Man's Best Friend (The Dogmothers #5) - Roxanne St. Claire Page 0,35

to run into what’s-her-name.”

“Bethany,” he said softly, opening the door to the coffee shop and holding it for her. “Her name was Bethany Tate, and she worked at the fire station for a while.”

“Ah.” The ping of jealousy was light, fast, and not really surprising. “What happened?”

They picked an open booth by the door, sliding in across from each other. “Now that I don’t remember,” he said. “But if you ask my sister, she’ll say I kept the woman at arm’s length and sabotaged the relationship, because apparently that’s my MO.”

She had to smile at his tone, which was rich with sarcasm.

When the waitress greeted them with menus, Declan held out his hand. “Do you have any of your famous pecan pie?”

“The best in Bitter Bark,” she said.

“Don’t tell that to Linda May, but we’ll have an extra large slice, two forks and two coffees. But don’t fill hers to the top, because she likes almost half of it cream.”

Her jaw loosened as a little shiver of surprise ran through her. “Declan.”

“That hasn’t changed, has it?”

“No, but…thanks for remembering.”

He tipped his head as if to say, How could I forget? Which only sent a second shiver through her. So, time for a third shiver, she supposed, ready for whatever he wanted to discuss.

She put her elbows on the table and dropped her chin on her knuckles. “So. What did you want to talk about?”

He flashed a split-second deer-in-the-headlights look at her. “Um…” He shifted in his seat. “What was that thing the vet tech mentioned? Myopic…dysfunctionia?”

She laughed from the belly, the way only Declan could make her laugh. She’d forgotten how much she loved that feeling. “Myotonic dystrophia. I headed a study on it at NC State. Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“It’s really impressive,” he said softly, leaning back and looking at her.

“Nah, the study had a terrific team, and all I did was give orders.”

“I meant your whole career, Evie. I knew you were going to do well, but wow, you’ve knocked it out of the park.”

“Oh please, just because one student knew my work.”

“Don’t be modest. You’re amazing.”

A thread of a memory wound its way around her heart. To your unparalleled amazingness.

She brushed it away, more from habit than anything else, and then the waitress returned with their order, including what looked like a quarter of a pecan pie.

“A four-Kleenex crust,” Declan joked as he picked up his fork and broke off a bit of the piecrust. “Anyway, your career is what you always hoped it would be. You never let anything stop you. That’s…something.”

“I guess,” she said, stirring the extra splash of cream into her coffee, trying to figure out where he was going with this. For some reason, it wasn’t what she expected. “I’ve always been focused.”

“Laserlike,” he agreed. “Nothing ever made you want to get off that track?”

She looked up at him, not sure why he’d ask that question. Why was he dancing around that wretchedly overdue conversation?

“Not really.” She curled her fingers around the warm mug and studied him while she lifted it to her mouth. “Did anything ever make you want to stop being a firefighter, or get off the track toward captain and, ultimately, chief?”

He shook his head. “It’s different for a woman.”

She damn near dropped the cup. “Do you need a time machine to get back to the 1950s, or can you make it all by yourself?”

He smiled and stabbed his fork into the pie with a little too much force. “I’m not trying to be some kind of chauvinist. But I do see this in firefighting. A lot of women have to, you know, make a choice. Work or…” He gave her a pleading look, but she was not helping him out of this hole he was digging harder than he was poking at that pie. “You know. A family.”

She lowered the cup without taking a sip, looking down at the table, knowing it would be easy to give him grief about the old-school mind-set and keep the topic off her personally. Did he really not know why she never married and had a family? Did he really think it was because of work?

But how could she look across this table and say, Work was my consolation prize.

He gestured toward the plate. “Come on. Have some cry pie.” He lifted his brows as if he expected at least a smile for that attempt.

But she couldn’t smile or eat. The subject was too raw. And was he never