her fingers brush against his. With a few quick moves, he removed the cork and set it off to the side. Hanging below the cabinet near the oven were glasses, and Paul moved toward them. He took one out and hesitated.
“Would you like me to pour you a glass?”
“Why not?” she said, still feeling the sensation of his touch.
Paul poured two glasses and brought one over. He smelled the wine, then took a sip as Adrienne did the same. As the flavor lingered on the back of her throat, she found herself still trying to make sense of things.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“It’s good.”
“That’s what I think.” He swirled the wine in his glass. “Actually, it’s better than I thought it would be. I’ll have to remember this.”
Adrienne felt the sudden urge to retreat and took a small step backward. “Let me get started on the chicken.”
“I guess that’s my signal to get to work.”
As Adrienne found the roasting pan beneath the oven, Paul set his glass on the counter and moved to the sink. After turning on the faucet, he soaped and scrubbed his hands. She noticed that he washed both the front and the back, then cleaned his fingers individually. She turned on the oven, set it to the temperature she wanted, and heard the gas click to life.
“Is there a peeler handy?” he asked.
“I couldn’t find one earlier, so I think you’ll have to use a paring knife. Is that okay?”
Paul laughed under his breath. “I think I can handle it. I’m a surgeon,” he said.
As soon as he said the words, it all clicked: the lines on his face, the intensity of his gaze, the way he’d washed his hands. She wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before. Paul moved beside her and reached for the potatoes, then began cleaning them.
“You practiced in Raleigh?” she asked.
“I used to. I sold my practice last month.”
“You retired?”
“In a way. Actually, I’m heading off to join my son.”
“In Ecuador?”
“If he’d asked, I would have recommended the south of France, but I doubt he would have listened to me.”
She smiled. “Do they ever?”
“No. But then again, I didn’t listen to my father, either. It’s all part of growing up, I guess.”
For a moment, neither of them said anything. Adrienne added assorted spices to the chicken. Paul started to peel, his hands moving efficiently.
“I take it Jean’s worried about the storm,” he commented.
She glanced at him. “How could you tell?”
“Just the way you got quiet on the phone. I figured she was telling you what needed to be done to get the house ready.”
“You’re pretty perceptive.”
“Is it going to be hard? I mean, I’d be glad to help if you need it.”
“Be careful—I just might take you up on that. My exhusband was the one who was good with a hammer, not me. And to be honest, he wasn’t all that good, either.”
“It’s an overrated skill, I’ve always believed.” He set the first potato on the chopping block and reached for the second one. “If you don’t mind my asking, how long have you been divorced?”
She wasn’t sure she wanted to talk about this, but surprised herself by answering anyway.
“Three years. But he’d been gone for a year before that.”
“Do the kids live with you?”
“Most of the time. Right now, they’re on school break, so they’re visiting their father. How long’s it been for you?”
“Just a few months. It was final last October. But she was gone for a year before that, too.”
“She was the one who left?”
Paul nodded. “Yeah, but it was more my fault than hers. I was hardly home, and she just got fed up with it. If I were her, I probably would have done the same thing.”
Adrienne mused over his answer, thinking that the man standing next to her seemed nothing like the man he just described. “What kind of surgery did you do?”
After he told her, she looked up. Paul went on, as if anticipating questions.
“I got into it because I liked to see the obvious results of what I was doing, and there was a lot of satisfaction in knowing that I was helping people. In the beginning, it was mainly reconstructive work after accidents, or birth defects, things like that. But in the last few years, it’s changed. Now, people come in for plastic surgery. I’ve done more nose jobs in the past six months than I ever imagined possible.”
“What do I need done?” she asked playfully.
He shook his head. “Nothing