used in her shower, and it went right to his nose and straight on into his hormones. They were very interested.
But best of all, he was happy she was here on his patio with him…and relaxed. He knew they had things to talk about—difficult things—but he was loath to broach them and risk the tension returning.
She was spreading the soft blue cheese onto her piece of bread when she paused and looked at him suddenly. “Bread.”
He grimaced. “Yeah, I know—carbs—”
“No, no…did you make this bread?”
Maybe she was just as eager as he was to keep unpleasant things stowed away—at least for a while.
“Yes,” he replied.
“It’s amazing. I love the sun-dried tomatoes in it. It goes so well with this cheese.” She was practically moaning again, which did not help the situation in his suddenly tight board shorts. “I wouldn’t have guessed if Orbra hadn’t mentioned that you’d made her some sun-dried tomato sourdough. It’s so good I would’ve assumed you got it from the bakery in town.”
He was ridiculously pleased. “Thanks. I’m still perfecting the recipe. I’m glad you like it. It’s one of my favorites too.”
“So, uh…when do you actually work? You are a doctor, aren’t you? Don’t you have an office or go into the hospital? I don’t even know what your specialty is,” she added with a frown. “Weren’t you going to be a surgeon?”
There it was…that subtle reminder of the past. The last time they’d known each other, he had indeed been thinking about general surgery.
And it also indicated that she hadn’t been asking around about him. Which was a disappointment.
“Radiology. And I work from home most of the time. A lot of us do.” He went on to explain how that worked. “So that means I have a lot of time to let dough rise in between checking my messages and doing assessments and evaluations,” he added with a smirk. “And I can toss a couple loaves in the oven and still be available to review any X-rays or ultrasounds that come through.”
“And,” she said, pointing at him with an olive-studded toothpick, “you can work in your boxers or here on the patio—or even in bed. Can’t beat that.”
“Nope.” He sipped the wine again, then refilled both of their glasses.
She took a taste, then suddenly whipped her attention to him. “Oh my gosh, Jake, I’m so sorry…I never told you. I’m so sorry about your mom. Really sorry.” She looked stricken. “I should have said something sooner. You always seemed very close to her.”
“I was.” He would not let his throat close up. “I’m sorry you never met her. You— I think you would have liked her.”
She nodded, and he wondered to himself why she’d never met either of his parents. Why he’d never introduced her to them. He’d met her mother once—that had been interesting—and her grandmother twice, both in New York.
He guessed she’d never met his parents because they never traveled to New York. Besides working all the time, his pop was pretty old school and refused to set foot on a plane, and had no patience or desire for any traveling that was greater than fifty miles away. And Jake and Vivien had dated for a little under nine months, missing the year-end holidays that might have included family visits.
He supposed part of it was that he’d always thought they’d have time for that—family holidays and such—later, and that he wanted to just enjoy Vivien and their life at NYU without the complications of family. His sisters would have had their collective noses all up in his stuff if he’d brought a woman home to meet the parents. Even now, he shuddered a little at the thought.
“It was so nice of you to move here to be close to your father,” she said. “Who, by the way, is absolutely adorable.”
He lifted a brow. “Adorable? Pop? How much wine have you had, Vivien Leigh?”
She gave a dusky little laugh. “Not nearly enough to forget that someone—or something—is trying to chase me away from the theater.” She sobered. “Jake.” Her eyes—wide and anxious—fastened on him. “I don’t know what the hell is going on. And why.”
“I know—”
“But I sure as hell am going to find out. And whoever they are, I’m going to ruin them.”
He nodded. “I have no doubt of that. But VL…I want to help you. Will you let me?”
Vivien’s chest felt tight. She wanted to. She wanted to let go, to trust, to accept the help and support, because this was