fixture above their booth, browns and golds and reds moving in waves, almost as if her hair was alive, breathing when she breathed.
Her eyes were the most delicate blue he'd ever seen. It struck him as ridiculous, but her eyes reminded him of the fuzzy zip-up baby thing he bought for Jack when he was born. Pam put Petey in it when he came along two years later, and the color kept getting softer with all the washing. He remembered how his nephews had felt solid but fragile tucked into his arms, how sweet they smelled after a bath, how new.
Thomas tore his gaze away and stared out the dark window, his heart beating too fast, his chest hollowed out with a sudden sense of emptiness. He looked at Emma again, because he had to.
Her lashes and brows were an almost-black brown, a strange and striking contrast with her light, sleepy eyes. Her nose and cheeks were splattered with faint freckles. As she talked, he studied her mouth, the slight crooked overlap of her two front teeth that struck him as intensely sexy, the way her dark red bottom lip was plumper than the top, the little dip at the center of her upper lip that disappeared when she smiled—which seemed to be all the damn time.
He knew she wasn't wearing lipstick—there wasn't a trace of it on the rim of her white coffee cup. She wasn't wearing any makeup at all, in fact. No fingernail polish. No jewelry. No perfume, just a baseline floral scent that probably came from her shampoo.
She was all natural. All real. And he'd like to rub his hands all over her.
"So, financially, it was a total mess. We invested in the practice as a couple and I guess he deserved his piece, but now I'm in debt up to my armpits and carrying a good portion of the patient load we used to share.
Some of the patients did follow Aaron to Annapolis , though."
Her voice was rich with occasional low tones that sounded soothing to Thomas.
"Do you see him often?" he asked.
Emma shrugged. "I saw him Monday—at the lawyer's office. We signed the divorce papers." She waved a hand as if to clear the air. "And occasionally we talk on the phone about cases because we're the only two behaviorists in the region right now. It's kind of a new field—only thirty board-certified practitioners in the country."
"Do you miss him?"
She grimaced, then nodded. "Sure. Sometimes a lot, but there were things that I…" she looked away, not finishing her thought.
Thomas waited. He knew exactly what was coming next.
Emma turned back and smiled. "It was for the best. Let's just leave it at that."
Now that was a surprise. It was clear that this Aaron guy was a real dick-head, but Emma hadn't said one bad thing about him. Nothing. He'd assumed the name-calling was about to start. He'd prepared himself to hear Emma's particular take on the standard male offenses: he was a player; he was unable to communicate; he was a lying, cheating idiot; he did nothing but watch televised sports; he used me as a sex object.
But all Emma had done so far was smile and recite the essentials: they met in an undergraduate zoology course, dated through college, lived together all through vet school, got married in residency, and planned to build a practice and a life together.
Then it fell apart.
The fact that she'd spared him the gory details was so grown-up—and showed such a sense of basic decency—that it was damn near startling.
"What's your little girl's name?" he asked.
Emma's face blossomed with the most perfect smile Thomas had ever seen. "Her name is Elizabeth —we call her Leelee. She's twelve, and she's the smartest and bravest kid on the planet."
The intensity of her response—of her love—startled him. It embarrassed him. He looked away.
That's when he noticed the flutter of a pointy pink ear under Emma's elbow, the only indication that Hairy had accompanied them. The dog had been perfectly silent, tucked down into the well of Emma's baggy sweatshirt, nestled up just below her breasts, sleeping against her
Her eyes were the most delicate blue he'd ever seen. It struck him as ridiculous, but her eyes reminded him of the fuzzy zip-up baby thing he bought for Jack when he was born. Pam put Petey in it when he came along two years later, and the color kept getting softer with all the washing. He remembered how his nephews had felt solid but fragile tucked into his arms, how sweet they smelled after a bath, how new.
Thomas tore his gaze away and stared out the dark window, his heart beating too fast, his chest hollowed out with a sudden sense of emptiness. He looked at Emma again, because he had to.
Her lashes and brows were an almost-black brown, a strange and striking contrast with her light, sleepy eyes. Her nose and cheeks were splattered with faint freckles. As she talked, he studied her mouth, the slight crooked overlap of her two front teeth that struck him as intensely sexy, the way her dark red bottom lip was plumper than the top, the little dip at the center of her upper lip that disappeared when she smiled—which seemed to be all the damn time.
He knew she wasn't wearing lipstick—there wasn't a trace of it on the rim of her white coffee cup. She wasn't wearing any makeup at all, in fact. No fingernail polish. No jewelry. No perfume, just a baseline floral scent that probably came from her shampoo.
She was all natural. All real. And he'd like to rub his hands all over her.
"So, financially, it was a total mess. We invested in the practice as a couple and I guess he deserved his piece, but now I'm in debt up to my armpits and carrying a good portion of the patient load we used to share.
Some of the patients did follow Aaron to Annapolis , though."
Her voice was rich with occasional low tones that sounded soothing to Thomas.
"Do you see him often?" he asked.
Emma shrugged. "I saw him Monday—at the lawyer's office. We signed the divorce papers." She waved a hand as if to clear the air. "And occasionally we talk on the phone about cases because we're the only two behaviorists in the region right now. It's kind of a new field—only thirty board-certified practitioners in the country."
"Do you miss him?"
She grimaced, then nodded. "Sure. Sometimes a lot, but there were things that I…" she looked away, not finishing her thought.
Thomas waited. He knew exactly what was coming next.
Emma turned back and smiled. "It was for the best. Let's just leave it at that."
Now that was a surprise. It was clear that this Aaron guy was a real dick-head, but Emma hadn't said one bad thing about him. Nothing. He'd assumed the name-calling was about to start. He'd prepared himself to hear Emma's particular take on the standard male offenses: he was a player; he was unable to communicate; he was a lying, cheating idiot; he did nothing but watch televised sports; he used me as a sex object.
But all Emma had done so far was smile and recite the essentials: they met in an undergraduate zoology course, dated through college, lived together all through vet school, got married in residency, and planned to build a practice and a life together.
Then it fell apart.
The fact that she'd spared him the gory details was so grown-up—and showed such a sense of basic decency—that it was damn near startling.
"What's your little girl's name?" he asked.
Emma's face blossomed with the most perfect smile Thomas had ever seen. "Her name is Elizabeth —we call her Leelee. She's twelve, and she's the smartest and bravest kid on the planet."
The intensity of her response—of her love—startled him. It embarrassed him. He looked away.
That's when he noticed the flutter of a pointy pink ear under Emma's elbow, the only indication that Hairy had accompanied them. The dog had been perfectly silent, tucked down into the well of Emma's baggy sweatshirt, nestled up just below her breasts, sleeping against her
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