saw that she wasn't eating and began talking, to give her time to attack her meal.
"And then there was this guy who came into the emergency room at Mass General with appendicitis. Now that's okay, but he also had a huge tattoo on his belly, in vivid color, of a lady on her back, her legs twined around his navel."
"You're putting me on!" Chelsea nearly choked on her wine. "Please tell me you took a picture?"
"Nope, but the intern who shaved him before the operation was very careful to leave lots of hair on the naked lady's feet. The surgical team nearly broke up."
Chelsea had a faraway look in her eyes, and the dimple was playing on her cheek.
"What are you thinking?"
"Oh, I was thinking about putting a scene in a book like that. The guy's name could be Jonathan, and he could be a minister, say, who'd suffered stomach pains for a long time because he was afraid that people would report his tattoo to the press and he'd be laughed at. You see, some friends talked him into the tattoo when he was very young and in the navy. Poor man. I suppose he'll survive and the surgeon, someone like you, David, would keep mum about it."
David stared at her for a long moment. "You're something else, you know that?"
"Not really," Chelsea said quickly, a bit embarrassed. "Did you like the salad? Would you like dessert? It's really quite obscene here, you know."
"Obscene? That sounds interesting. No, nothing for me. But you'd like something, wouldn't you, Chelsea?"
He'd handled it wrong, he thought when she shook her head. If he'd ordered something, maybe she would have, too. He could at least have talked her into taking bites of his. Well, next time he'd be brighter.
He had a sudden inspiration. "Let's stop and get some cookies, all right?"
"You're determined to add dignity to my derriere, aren't you?"
He gave her a beatific smile.
----
Chapter 5
« ^ »
W hy are you so nervous, you silly twit? Chelsea grinned at her silent castigation. She loved to talk historical to herself. But she was nervous, she supposed, perhaps because David might turn weird on her again. Well, she decided, this time I will act very serious.
To her surprise, when they reached her condo he gently touched his hands to her arms, leaned down and very lightly kissed her. He didn't even give her a chance to show him the temporary depths of her seriousness.
"I'll speak to you soon, Chelsea. Thanks for a great evening." He waved once and disappeared into his car, a black Lancia named Nancy. The car's license plate was NANCY W. When she'd kidded him about having a vanity plate on the way back to her condo, he'd said that even Easterners occasionally had bouts of whimsy.
"Most odd," Chelsea said, walking into her living room a few moments later. She really wouldn't have minded a bit more than that sterile kiss. She jumped at the sound of the doorbell.
"Yes?" she asked, opening the door without unfastening the chain.
"It's David. You forgot your doggie bag."
Chelsea blinked, utterly bewildered. Was that an odd come-on? No, it couldn't be. He was serious. It hadn't been her idea in the first place to trot the rest of her salad home. Wilted lettuce wasn't her idea of gourmet dining. Oh, well, since he had been nice enough to bring it back … She opened the door, and David, smiling down at her, thrust the doggie bag into her hand. "Sleep well," he said, and was gone again.
"Most extraordinarily odd," she said, and tossed the doggie bag into the trash compactor. "Well, I've never known a man from Boston before. Maybe they're all like he is. Odd and cute, and an occasional touch of whimsy."
By the time she eased into bed an hour later she'd convinced herself that he was very tired—after all those long hours at the hospital—and needed his rest.
Next time, she thought, burrowing her head into her pillow, she'd get him to kiss her a bit more. An experiment.
To her surprise, the next morning she was yanked from the 1850s by the ringing phone beside her desk.
"And then there was this guy who came into the emergency room at Mass General with appendicitis. Now that's okay, but he also had a huge tattoo on his belly, in vivid color, of a lady on her back, her legs twined around his navel."
"You're putting me on!" Chelsea nearly choked on her wine. "Please tell me you took a picture?"
"Nope, but the intern who shaved him before the operation was very careful to leave lots of hair on the naked lady's feet. The surgical team nearly broke up."
Chelsea had a faraway look in her eyes, and the dimple was playing on her cheek.
"What are you thinking?"
"Oh, I was thinking about putting a scene in a book like that. The guy's name could be Jonathan, and he could be a minister, say, who'd suffered stomach pains for a long time because he was afraid that people would report his tattoo to the press and he'd be laughed at. You see, some friends talked him into the tattoo when he was very young and in the navy. Poor man. I suppose he'll survive and the surgeon, someone like you, David, would keep mum about it."
David stared at her for a long moment. "You're something else, you know that?"
"Not really," Chelsea said quickly, a bit embarrassed. "Did you like the salad? Would you like dessert? It's really quite obscene here, you know."
"Obscene? That sounds interesting. No, nothing for me. But you'd like something, wouldn't you, Chelsea?"
He'd handled it wrong, he thought when she shook her head. If he'd ordered something, maybe she would have, too. He could at least have talked her into taking bites of his. Well, next time he'd be brighter.
He had a sudden inspiration. "Let's stop and get some cookies, all right?"
"You're determined to add dignity to my derriere, aren't you?"
He gave her a beatific smile.
----
Chapter 5
« ^ »
W hy are you so nervous, you silly twit? Chelsea grinned at her silent castigation. She loved to talk historical to herself. But she was nervous, she supposed, perhaps because David might turn weird on her again. Well, she decided, this time I will act very serious.
To her surprise, when they reached her condo he gently touched his hands to her arms, leaned down and very lightly kissed her. He didn't even give her a chance to show him the temporary depths of her seriousness.
"I'll speak to you soon, Chelsea. Thanks for a great evening." He waved once and disappeared into his car, a black Lancia named Nancy. The car's license plate was NANCY W. When she'd kidded him about having a vanity plate on the way back to her condo, he'd said that even Easterners occasionally had bouts of whimsy.
"Most odd," Chelsea said, walking into her living room a few moments later. She really wouldn't have minded a bit more than that sterile kiss. She jumped at the sound of the doorbell.
"Yes?" she asked, opening the door without unfastening the chain.
"It's David. You forgot your doggie bag."
Chelsea blinked, utterly bewildered. Was that an odd come-on? No, it couldn't be. He was serious. It hadn't been her idea in the first place to trot the rest of her salad home. Wilted lettuce wasn't her idea of gourmet dining. Oh, well, since he had been nice enough to bring it back … She opened the door, and David, smiling down at her, thrust the doggie bag into her hand. "Sleep well," he said, and was gone again.
"Most extraordinarily odd," she said, and tossed the doggie bag into the trash compactor. "Well, I've never known a man from Boston before. Maybe they're all like he is. Odd and cute, and an occasional touch of whimsy."
By the time she eased into bed an hour later she'd convinced herself that he was very tired—after all those long hours at the hospital—and needed his rest.
Next time, she thought, burrowing her head into her pillow, she'd get him to kiss her a bit more. An experiment.
To her surprise, the next morning she was yanked from the 1850s by the ringing phone beside her desk.
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