. “So, did you grow up in Atlanta?” That wasn’t as impersonal as he would’ve liked but he wanted to know more about her.

“Sort of, but mostly at a boarding school in northeast Georgia.”

He cocked his hea

d in question.

“My parents divorced. It was easier to send Alexis and me off than to take care of us.”

His mother had died when he’d been young. Before his father had gotten too sick he’d been there to take care of Ryan and his sisters. They had never doubted that they were wanted and loved. “Alexis?”

“My twin sister.”

“So you’re a twin. Interesting. I bet you’re close. My father said more than once that ‘Family’s everything. Without family you have nothing.’”

Clouds formed in her eyes. “I guess for some that’s true,” she said, sounding more resigned than wistful.

But not for her? “I shouldn’t have said that.” He took a swallow of his wine. The melancholy in her voice made him wish he’d not quoted his father.

“Alexis and I had each other. We were our own family…” She let the words trail off.

He had to find another subject. “You know, it turns out we’re a better team than I anticipated.”

“Even as slowly as I speak, I’m still worthwhile.” She smirked.

Despite her making fun of him, he enjoyed her quick mind. “Truthfully, I like your accent. Makes me think of lazy, hot days and ice-cold drinks.”

She blinked then her eyelids fluttered down. “Now you’re embarrassing me.” She looked at him. “You know something about me. How about telling me about you?”

“Brooklyn, and more Brooklyn. Med school NYU, intern Angel’s, Angel’s today.”

“I see. The source of your clipped dialect, with a hint of Irish burr occasionally.”

“Guilty. My father was second-generation Irish. My accent isn’t anywhere near as strong as his was.”

Was. He hated that word. Every time he said it, it just reaffirmed that his father was gone.

Their meals arrived. He inhaled the smell of the steaming pie. “This is going to taste wonderful.” He glanced up as he bit into a slice of pizza. Lucy watched him. She looked down at her salad. “What?”