But damn it, I am not going to let the fact that Angie Simpson was born with a silver spoon in her mouth—or that she’s my student—bring me down tonight.

  “Do you like wine?” I ask.

  “Oh, love it.” She opens her back door and puts the dog down on her back porch. She closes the door and looks back at me. “My uncle and my cousin make some of the best wine in—” She stops abruptly.

  “It’s all right. I know all about your vineyards. I’m afraid this isn’t Steel wine. It’s”—I quickly read the label—“a classic red from some vineyard in California.”

  “I’m sure it’s great.”

  “I don’t know anything about wine. I’m not even sure where this bottle came from. Someone must’ve brought it to me, and I stuck it in a cupboard.”

  Which means I’ve had this bottle of wine since…

  Since before.

  I shake the thought out of my head.

  Angie takes the bottle from me and walks into her kitchen. I follow. She grabs a corkscrew out of a drawer and expertly removes the cork. Then she grabs two goblets, places something on top of the wine bottle, and pours the wine through it.

  “What’s that?” I ask her.

  “It’s an aerator,” she says. “It negates the need for decanting. It breathes the wine for you.”

  I cock my head. “Breathes the wine?”

  She nods. “Gives it a little more body. Lets the flavors bloom.”

  I didn’t even know wine should breathe. Tells you how much I know.

  Lindsay didn’t drink. She was severely allergic to the histamines in red wine, and other than that, she just didn’t like what alcohol did to her. So when I wanted to have a bourbon, I would go out with the guys.

  The guys don’t exist anymore.

  “So you want to tell me about your good news?” Angie asks, handing me a glass.

  I open my mouth to speak, but then I close it again.

  What was I thinking?

  Yes, I got some amazing news today. But if I tell Angie what it is, I’ll have to tell her the whole story.

  I’m not ready to tell her that.

  It’s not something I like to think about.

  Even though sometimes all I do is think about it.

  “Earth to Jason?” she says.

  “Sorry about that.” I frown, grabbing my wineglass. “I just… I suppose you may wonder why I teach.”

  “Because you like teaching?”

  I’m sure she’s read my bio on the med school website. I’m a board-certified general surgeon and a fellow. So why wouldn’t I be cutting instead of teaching?

  “Sure, teaching is okay,” I say, “but what I really love is performing surgery.”

  “So why aren’t you doing it?”

  “Kind of like the old adage, I guess,” I say. “Those who can, do, and those who can’t, teach.”

  She drops her jaw.

  I hold up a hand. “I’m not saying I’m not good enough. Well, I guess I’m not now.” I take a sip of wine. “But I was good, Angie. I was amazing.”

  I should be embarrassed at tooting my own horn like that, but I’m not. Because I’m not lying. I was on the fast track to being something great. Being an award winner, being a person who came up with new ways to save lives.

  “What I mean is, I injured my hand three years ago. My right hand, my dominant hand. Without two steady hands, as you know, a physician can’t cut people open.”

  She gasps. “I’m so sorry. What happened?”

  Of course. The question I knew she’d ask. Everyone does.

  So I say my rehearsed answer. “I was in an automobile accident.”

  “Oh no. And there’s nothing they can do?”

  I gesture to the bottle of wine. “That’s why I’m here, actually. Today I got some good news. From two of my colleagues. My neurologist and a bright young neurosurgeon. Dr. Patel—she’s the neurosurgeon—has this new technique with nerve grafting, and she thinks I’m a great candidate.”

  Angie’s eyes go wide. “Really? That’s wonderful.”

  “There are no guarantees, of course. But it’s the best news I’ve had in a long time. And I felt like celebrating with someone.”

  “Why me?” she asks.

  Why her indeed?

  Because I have no other friends.

  Because she’s the hottest thing walking.

  Because all I can think about is getting her into bed.

  Which would get me fired, of course.

  “Because you’re my neighbor,” I say, hating the lie. “I can drink myself into oblivion here and not have to drive home.”

  God, what a crock. I can drink myself into oblivion anywhere and call an Uber or cab.

  Besides the fact that I don’t even drink much. Even all those years, going through the loss and the pain, it never occurred to me to take a drink.

  “Oh.” Her voice holds a trace of sadness.

  She thinks I came over here for…

  What did I come for?

  And the answer is a simple one.

  Yes, I wanted to celebrate with someone. Even though it could all be for nothing.

  But the big reason is simple.

  I wanted to see her.

  I want to talk to her. Maybe get to know her. Maybe…

  God.

  She’s so different from Lindsay. Dark where Lindsay was blond, quiet where Lindsay was boisterous.

  But brilliant, already I can tell. And Lindsay was also brilliant.

  She took the MCATs with me for kicks. And she only scored one point below me. She hadn’t even taken all the pre-med courses.

  But teaching was her calling, and her students loved her. God, those years I was in med school and then my residency were tough on our marriage. But we got through it.

  Only to lose everything.

  I take another sip of wine.

  I don’t know anything about wine, but it tastes good.

  “It’s good,” Angie says. “Very fruit forward. Of course that’s common for table wine.”

  I raise my eyebrows.

  She smiles shyly. “My mom again. She knows a lot about wine, but it’s her brother, my uncle Ryan, who knows the most. He’s really gifted. A true artist. And my cousin Dale, who now runs Steel Vineyards, is nearly as good. I’d say it ran in the family, except that Dale was adopted.” Her cheeks are rosy. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m babbling. You probably know all about my family.”

  “No,” I say honestly. “I mean, I know of them. But it’s not like I keep up on all the gossip or anything.”

  “Just as well.” She bites her lip. “I suppose you don’t hear about us much here. On the Western Slope, there’s always something going on that people are whispering about.”

  “I’m sorry you have to go through that.”

  She shrugs. “I’m used to it. Besides, I’m very grateful. Look at the way I get to live. My family is worth a fortune, and I’m a beneficiary of some of it. So how can I be anything but grateful?”

  Wow.

  She’s certainly not a spoiled rich brat. Not that I thought she was. If that were the case, she’d be partying, driving around in an expensive car, and spending her money on frivolous things. She certainly wouldn’t be going to medical school. She’s choosing to put herself through these grueling four years and an even more grueling five or six afterward.

  Angie Simpson is about as real a person as I’ve met in a long time.

  “Let me grill the sandwiches really quick,” she says. She puts together a second sandwich and then throws them both into what looks like a waffle iron. Then she pours ladles of soup into two bowls and takes them over to the small table in her kitchen.

  She wraps her fingers around the fridge door. “Would you like something else to drink? I have water or soda. Or we can just have the wine.”

  “I think water would be great. Thank you.”

  I really need to watch myself. I don’t drink often, so my tolerance is shit. And if I drink too much, I might just do something that will cost me my job.

  Angie nods and fills two cups of water, adds ice, places them on the table, and then returns to the counter, where she opens the waffle iron and uses a spatula to pull out two gooey grilled cheese sandwiches.

  “I just use regular old cheddar,” she says. “I’m not really into stinky cheese.”

  I can’t help a chuckle. “Cheddar’s great. But I kind of think that when it comes to cheese, the stinkier the better.”

  She wrinkles her nose adorably. “You sound like my mom. I’ve never met a chef that doesn’t love stinky cheese. Or goat cheese, which is the worst.”

  I laugh. “I love goat cheese.”

  “Then I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave my house,” she says, her eyes bright.

  I grin. “I guess it would have never worked out between us anyway.”

  She narrows her eyes. “Because of the cheese? Or because you’re my professor?”

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

  Are we flirting?

  It’s been so long since I flirted with someone. I’m a little rusty.

  Angie smiles and gestures to a chair. “Have a seat.”

  I wait for her to sit, and then I take the place across from her. She’s even put out cloth napkins.

  Impressive.

  I place mine across my lap and take another sip of my wine.

  “Well,” she says, “dig in. But be careful. The cheese is going to be really hot.” As she says this, she opens her two slices of bread, and steam drifts out. “Helps a little.”

  I repeat her movements. Then I take a sip of the water.

  I decide to start with the tomato soup.

  I bring a spoonful to my lips, blow on it, and then let it float over my tongue.

  And wow.

  It’s like tasting the essence of a sun-warmed tomato. The flavor is rich, velvety smooth, and bright, with that deep sweetness only a perfectly ripe tomato has. The subtle tang is balanced with a hint of roasted garlic and fresh basil that lingers just long enough to make me want another taste.

  So I take another taste.

  Then another.

  And then I speak. “This may be the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

  Her cheeks redden further.

  Oh, God…

  She’s thinking…

  And I’m thinking…

  I’d love to taste her pussy on my tongue.

  Am I ready?

  Am I truly ready?

  I haven’t been with a woman since…

  And she’s a student, for fuck’s sake. A student.

  Hell, simply being in her home could be grounds for me to be fired.

  But she let me in her home.

  And I think she might let me in her, too.

  Angie clears her throat, jerking me out of my thoughts.

  “I’ll be sure to tell my mom how much you like it.”

  I nod. “Best tomato soup ever. I don’t think I’ll ever eat tomato soup out of a can again.”

  “My mom would love that,” she says. “She’ll say something like, ‘if I got one person off canned soup, I’ve done my job for the universe.’”

  I smile. “Your mom sounds like an interesting person.”

  She chuckles. “She is. She’s the youngest of four, and the other three are brothers, so they were always protective of her. My uncle Ryan is the youngest of the three, and he’s seven years older than my mom. My uncle Joe, the oldest, is thirteen years older, and my mom ended up marrying his best friend. So there’s a huge age gap between them. Thirteen years.”

  I tilt my head.

  Interesting that she mentioned the age gap.

  She and I probably have an age gap of just about that much.

  Is she telling me that doesn’t matter to her?

  Or is she telling me…

  I take another sip of wine.

  She’s telling me absolutely nothing. She’s merely making conversation.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m babbling again.”

  “Do you babble when you’re nervous?” I ask.

  More red cheeks. If this goes on, her cheeks are going to be the color of a fire engine before we’re done.

  The idea arouses me. I wonder if the blush in her cheeks spreads to her breasts.

  In fact, I’m pretty hard right now, sitting at her kitchen table, eating her mother’s soup.

  Thinking about the creaminess of the paradise between her legs.

  I can’t deny I was attracted to her the first time I saw her. Hell, I kissed her.

  But now…

  Now that I’m actually feeling hopeful for the first time in so long… I’m feeling…

  Feeling for the first time that I would really like to get to know a woman.

  This woman in particular.

  Why did she have to be my student?

  I can’t lose my job.

  Of course, if the surgery goes as planned, my teaching job won’t matter anymore. No one would care if a nonteaching doctor took a medical student for himself. People might roll their eyes, purse their lips. But my job wouldn’t be in jeopardy.

  “I’m not nervous,” she says, looking at her sandwich. She picks it up. “It’s probably cool enough now.” She takes a dainty bite.

  “Good. I don’t want you to be nervous.” I raise my wineglass. “We’re just neighbors, Angie. Tonight we’re just neighbors.”

  She clinks her glass to mine. “Sounds good to me.”

  I pick up my sandwich and take a bite.

  The sandwich is hot, just shy of scorching. The cheddar is sharp and tangy, with that unmistakable bite that fills my mouth in waves of savory goodness. The bread is perfectly crisp, crackling as I sink my teeth in, golden and buttery on the outside, while the inside is soft, almost melting into the cheese.

  “This bread is amazing,” I say.

  “My cousin Ava made it. She owns a bakery in Snow Creek.”

  I smile. “Is there anything that your family doesn’t do?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Angie

  I nearly choke on my bite of sandwich.

  Surely he didn’t mean that the way it sounded.

  He probably just meant that, you know, my aunt is a renowned psychiatrist, my family is full of billionaire ranchers with their hands in all kinds of other businesses, my uncle and my cousin make award-winning wine, and another cousin bakes delicious bread.

  We’re a multifaceted bunch.

  I have a big family.

  But just the way he said it…

  Is there anything your family doesn’t do?

  Why am I hearing innuendos that aren’t there?

  And I know exactly why.

  Because I’m horny for teacher.

  God, sometimes I disgust myself.

  Plus, what if Ralph did see something? What if he’s already reported it to administration?

  Jason could lose his job.

  On the other hand, if this surgery he’s talking about works, he won’t need to teach anymore.

  I wonder how old he is.

  Do I dare ask?

  I take a sip of water to avoid choking on the piece of sandwich.

  “I have a large family,” I say. “They do a lot.”

  “What else does your family do?” he asks.

  I rack my brain before answering. It’s a lot to keep track of. “Well, my cousin Gina is an artist. Her sister is the one who’s the baker. My brother Dave works with my uncle Talon in our apple and peach orchards. My other brother Henry helps run our nonprofit foundation. My cousin Donny is a lawyer, and my cousin Diana’s an architect. Oh, and three of my cousins are married to bona fide rock stars.”

  He nods, taking another sip of wine. “You do have a big family.”

  I’m not sure what to say to that, so I take another bite of my sandwich and chew slowly.

  I’m still not completely sure why he’s here.

  He says he wanted to celebrate.

  Why with me?

  “How old are you?” I blurt out before I have a chance to stop myself.

  “Almost thirty-six,” he says. “In fact, my birthday is next month.”

  Thirty-six. I do the math in my head. He’s got more than a decade on me. Thirteen years.

  When I was born, he was already a teenager. Probably learning how to shave. I bet his jawline was just as magnificent then as it is now.

  It’s not a small difference. But…it’s the same as my parents. And it worked for them.

  What am I thinking? I can’t be with this man. He’s my professor. There have got to be rules forbidding anything from happening between us. We may have shared a quick kiss, but that was just us getting caught in the moment.

  Wasn’t it?

  I blink a few times. “Oh. Well, happy birthday, then.”

  “Yeah. It’s weird.” He gazes wistfully out the window. “I don’t think about birthdays much anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  He doesn’t answer right away.

  Just when I’m convinced that he’s going to change the subject⁠—

  He puts his glass down on the table. “I just haven’t felt like acknowledging birthdays, I guess.”

  “Oh.”

  I’m tempted to ask why, but if he wanted to tell me, he would’ve put it in the answer to that last question.

  “Birthdays are huge in my family,” I say. “My mom’s cakes are legendary. And then of course Ava—she’s the baker—is also great with cakes and breads of any kind. There’s always a great big celebration, and everyone in the family comes. Even those who live out of town try to make it in.”

  “How is that possible?” he asks. “If your family is as big as it seems, you must be celebrating a birthday every month.”

  I nod. “Sometimes twice a month. And I have the same birthday as my twin, of course, so⁠—”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Wait, your twin?”

  “Yeah. We’re not identical twins, though we do look a lot alike. Sage—that’s her name—works for the family business. My dad is the chief financial officer for the umbrella company that oversees all our subsidiaries. He was grooming my brother to take over, but Dave had an epiphany a while back. He didn’t want to be cooped up in an office, so he started doing more of the work outdoors. Sage took his place, and she’s loving it. Like I said, we look a lot alike even though we’re not identical, but we couldn’t be more different in our personalities.”

 

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