He puts the gravy boat down and looks at his plate for a few seconds in quiet contemplation. “Okay, then. Thank you, Tom. I appreciate your sacrifice.”
I’m relieved that this hasn’t put him off dining with our family. Most people appreciate what we’re trying to do, but not everyone does. We’ve had some interesting meals with newcomers who suddenly lose their appetites when they realize their dinner has a name.
Greg picks up the gravy boat and pours a healthy serving over his meat. “What did Tom do to deserve such a fate—death a month before Thanksgiving?”
“He started getting really aggressive with the other birds,” Em says softly. “I was afraid if I let him go for too much longer, he was going to kill one of them. His ending was peaceful. He felt no pain.”
“Gotcha.” He drops some mashed potatoes next to the turkey and follows up with some green beans. He doesn’t seem at all bothered by the fact that he’s eating food with a name on it. I imagined a lawyer like him at least making a face, but he’s as cool as he ever is.
“I guess what they say about lawyers is true,” says Mooch, grinning behind his fork.
Greg starts cutting into his meat as everyone resumes eating. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?” He takes a big bite of the turkey and chews it while he looks at Mooch and waits for his answer.
“Heartless.” Mooch winks at him to take some of the sting out of his words.
Greg points his knife at Mooch’s plate. “I see you’re helping yourself.”
Mooch shrugs. “He went after me the other day, so there was no love lost between Tom and me.”
Everyone around the table chuckles.
Mooch raises his arm to show us the cut on his elbow. “Look. I’m still injured.”
“Oh, you big baby,” Carol says, nudging him. “That’s no worse than a paper cut.”
“What? Paper cuts are the worst,” he says, pretending to be offended. He cups his arm and pouts.
“Lord have mercy,” she says, smiling and eating away, not falling for his act for even a second.
He grins at her before going back to his food. He holds up a slice of turkey and stares at it. “Sorry, Tom, but you messed with the wrong guy.”
I look over at Em, the one responsible for raising the animals, and she’s not laughing. I need to change the subject quickly. “So, how’s the big city?” I ask Greg.
“Good. Loud.”
“I don’t miss that,” Sam says.
“I do,” Amber says. “I miss the activity and all the things going on.” She looks wistful.
“When are you going back?” Greg asks.
“I don’t know. Better ask the boss.” She looks over at Ty.
Emerald snorts but doesn’t say anything. I know what she’s laughing at, though. As if Ty is the boss in that relationship. Yeah, right.
“I can go back whenever,” Ty says, looking around the table. “Just depends on what everybody else wants to do.”
“I’m in no hurry to leave,” says Red. “We’re getting a lot of good things done up here.”
“Excellent. Good news,” Greg says, taking another big bite of his turkey. I’m surprised by his answer. I can’t imagine how it makes his job easier to have them all the way out here, a plane ride instead of a taxi ride away.
The conversation moves to the band’s latest material, and I tune it out. I focus on my food, trying not to go all giddy over the fact that my arm keeps brushing up against Greg’s. We’re both wearing long sleeves, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling the heat coming off his skin. Every once in a while his leg bumps into mine, too. I can’t believe it’s entirely unintentional. Is he thinking the same thing I am? That it feels good to be touching each other? Or am I fooling myself all over again?
“How’s Banana doing?” Greg asks me in a low tone, keeping our conversation somewhat private. He digs into his mashed potatoes as he waits for my answer.
“He’s doing much better. His cast is off now, and he’s walking around on the leg. I had to keep his wound collar cone on, though. You know, the lampshade thingy?” I wait for Greg to nod before I finish. “He still wants to fuss with the surgical site, so it’s the only way to keep it clean.”
“I’ll bet he loves that.” Greg glances at me and smiles, charming me to my toes.
“No, not at all, actually. It really cramps his style.”
“I can imagine. Tink had to wear one once. She was not a fan.”
“How is she doing?”
“She’s doing really well.”
“Who’s taking care of her while you’re gone?” I wait a couple seconds before I finish my sentence. “Veronica again?”
Greg’s face falls into a mask of seriousness. “Yeah.”
That’s all he says, making me think the conversation is now over. I hope I didn’t say something wrong. “Does it bother you that I asked you about her? I don’t mean to pry.”
He shakes his head as he takes another bite of food. “Nope.” He stabs more turkey onto his fork and shoves it into his mouth.
He’s not convincing at all. It makes me smile. “I don’t know how well you can possibly do in the courtroom when you’re such a terrible liar.”
He stops chewing and rests his silverware on the plate as he looks at me. “Come again?” His food is a wad bulging out the side of his mouth.
I smile hard to let him know I’m kidding around. “Aren’t you supposed to have a poker face when you go into the courtroom?”
He swallows his food and wipes his mouth with his napkin, resting his forearm next to his plate and turning his head to look at me. “I don’t go into court that often, but when I do, I always tell the truth, so there’s no need to have a poker face.” His gaze rests on me for several intense seconds before he turns his attention back to his food and picks up his fork again.
“I actually believe you.” I can’t stop grinning as I spear a little pile of green beans with my fork. He’s fun to tease; it’s easy to get him worked up over little things and then—damn—he is so sexy when he gets serious like that. No wonder Amber does it so much. I wonder if he turns her on like he does me. I’m going to have to ask her that. A tiny spark of jealousy lights up in the back of my brain.
“Thank you,” he says. “I think.”
He’s smiling again, the charm of it instantly banishing any negative feelings I have toward my sister. She has her man and she’s perfectly happy with him; besides, she’s told me several times she doesn’t think Greg is all that good-looking. My sister obviously has vision problems. Greg is incredibly hot, and he’s charming to boot. I like it when he and I are getting along like this and he lets his hair down a little. It feels a heck of a lot better than that disastrous phone conversation we had a few days ago. This guy sitting next to me is almost a different person.
Conversation swirls around us, but I don’t care about any of it. I just want to know more about Greg. Now that he’s not being so cold toward me, anyway. After that last phone call, I didn’t think I’d ever see this side of him again. It’s such a relief to find out I was wrong about that.
“Sorry about that weird phone call the other day,” I say in a low voice, praying my sisters won’t hear me.
“Yeah . . . what was that all about?” He wipes his mouth with his napkin and then turns his head to look at me. He’s done with his meal and focuses so much attention on me, it’s unnerving.
I grab the bowl of potatoes and hold it up at him. “Seconds?”
He shakes his head. “No, thanks. I’m still waiting to hear your answer to my question.”
I put the potatoes down and sigh. He may not have much in the way of a poker face, but he gets serious points for persistence. Amber’s too busy arguing about a tour stop with Red to worry about what Greg and I are doing, which means I can’t count on her interruption anytime soon; I’m going to have to explain myself right here at the dinner table.
“It was . . . nothing. Can we just forget it happened?”
He shrugs and picks up his wat
er glass. “Maybe. That depends.”
His tone makes it sound like he’s flirting, but I can’t be sure I’m reading him right. “Depends on what?” I take a sip of my drink, hoping it will help cool me down.
“On whether it has anything to do with that lawsuit you’re dealing with.”
Without thinking, I kick him under the table, making him jump. I speak in a low tone, my eyes darting around, making sure no one is listening. “Don’t say anything about that here.”
He nods slowly but says nothing. The rest of the meal goes by without another word between us. He eats a big piece of pie and I decline dessert, getting up to help clear the table. As soon as I can politely leave without dumping all the work of cleaning up on everybody else, I smile and wave at everyone standing around the table. “I’m off to the clinic. Thanks for a delicious lunch. I’ll see you guys later.” I need to get away from Greg as soon as I can. Once again, I’ve ended up in an embarrassing situation with him, and I’m not interested in dealing with the fallout. I can’t claim there’s an animal emergency and hang up to get rid of him, but I sure can skedaddle out of here.
“I’ll walk you out,” says Greg, getting up and grabbing his jacket off the hook by the door.
I walk past him frowning, knowing I’m being trapped into a conversation I really, really don’t want to have.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Are you mad at me?” Greg asks as we walk down the front porch stairs.
I try not to sound annoyed, but it’s not easy. “Why would I be angry with you?”
“I take it your family doesn’t know about the lawsuit.”
“The question is, how do you know about the lawsuit?” I jam my hands into my pockets and stride toward the clinic. He’s got longer legs than I do, so he easily keeps up.
“I thought I saw something on your desk when I was in your office last time I was here, so I went online to check the public records to confirm.”
“Now, why would you do something like that?” I halt in the driveway to stare at him. I find his intrusiveness both curious and highly annoying.
He stops too and stares back at me, no readable emotion on his face. “I was concerned about you.”
It makes me crazy that he can say something that makes my heart stop with the same tone he’d use to say, ‘I bought two potatoes at the grocery store today.’ I was wrong about him not having a poker face. He not only has a poker face, he has a poker voice. He could win millions in Vegas. He’d probably make a great con man.
“I can handle it myself.” I start walking toward the clinic again, trying to outpace him.
“I’m sure you can,” he says, easily keeping up with me. “My looking into it isn’t the same thing as me saying I don’t think you can handle it.”
As we continue down the lane, I slowly let go of my anger, hearing the truth of his words. He’s just being a nice person, even if he’s a nosy one. Heck, with the family I have, I’m used to that kind of behavior. And he can’t help the fact that he has lawyer-face and lawyer-voice. There’s a reason he’s paid the big bucks; he’s more than good at what he does. He was born to do it, just like I was born to do what I do. Besides . . . I can’t be mad at him for giving a hoot. My heart is telling me it’s time for a confession.
I trudge along, kicking up gravel and slowing my pace because I need time to get this out before we arrive at the clinic. I don’t want to sully my place of work with all this negativity. “The truth of it is, the lawyer who usually handles these things for me died. So I’m not dealing with it as well as I normally would be.”
“He died? That’s terrible. I’m sorry about that.”
“Yes, it is terrible. He was a great guy I’ll miss as a friend, but his death puts me in a bad spot as his client, since I counted on him to help me with any legal issues I had.”
“Do you have new representation?”
“No, but I’m working on it.” Kind of.
We walk for a while in silence before Greg speaks again. “It’s possible I could help you out.”
My heart melts a little. Even though I know it’s not going to happen, just knowing he’d offer eases some of my burden. A girl can never have too many lawyer friends. “That’s really nice . . . seriously. But I’m pretty sure I can’t afford you.”
“How do you know? I haven’t given you a proposal yet.”
“I know how much the band pays you. My sister told me.”
“Maybe I have a special rate for nonprofits.”
I smile sadly at him. “That would be nice. But unless your rate is discounted a hundred percent, I still can’t afford you.”
He looks at me, his face an unreadable mask. “Maybe it is.”
I come to a complete stop, while he keeps going. I’m waiting for him to realize I’m no longer with him and turn around. When he doesn’t, I lift my voice. “Greg? What’s going on?” Total exhaustion is fueling this conversation now. Normally, I would just play the game with him, flirt, do whatever it is we’re doing here, but today I’m too tired from everything that’s been happening in my life to keep up the charade.
He pauses and turns around. “What do you mean?”
“Why did you come out here? Is it because of that stupid phone call I made to you?” I knew I was going to regret doing that. I asked the universe to send me a sign, and I got a heavy breather. Most women would have understood that to mean it’s time to get professional help, yet somehow I interpreted it to mean I should call Greg up like some desperate loser, begging him to give me special favors—free legal advice from one of the more expensive lawyers in the country. What is wrong with me? Why is my vision so skewed where he’s concerned? I never act like this with other men. I’m usually the coolest chick in the room, not caring about any particular guy enough to get nervous.
I glare at the man I’m holding responsible for my lack of control. It’s that damn L.L.Bean catalog that’s messing me up. He needs to stop wearing jeans and flannel shirts that fit like they were custom made and start wearing puffy, pleated corduroys. That’d do the trick of cooling things down and getting him out of my head. I’m going to suggest it as soon as the opportunity arises.
He slowly walks over to where I’m standing, takes me by the elbow, and leads me up the street toward the clinic. “Am I here because of that phone call? Yes and no.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. I’m not going to push. Not yet, anyway. I need time to gather my thoughts. Sometimes it feels like there’s something going on between us, but he was so cold when we last spoke, it hurt. He temporarily became this heartless guy I never would have called if I’d known he would make an appearance. After the few great moments we had together at the clinic, and after he was so tender with Banana, I expected something different. Something warmer, at least. Clearly, I don’t have what it takes to play head games with this guy. And when I think about how much I have to lose—namely my heart—I find myself wishing he had just stayed away. The distance makes things so much easier . . . as long as I stay away from the phone, anyway.
“Are you keeping Banana at the clinic?” he asks.
I’m good with the complete subject change. The Banana topic could keep me busy all day. “Yes. I’m trying to contain him somewhat so he doesn’t overdo it. It’s easy for him to go too far on that leg that’s still healing.”
“I’m guessing he’s a ball of energy.”
“Yes, he definitely is.”
“I’m relieved to hear he’s doing better. I kept tabs on him through your sister, you know.”
“Really? That’s nice.” It is nice, but it’s also not nice. It’s bumming me out to hear that he went through Amber to do that. He could’ve called me to find out about Banana, but he was obviously either not interested enough in the details or didn’t want to talk to me directly. He probably didn’t want to lead me on. And then—oh, God, help me—I called him at his office accusing him of crank-calling me. Good Lord, I think I need an intervention.
“I was going to call you, you know,” he says.
“But you didn’t.” Now I know what it means when people say their heart sank. Mine feels like it just lodged itself in my small intestine.
“No, I didn’t,” he admits.
I’ve already been through that scenario where I think I’m getting along great with a guy and then he stops calling . . . and I’m left to wonder what the heck I did wrong. I don’t want to go through it again, especially not with Greg. Too many members of my family could get involved in the mess it would create. So rather than call him out for playing games, I keep my mouth shut.
The rest of our trip to the clinic passes in silence, which is fine by me. I cannot recall participating in a more uncomfortable conversation, and I’m happy to be done with it. I just wish my head would stop replaying it over and over and over . . .
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
We finally get to the clinic, and I open the door to find a pile of shredded paper in the center of the lobby and Banana sitting in the middle of it. He’s made a nest and he’s proud of it. He looks up at me in greeting and doesn’t even have the decency to appear guilty. As soon as he sees Greg come in behind me, though, he leaps to his feet and half-runs, half-limps over to greet him, passing right by me. I get it; I’m the mean lady who makes him do his physical therapy every day, and no good deed ever goes unpunished. I said the same thing when Hooters, the owl, bit me right as I was releasing him last week.
Greg bends down and allows himself to be licked as he pets Banana and congratulates him on his amazing recovery. I ignore them and walk into the back room, taking off my jacket and checking my hair and face in the mirror. I want to lock the door and never come out when I find a large piece of salad stuck in one of my front teeth. I seem to recall smiling at least once between lunch and now. Why didn’t he say something? Argh, how embarrassing! I shake my head. There is no hope for me. For us. What man would want to be stuck with this mess? I’m wearing clothes covered in stains from work, I’m often seen with animal poo somewhere on my person, and I walk around with lunch in my teeth. Lovely!