I didn’t want to admit that maybe it had something to do with a certain widow, because that would have been dangerous. As curious as I was about Bridget Valentine, I couldn’t do anything more than just fancy her. She was someone’s mum, for Christ’s sake. You don’t mess with that. I’d be leaving town in a matter of months when my residency ended. So, the only women safe enough to date were those I was certain weren’t looking for anything more than a casual fling.
Brianna turned to me. “Dr. Hogue, did you even hear what I said?”
“Huh?”
She liked calling me Dr. Hogue instead of Simon. It might have been cute while we were screwing, but it was starting to annoy me.
She continued, “I was saying we should try this new bar that opened on Wickenden. It’s right around the corner from my apartment.”
I knew she assumed I’d be going back to her place. But I really didn’t want to.
“Actually, I have an early morning appointment. So, unfortunately, I have to head back to my apartment.”
“Aw, you suck, Dr. Hogue.” She giggled. “Just kidding…I still love you,” she teased as she wrapped her arms around my neck and reached up to kiss me.
After dropping Brianna off at the bar where she planned to meet up with some friends, I drove over the bridge back to our sleepy suburb.
As I passed the white church with its high steeple near the center of town, I was reminded of how nice it was to be able to escape the city yet still live close enough to enjoy it when I wanted. We lived on a peninsula and were surrounded by water.
When I pulled into the driveway, I noticed that Bridget’s living room light was still on. Although I knew she liked her privacy, I wondered if she might be up for a late tea. I could show her the videos of WaterFire I’d taken. After all, if I was being honest, I took that footage for her, because she said she’d never had the chance to go.
I’d had a bag of leftover chicken dinner sitting on the passenger seat. It was lined in aluminum to keep the food warm and had roosters all over the exterior of the bag. The restaurant we’d gone to was known for serving fifty different varieties of chicken. The meal was delicious, but they’d given me way too much food. Maybe she would want some.
Ringing the doorbell might have woken Brendan, so I opted not to.
While I had a key to the entrance of my studio apartment, I didn’t have a key to the main house. Even though I could access Bridget’s kitchen from a set of stairs in my space, I opted to knock on her window.
She’d been reading on the couch and jumped up to let me in.
When she opened, I lifted the bag of chicken. “Care for some cock?”
“Wow. Does it taste as good as it looks?” Bridget bent over the oven to remove the tray of food she’d popped in to reheat. She was wearing thin, little shorts, and I swallowed finding myself mulling over the question inappropriately. I cleared my throat and forced my eyes from her ass.
“Even better, actually.”
She removed the oven mitts and grabbed two plates from the cabinet. “Will you join me? I hate to eat alone.”
Of course, I’d already had my meal earlier. But I could almost always eat. “Sure.” I walked to the refrigerator. “What would you like to drink?”
“Actually, I’d love some wine. There’s an unopened bottle in the door. I don’t get to drink too often because I make it a rule to never drink alone. After…the accident, there were a few tough months that I started to do that, and I realized it would be very easy to make it a daily habit with no one to answer to. So I made it a rule to only drink with others.”
“I suppose that’s a good rule.” I didn’t drink often either, but that was more for a lack of time and a lack of tolerance for feeling like shit while working a twenty-hour shift. I removed the Sauvignon blanc from the refrigerator and rummaged through a drawer until I found a corkscrew. It opened with a loud pop that made Bridget smile.
“I love that sound,” she said. “I don’t know why.”
I poured two glasses, and Bridget asked if I would mind eating in the living room on the coffee table because Brendan was a light sleeper and would hear us less in there. She set the plates on the table, and I brought our wine glasses, as well as the bottle.
When I’d knocked and nearly scared the crap out of her a few minutes earlier, she’d been reading, so I picked up her book. “And what are we reading here?”
Bridget practically lunged at me to grab the book out of my hand, which only served to make me even more curious. I held it above my head, out of her reach. “It seems like you don’t want me to see what you’re reading.”