As her day began, so it also ended . . .
The sun was setting, turning the sky a pretty orange and violet, as Nic rounded the corner of her block in the historic Butcher Hill area in Baltimore. Close to the hospital and bordered on two sides by green space, it was a diverse neighborhood with friendly people constantly involved in activities meant to foster a sense of community. She was usually too busy to attend those events and on the rare occasion she wasn’t working, she’d much rather spend her time catching up on reading or reviewing notes.
Waving to the retirees chatting outside on their stoops, she sidestepped a father walking alongside his daughter on a tricycle. The smile of paternal pride he directed at the little girl caused a burning ache in her chest.
She’d never known that look.
Nodding briskly to acknowledge their calls of apology, she approached the shiny black door that heralded her arrival at the beautiful brick building she was fortunate enough to call home. She could never live here on what she currently made. As she’d told her friends, she might be a doctor, but her job was still educational, and with student loans and the money she sent monthly to her mother, she was surviving on a pittance. Hearing about Ben’s apartment from a coworker at the hospital and moving in here was one of the best things that had happened to her since meeting the Ladies of Lefevre.
But he didn’t need to know that.
She opened the door and stepped into the split-level entryway and was immediately soothed by the exposed brick walls, bright white moldings, and blond maple hardwood floors. The house alarm dinged, declaring her arrival, and a deep friendly voice called out from above, “You have a package on the counter.”
“Thanks,” she called back.
Her hands skimmed along the wrought-iron banister as she headed downstairs into her “garden” apartment. She dropped her leather tote on her couch and tossed her keys on the dark wood pub table that also housed her mail and several coffee cups. She kicked off her shoes and changed into leggings and one of her favorite T-shirts that read “Unapologetically Brainy Black Girl” before bounding back up the way she came, and going farther, up to the second floor into the main part of the home.
The captivating scent of simmering tomato sauce claimed her attention and alerted her to the fact that Ben was cooking. In response, her stomach growled, demanding that she pick up her pace. The man was a god in the kitchen, possessing the ability to do something Nic had never believed in before meeting him: making healthy food taste good.
Lights from hanging pendants reflected off the dark cabinets and the white marble, greeting her as she walked into the room. Ben stood with his back to her, his tall frame covered in a maroon T-shirt and dark gray sweatpants, tossing vegetables from a cutting board into a stainless steel frying pan.
“How much longer?” she asked.
“Hello to you, too,” he said, stirring the contents with a wooden spoon.
She spied the brown parcel sitting on the countertop. “Is that it?”
“Your package? Yeah.”
Excitement was a temporary dam for her ravenous exhaustion as she tore open the box and squealed in delight at its contents.
Ben finally glanced at her over his shoulder, a dark brow arched. “What is it this time?”
“Goat milk soap, whipped body cream, and a curl pudding for my hair,” she responded absently, checking to confirm everything she’d ordered was in the package.
“Good grief!” He snorted and turned back to the food he was preparing.
“I didn’t ask for your commentary, Charlie Brown,” she said, picking up each item and inhaling its wonderful scent.
Caila was into designer purses; Ava was all about shoes; Lacey was their resident fashionista. For Nic, it was hair and skincare products. Face cleansers, moisturizers, lotions, hair products—she loved them all. And the more luxurious, decadent, and lusciously scented the better. Sometimes, when she needed a break from studying and researching, she’d surf her favorite beauty brands online and imagine what she’d purchase when she got her first real check working as a team physician.
La Mer Moisturizing Cream, anyone?
“Let me guess: they’re from some organic boutique shop you saw online where each delicate, vegan bar cost about twenty dollars?”
“Wrong,” she said snidely—but only because she’d gotten the lot on sale. She always waited for the sales.
“Ahhh.” His head bobbed. “You got them on sale.”
If she didn’t value these soaps so much, she’d throw one at him.
“I have dry, sensitive skin”—which was true, but it was also what allowed her to justify spending money now—“and with the constant hand washing and antibacterial sanitizer, I have to take precautions to keep these babies”—she wiggled her fingers—“healthy. They’re my money makers. I keep them moisturized and pampered. Now, as a white man who’d never thought about lotion until I moved in—”
“I still don’t,” he interrupted.
“—I understand moisturized skin may not be important to you.”
“Ha. Ha.” He smirked, lobbing something in her direction.
She watched as the broccoli floret bounced on the counter before falling to the floor. She pointed to it. “That’s from your half of dinner.”
“Riddle me this, Queen of Self-care, why don’t your insides rate the same consideration as your outsides?”
“Excuse me?”
“You obsess over the glop you put on your skin and your hair, but the food you eat? Jesus. If I didn’t feed you, your entire diet would consist of sugary carbs, protein bars, and ramen noodles.”
She frowned, taken aback. She didn’t know he had an issue with cooking for her. “You offered. I never asked you to, so if it’s a bother—”
“Nic, I’m not complaining. Just making an observation. And it’s not a bother. If I’m cooking, I’ll make enough for you. Don’t I always?”
He did. Which was one of the many reasons why, though the rent was a tad more than she could afford, and her budget was tight, she gladly paid what she did to live there. It had been a wonderful three years, especially since leaving the situation she’d been in for the first two years of her residency. The third time she’d come home from an overnight shift to find some random half-naked dude eating her leftover pizza on the couch was the third time too many.
“Those would be my plans, too, if I had the rich and sexy Benjamin Reed Van Mont waiting for me.”
The sleeves of Ben’s T-shirt hugged his biceps while the muscles in his back and shoulders bunched as he stirred the pan’s contents. Nic swallowed. The scenery was definitely better now than it had been at her old place, too, though this was the first time that particular thought had crossed her mind.
And she didn’t like it.
“Uh . . . how was your day?” she asked, attempting to get things back on track.
“Busy.” He turned off the stove and covered the pan with a lid. “I met with a potential new client. Someone who recently came into a large amount of money and wants help managing it.”
Unlike the others in his family, Ben hadn’t gone the medical route. He had his own business; was an in-demand financial advisor who operated a successful boutique investment advisory firm. She respected his initiative. His family had enough money that he could’ve spent his life living off his trust fund. Instead, he’d worked hard to build something for himself.
Ben pulled down a stemless wineglass, filled it with her favorite sweet red blend, and placed it in front of her.
“Thanks.” She took a sip and moaned low in her throat. So good. “Sounds kind of boring.”
Ben’s gaze heated and flicked to her mouth before quickly rebounding away. Her lips tingled, as if aware of the drive-by visual caress.
That moment of intensity had briefly altered his face. Or maybe her perception of it. But in that instant, she could see what Amalia had meant.
Sexy.
He smiled and once again, he was Ben, her friend. “Maybe. To the uninformed.”
What the hell? Had she imagined that flash of interest?
He was still talking. “Would it change your mind if I told you the client is the creator behind one of the hottest up-and-coming social media platforms?”
Dammit! Amalia’s comment was playing with her head. What she’d seen had clearly been a trick of the light. Everything was fine.
“Really?” She wasn’t on social media. Especially after the Baby Boy incident. She barely had time to live her own life. She didn’t want to waste it reading about anyone else’s. But that didn’t stop her from being curious. “Which one?”
“Ahhhh,” he said, waving a teasing finger in her face. “Not so boring now, huh?”
She grabbed his finger. “Which one?”
He broke from her hold as easily as if she were a wet tissue, which at six foot one to her five-three, wasn’t that difficult. “I can’t tell you. It’s privileged.”
“I’ll check with Ava, but I’m pretty sure there isn’t such a thing as financial planner–client privilege.”
“There is such a thing as confidentiality and my clients expect that of the person they trust with their personal finances.”
He was right. And she should know, since he’d helped her figure out her current budget. She’d flip the fuck out if she thought he was sharing her information with other people.
“Well, you brought it up,” she retorted. “Will signing this new client be a burden on your workload?”
He was brilliant when it came to money and his talents could help a lot of people. But he insisted on keeping his company small.
“No, I can handle it. But if I need to cull my list, I know where I can start,” he said, displaying a sly smile.
“Don’t you dare!”
He laughed and the corners of her mouth tilted up in an automatic response. She couldn’t help it. Being with Ben, talking to him—it always made her feel better.
“How was your day?”
His query brought back her incident with the intern. She rolled her eyes. “Days like today have me counting down until I leave for Durham.”
He frowned. “Why? What happened?”
She braced her elbow on the counter and laid her cheek in her palm. “I had an incident with an intern.”
He began plating their food. “There’s always those first-year residents who graduate medical school thinking they know everything, not realizing they learn best by keeping their mouths shut and listening.”
Ben could give advice on that subject. He was a great listener. He provided a safe space for her to vent with someone who understood what she was going through. She never worried about the politics of talking to him, afraid that her opinion would get back to the wrong people. He kept her confidence, which allowed her to keep her sanity. She shook her head and grabbed the can of pecans on the counter, popping one in her mouth. “Exactly. I keep forgetting you’re not a doctor.”
He actually shuddered. “Fuck no.”
“Hey! That’s not nice.”
He shrugged. “Doctors aren’t nice.”
She pursed her lips. “Says the person who isn’t one.”
“Says the person who’s grown up around them his entire life.” He poured himself a glass of some dry blend that probably cost more than her entire outfit. Which wasn’t saying much, but still . . . “So, what happened?”
“It’s not worth getting into, but I handled it.” She swallowed another sip of wine. “I can’t wait until this is all behind me and I’m focusing solely on sports medicine at Duke. I heard some of the fellows actually get to go to the Carolina Panther football games.”
Ben stared at her. “You hate football.”
“I know, but the possibility of being on the sidelines if an injury occurs?” She gave him a goofy grin and two thumbs-up.
“You’re morbid.” Ben scooped the plates off the counter.
“Committed,” she corrected him, grabbing their glasses and following him past the marble countertop bar and the gorgeous oak wood farmhouse table in the eat-in kitchen to the large sectional in the living room.
Ben set their plates on the coffee table. “You may need to be.”
“Ha. Ha.” Nic snagged the remote and aimed it at the large flat-screen TV mounted on the brick accent wall above the fireplace.
He settled next to her on the couch and frowned. “What are you doing?”
She engaged the TV guide, looking for her favorite channel. “It’s my turn.”
“You can’t be serious! The NBA finals are about to start.”
“In three days.”
“So? I gotta see what the analysts are saying.”
“Give me a break. You can watch all of those shows on the ESPN app tomorrow.”
“It’s not the same,” he grumbled. “Fine. But I’m not watching—”
“I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” she said, exhaling in pleasure at the two women on the screen getting into an argument in a restaurant.
Scowling, Ben picked up their plates and stood.
She jerked. “Hey! Bring back my food!”
“If I can’t watch basketball, you can’t watch your housewife show. If you want to eat this dinner, you need to compromise and pick something else.”
She narrowed her eyes, annoyance settling in and readying her for battle. But she looked at the food on the plate and her mouth watered. All she’d had time for after her impromptu trip to the ER had been a bag of chips from the vending machine. That had been around noon. Then she’d finished seeing patients in the clinic, scrubbed in to do a surgery, prepped the OR schedule for the following day and . . .
Dammit.
Twisting her lips, she put the channel on HGTV. “Same wager as usual?”
“Yup. The person who picks the winning house doesn’t have to do the dishes.”
“Can you feed me now?”
Smiling, he sat down and handed her a plate. “My pleasure.”
Warmth suffused her body and she stiffened at the unexpected and unwelcome response. That smile. The one that carved crinkles at the corners of his eyes, creased lines in his golden cheeks, and showed off his straight white teeth. That smile? For some reason, it was hitting her sweet spot tonight.
Unaware—thankfully—of her sudden confusion, he nudged her shoulder before digging into his food. On the screen, the couple was listening as the Realtor listed off the first home’s features.
He scoffed. “Nope. It has a pool. The wife clearly said she didn’t want a pool.”
Nic pushed her food around her plate, her appetite diminishing in the wake of that brief moment of awareness. She enjoyed spending time with Ben. She worked eighty-hour weeks at the hospital and when she wasn’t working, she was usually occupied with studying, research, or preparing for presentations. Residency, and being chief resident, left little time for socializing. When she did come home, Ben always welcomed her with food and his company. Or, if it was really late, he’d leave a plate downstairs for her. It all worked because Ben was her friend, nothing else.
She eyed Ben out of the corner of her eye as he shook his head at something on the screen. It’s not as if she hadn’t thought about it. When they first met, she couldn’t deny she’d found his tall fit body, dark curly hair, and rich brown eyes attractive. But it didn’t take her long to discover he wasn’t her usual brooding, bad boy type. The type that fucked well but sucked at any other interaction. Ben was a good guy.
And good guys wanted good girls. He’d never made a move on her or exhibited any behavior that hinted at a sexual attraction. He watched out for her, took care of her. In the beginning, she hadn’t expected this treatment to last. Surely, any woman he was dating wouldn’t like him feeding his attractive roommate dinner, no matter their claim of friendship. But in the three years she’d lived here, none of the women had ever interfered. Speaking of . . .
“How’s Jennifer?”
Ben’s broad shoulders stiffened. “I wouldn’t know. We broke up three weeks ago.”
“Oh!” Her stomach twisted.
In surprise? Or a recently discovered relief?
Nic had liked Jennifer. Kind of. She’d been better than the others, though the times she’d come over she’d been a bit boring. But Ben seemed to have a type. Like Emily the administrative assistant, who’d thought she’d bake her way into his heart, or Gabby the Pilates instructor, who’d enjoyed reminding Nic of how flexible she was. In the middle of the living room.
Bitchy, much?
Yeah, probably. She’d long ago accepted who she was. But Ben was smart, funny, and capable—she didn’t understand his attraction to women who didn’t seem . . . challenging.
To each his own, she guessed. At least they were nice. Perfectly fine marriage material, something she knew was important to Ben. Not everyone would have her mindset. She’d put in too much time and money to give it up for a man. She had sex when she wanted it, but she was married to her work.
With effort, she shook off that earlier thirst misstep. She wouldn’t let any of that weirdness affect them. Dick came and went, but good friends were a treasure and few and far between. You held on to them, no matter what.
“I’m sorry,” she finally said, after a pregnant pause so long it was post term.
“It was for the best.”
Since he didn’t appear to want to talk about it any more than she did, she returned her attention to her plate. She took a bite, and the delicious flavors reawakened her appetite. When she was done, she put the empty dish on the table and leaned back against the couch, pulling her feet up beneath her.
“That was great, as usual. Thank you.”
“No problem. You were clearly hungry.”
“Because you probably won’t have to wash that plate? Or because you know I barely eat at work?”
“Well, both and because”—he pointed to her head—“you didn’t pause to take your hair down.”
“You’re right. I got sidetracked by my packages and the food.”
She gently pulled the elastic from her hair and immediately sighed, closing her eyes as the weight of her ringlets was released from her head and fell around her shoulders. She dug the pads of her fingers in and began massaging her scalp, grateful for the reprieve. She didn’t even try to contain her moans of relief. When she opened her eyes, she found Ben staring at her, the muscle in his upper jaw twitching.
“What?” She let her hand fall from her hair.
He started and cleared his throat, pink tinging his cheekbones. “Nothing.”
That earlier trace of awareness skittered through her again. Was she horny? She’d been flirting with an anesthesiology resident, and one night when they’d both been on call they’d made use of one of the on-call rooms to scratch that particular itch. When had that been? She thought back. It was before she’d gone on vacation, there had been snow on the ground . . .
Good Lord, it had been six months!
Damn.
Maybe that explained why she was suddenly thinking about Ben in a way she shouldn’t.
He leaned an arm along the top edge of the sofa and they continued watching the show, shouting out comments and suggestions as the couple visited the final two houses. In the end, the couple picked the first house.
“What the fuck? She said she didn’t want a pool,” Ben said, picking up their plates and carrying them into the kitchen.
Nic snuggled back against the cushions. “But it had the best master bedroom suite. That walk-in closet was incredible.”
“When’s your next day off?”
She yawned. “I’m on call tomorrow, so Thursday.”
“You have any plans?”
Why did her eyelids suddenly feel as if they weighed fifty pounds each? “Gotta finish up my presentation on osteochondroma.”
“What’s that?”
“Benign bone tumors,” she said, exhaling as the sofa welcomed her into its plushy depths. God, it had been a long day.
“Are you listening to me?”
Hadn’t she just responded to him? She’d told him what osteochondroma meant. “Uh-huh.”
“What was the last thing I said?”
Nic wanted to respond, but exhaustion arrived on an express train, offering her first-class accommodations and ready to drag her down into slumber. The last thing she remembered as she succumbed to mindless fatigue was being covered with a comfy throw, her curls gently brushed off her face.