The Doctor's Runaway Fiancée (12 page)

“I do.” His tone was unapologetic. “Some people love to draw or paint or write. Or bake, like Sylvie. From the time I was small, I liked taking something broken and making it whole.”

“That's sweet.”

Andrew turned and found Sylvie standing there. “Did you get all your prep done?”

“I did.” She turned toward Mitzi. “Appears the grand opening was a huge success.”

“Extremely well received. And this guy—” Mitzi patted his shoulder “—was a lifesaver.”

“She exaggerates,” Andrew told Sylvie.

“I'm not exaggerating and I do owe you.” Mitzi paused. “Do you and Sylvie have plans for dinner?”

You and Sylvie.
After only a week, they were already being seen as a couple.

Andrew exchanged a glance with Sylvie. She shrugged.

“Keenan and I are going to Perfect Pizza once we get out of here,” Mitzi said. “We'd love to have you join us.”

“Pizza sounds good to me.” Andrew glanced at Sylvie. After last night, he wasn't sure what she wanted.

Sylvie's gaze shifted to Keenan when he walked up. “Your wife invited us to join you for pizza. But I don't want to crash your romantic evening.”

“That's later.” Keenan flashed a grin. “Pizza first. Romance later.”

When Mitzi rolled her shoulders, Keenan stepped close and began to rub.

“How about we meet you at the restaurant in thirty minutes?” Mitzi closed her eyes and moaned in pleasure when her husband found a knot.

“We can take my car,” Andrew said casually to Sylvie. “No need trying to find two parking spots downtown.”

On the way downtown she told him all about the preparation she'd done for tomorrow's event.

“It sounds like it's big.”

“I haven't been here for one,” she said as he pulled onto the highway leading into Jackson, “but these kinds of events seem to draw in both the locals and the tourists.”

“How does it work, this Taste of Jackson Hole?”

“Taste of the Tetons,” she corrected. “From what I understand, each taste ticket costs you a buck. In this huge open-air tasting area, there will be alley chefs, restaurants and caterers putting their culinary work on display for sampling.”

“Let me get this straight.” Andrew felt himself relaxing as they continued to chat amiably. “I buy a ticket for a dollar and I can taste one of your little cakes?”

“That's basically it, but not quite.” Sylvie shifted slightly in her seat to angle toward him. “Again, from what I've been told, tastes range from two to four tickets.”

“That makes sense.” Andrew felt a surge of triumph when he snagged a parking spot only a couple of blocks from Perfect Pizza. When he shut off the engine, he turned to Sylvie. “Have you ever eaten at this place?”

She shook her head. “I've heard it's really good pizza.”

“Mitzi and Keenan must think so.”

“This will be another first.”

Andrew puzzled over the comment on their walk to the restaurant. Later, on their way home after an enjoyable dinner, he finally realized what Sylvie had meant.

They'd never gone out with another couple when they were together in Boston. He had several friends who were married he could have called up and made arrangements for the four of them to go out. Likewise, Sylvie had several friends from the bakery where she worked who were in relationships. But she'd never suggested they get together.

The reasons didn't matter now. What mattered was that he was getting to know her here, in a way that perhaps had not been possible in Boston.

What he was realizing was that the more he got to know, the more he wanted to know. Which meant he wasn't going anywhere, at least not anytime soon.

Chapter Fourteen

A
s was quickly becoming their custom, if you could count a couple of days in a row a custom, once Andrew and Sylvie returned home they gravitated to the great room. Andrew built a fire while Sylvie poured them each a glass of wine.

Though they needed to get up early, it was only eight o'clock and Sylvie was too wired by the cola she'd drunk with her pizza to even think about sleep.

“Did you really used to put splints on birds when you were a boy?” she asked once they'd exhausted the clinic and pizza subjects.

His lips quirked up. “Splints on birds, dressings on cats and dogs. If I could have gotten my parents to agree, I'd have treated my family's injuries.”

Sylvie chuckled and took a sip of wine. “It sounds as if your passion became apparent from an early age.”

“My favorite gift when I was five was a doctor set.”

“I don't think I got any gifts that year.” Sylvie thought back to that year after her dad had left and shook her head. “No. Once my dad left, money was pretty tight.”

Not wanting to spend even one more second discussing those times in her life, Sylvie turned the subject back to Andrew. “I hope you plan on continuing your practice even after you take over that position at O'Shea Sports.”

The silence that cast a pall over the room gave her the answer even before he spoke.

“I'd like to continue to practice medicine,” he said slowly, “but being COO is a huge commitment of both time and energy. I don't know that there'll be any of me left over for medicine.”

Something told her he was expecting her to argue the point, to insist that if you wanted something enough you made time for it. Sylvie knew that wasn't always true, just as he did.

“When I lived in Boston, I had to work to pay my bills. I'd received some grants to attend school, but I'd also had to take out some loans. I wanted to be free of them, so for two years before I met you, I made that my mission.” She brought the glass of wine to her lips but didn't take a drink. “I worked both as a waitress and at the bakery. I had some opportunities at the bakery to be creative, but only within their specified—and rather rigid—parameters.”

“I suppose you're going to tell me that you still found time for your own creations.”

“No.” Her gaze met his. “By the time I got home from my waitress job, I was exhausted. I'd fall into bed, then had to be at the bakery at four a.m. for my shift. If any free time existed, I was too tired to search for it.”

Andrew's eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. “I don't recall you working at a restaurant.”

“Two months before I met you, I paid off the last of my student loans. I gave my notice at L'Espalier the next day.” She didn't even try to fight the pride that welled up inside her. Paying off those loans had been a huge accomplishment.

“I'm impressed.” The admiration in his eyes made her squirm.

“I didn't tell you to toot my own horn. I just wanted to say that I believe you're right. Once you take that position with O'Shea Sports, the practice of medicine may indeed be relegated to your past.” The thought of anyone having to give up their passion saddened her, but when that person was Andrew... She gazed into the fire. “It was difficult to give up creating my own cakes. Still, I knew within two years I'd be back doing it again. If I'd had to give it up entirely... I don't know what would have happened to me, to the
essence
of me.”

Andrew spoke slowly and deliberately. “I don't believe I ever realized before now just how much your creative design meant to you. I know I didn't give it the consideration it deserved when we talked about how melding our lives together would look.”

Sylvie couldn't dispute what he said. But neither would she let him take all the blame. “Growing up as I did, I got used to people telling me what to do. I wanted to make you happy. I thought by going along with whatever you wanted, I would be content. I don't think that would have been the case. I've come to believe that to make someone else happy, you have to be comfortable in your own skin.”

“You seem content in your own skin now.”

“I am,” she agreed, “and so are you. For now.”

He gave her a curious look.

“You're happy now, but once you take that COO position, you won't be. You're a doctor, Andrew. Healing people is what you were put on this earth to do.”

He downed the rest of his wine and surged to his feet. “It's been a long day. You and I have to be up and rolling out of here in less than six hours.”

Which meant, she decided, that the conversation had come to an end. Sylvie took the hand he offered and rose to her feet.

Even after she stood, her hand remained clasped in his.

“You've given me a lot to think about,” he said, then lowered his lips to hers.

The kiss might have been short and sweet, but it sent a pleasurable tingle all the way to the tips of her toes.

“Good night, Sylvie.”

“Good night,” she called out, but he didn't turn as he strode from the room.

The urge to follow him into his bedroom was nearly overwhelming. Sylvie moved to the window on the far side of the room and pressed her forehead against the cold glass.

Something was happening between them. She only wished she knew what in the heck to do about it.

* * *

Andrew wanted to help Sylvie work her station at the Taste of the Tetons, but long before he'd arrived in Jackson Hole, she'd enlisted several of her friends to assist with the event that ran from 11:00 until 4:00 p.m. They'd helped her carry in her goodies, which included cupcakes that looked as if the Wicked Witch was buried in the frosting to ones that resembled beautiful flowers. There were bouquets of “cake pops,” and for the more traditionally minded, there were tiny desserts that looked so much like flowers he couldn't tell them from the real thing.

Though it appeared he wasn't needed, Andrew was reluctant to leave. “Are you sure there isn't anything I can do to help?”

He saw Josie glance curiously in his direction before she returned her attention to arranging the Wicked Witches on a cupcake tower made to resemble a winding yellow brick road.

“Thanks for the offer.” Sylvie looked up and smiled. With a true artist's eye, she'd interspersed the lavender and white hydrangea cupcakes on an elegant tower where real flowers and greenery were strategically interspersed. “But we've got this under control.”

On the other side of her, Poppy kept moving one of several elegant “cake pop bouquets” around, looking for the perfect spot on the linen-clad table.

Of all the items on display, however, Andrew's favorite was the couture cupcake stand of the upper body of a mannequin in a sleeveless black dress, surrounded by mini cups filled with cake pieces and chocolate mousse.

The display, including the clothesline across the front of the booth, with tiny clothespins holding her brightly colored handmade business cards, drew Andrew's eye. He plucked a card off the line and dropped it into his pocket.

“I'll be back at four to help clean up.”

Sylvie looked up and smiled. “That'd be great. Have a good afternoon.”

Seeing no choice, Andrew walked away. It wasn't as if he wasn't capable of amusing himself. But amusing himself wasn't the issue. He wanted to share this day with Sylvie, wanted to stroll down the aisles and consider the food options. But he reminded himself she had work to do. He respected that fact...and her talent.

Because he knew if he stayed in the Taste of the Tetons tent, he'd have eventually wound his way back to Sylvie's booth, he stepped out and over to one holding the Wine Tasting and Silent Auction.

He was sampling a particularly fine Syrah when he was punched in the shoulder. “Hey, Boston, what's that you're drinkin'?”

Andrew recognized Keenan's voice even before he turned. Even though the day was in the midsixties, the man looked ready for a lumberjack festival in a flannel shirt, jeans and boots.

“Syrah.” Andrew lifted his glass holding a red so dark you couldn't even see through it.

Keenan lifted the glass from his hand and took a swig. A thoughtful expression crossed his face. “Tastes like smoked meat. I like it.”

With that pronouncement, he downed the rest of the contents and then handed Andrew the empty glass.

“It's particularly good for you because it has a high level of tannins.” Andrew set the glass down on a nearby tray. “Lots of health-benefiting antioxidants.”

“It tastes like smoked meat.”

Andrew grinned. “That, too.”

“Mitzi is working the clinic today,” Keenan told him before he had a chance to ask.

“Sylvie's got a booth in the other tent.”

Keenan's gaze sharpened. “You two seem to be seeing a lot of each other.”

Realizing that when he left, Sylvie would be left to deal with the speculation and questions, Andrew kept his reply simple. “We were friends back in Boston.”

“If I had to speculate, I'd say you were more than friends.” Keenan paused to order a bottle of the Syrah before turning back. “But I don't speculate.”

Andrew found himself liking Keenan McGregor. Somehow, without a word being said, he and Keenan explored the tent together.

Once they'd tasted their share of wine, they wandered over to where local artists had set up. The sign indicated this was the 17th Annual Takin' It to the Streets Art Fair.

Keenan gestured to a picture of a large elk with piercing dark eyes. “That one reminds me of Mitzi when she's pissed at me.”

Andrew chuckled. Sylvie had chosen wisely when she picked Jackson Hole. The community had so much to offer. No doubt she'd eventually find someone special and settle down. It was apparent she was happy here in a way she'd never been happy back in Boston, in a way that she'd never been happy with him.

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He'd tried to make her happy, had wanted to make her happy, but in the end they'd failed each other. As he and Keenan moved down the sidewalk filled with artists, Andrew realized that was the bitterest pill of all to swallow.

* * *

The Taste of the Tetons experience left Sylvie both exhausted and exhilarated. She'd made a lot of new connections and had given out a ton of business cards.

Because she'd been watching, she'd noticed how the eyes of potential clients lit up when she mentioned she'd recently worked with Kathy Randall on a Sweet Adelines event.

“I'm beginning to think Kathy was right,” Sylvie said to Andrew that evening while she whipped together a grilled chicken and wheat-berry salad for dinner.

After indulging in too many sweets, they'd both been ready for something healthy.

“What was she right about?” he asked, putting napkins and silverware on the table, while the bottle of Grüner Veltliner he'd picked up at the wine auction breathed on the counter.

“She told me that the best way to get referrals is to become involved in the community.” Sylvie shifted her attention to him while she tossed the salad. “I may have to join Sweet Adelines after all.”

“Would that be so bad?”

“I've never been much of a joiner.”

“It sounds like growing up you were never in any place long enough to join different clubs and activities.”

“That's true,” she concurred. “And most of that kind of stuff cost money I didn't have.”

“Not to mention once you got out of culinary school, you were too busy working to make a living and pay off your loans to do anything extra.” Andrew added ice and water to some square glass tumblers.

Sylvie thought about what he'd said, then nodded. “You're right. Just because I've never joined groups in the past doesn't mean I can't join now.”

“And just because something didn't work in the past doesn't mean it won't work now.”
Like us
, he thought, then shoved the notion aside. “Do you like to sing?”

She considered. “I enjoyed it the other night.”

“You should give it a try.”

“I think I will.”

“Good.”

They exchanged a smile as Andrew turned to pour the wine.

* * *

Andrew had no idea what to expect at the Tuesday night book-club meeting held at Cole and Meg's mountain home. Neither he nor Sylvie had been told what book would be discussed. He only knew the dress was casual, which seemed to be how most events were in Jackson Hole, and that they needed to bring only themselves.

“I feel naked,” Sylvie whispered to him as they stepped into the great room filled with both adults and children.

“Really?” Andrew grinned. “Did you decide to go commando?”

Puzzlement blanketed her face, and then she rolled her eyes. “I am so used to bringing something. But Meg insisted everything was covered.”

“That doesn't tell me if you're wearing underwear.”

Her answer was an elbow jab to his side.

He grinned. Over the past few days, things between them had settled into a comfortable routine. Despite the fact that they hadn't slept together since he first arrived, Andrew felt closer to her than he had when they were sleeping together every night in Boston.

“Glad you could make it.” Cole clapped a hand on his back and smiled at Sylvie.

“Thanks for inviting us.” Sylvie glanced around, her eyes wide. “This must be one big book club.”

Meg slipped through the crowd to give Sylvie a hug. “Actually, the book-club discussion is held in the kitchen after we eat. Females only. No males allowed.”

“Thank God.” Cole pretended to wipe sweat from his brow.

“There are a lot of men here,” Sylvie observed. “What do they do?”

It was the question on the tip of Andrew's tongue. If Sylvie hadn't asked it, he would have. He also wondered about all the children in the room.