Present Day

It’s raining when I finally finish up my work and head downstairs. I stand in the lobby for a moment, watching the plump droplets of rain fall from the sky. I don’t have an umbrella. I’m not even sure I own an umbrella. Well, there’s probably one in the back of my closet somewhere, but it doesn’t do me much good right now.

I pull up the hood on my jacket and sprint across the small parking lot to my Camry. I yank open the door and jump inside, then pause to assess the damage. My scrub pants are fairly damp, but at least my hair seems to have been spared. There are water droplets in my eyelashes.

Considering I am wet and uncomfortable, this would probably be a good time to head home. Maybe make myself a warm beverage and watch a little television before I turn in.

But I don’t head home. Instead, I punch an address into my GPS, one not far off the freeway. When I reach the block of my destination, I turn off my headlights. I park across the street and stare out the window.

“You have reached your destination on the left,” Siri tells me. “Thanks,” I murmur.

I stare out at the Kelloggs’ front door through my windshield as the wiper blades swish back and forth.

I don’t entirely know why I came here. I noted his address on the billing form, and it stuck in my head. I meant to drive straight home, but instead, I got to thinking about Mrs. Kellogg’s black eye. And before I knew it, I was typing their address into my GPS. And now I’m here.

I stare across the street, into the glowing windows of the first floor of their house. I don’t see any silhouettes in the window. They’re probably in the dining room having dinner. Or maybe watching TV on the sofa together.

I look down at my fingers, gripping the steering wheel so hard, my knuckles are white.

I take a shaky breath. Then another.

Then I throw the car back into drive and get the hell out of there.

I don’t want to go home now. The idea of coming home to my empty house makes me feel slightly ill. So instead, I find myself navigating the wet roads and heading over to Christopher’s again. I feel like having another Old Fashioned tonight. Just one.

It occurs to me as I’m pulling into the parking lot that Henry Callahan might be here tonight again. My heart skips a beat at the thought of it.

God, I need that drink.

The rain is still coming down, so I put my hood back up and dash through the parking lot to get to the entrance. Fortunately, I don’t see any familiar faces when I walk into Christopher’s. Well, except for the bartender. It’s the same guy from yesterday. The one with the nondescript brown eyes and hair and the perpetual five o’clock shadow, who stood up for me when Callahan was hassling me yesterday. The one who looks strangely familiar—that feeling I’ve met him before is even stronger this time.

I watch him as he uses his bottle opener to take the cap off a bottle of beer. He slides it onto the table for a customer then scoops up the payment and tip. I’m convinced I know this man. But from where?

I sit down at the bar and wait for him to take notice of me. Maybe it’s my imagination, but his eyes light up slightly when he sees me. “Another Old Fashioned, Doc?” he asks me.

That voice. His voice is familiar too. This is driving me crazy. “Yes, thanks.”

He assembles the drink in front of me. Maybe it’s my imagination, but it looks like he’s giving me more whiskey than yesterday. When he’s finished, he slides the amber liquid across the counter in my direction. “Enjoy.”

I wrap my fingers around the cool glass. “Wait,” I say. He raises his eyebrows.

I clear my throat. “Do I know you?”

He freezes. From the expression on his face, it’s obvious he knew exactly who I was from the moment he laid eyes on me. And he didn’t tell me.

“Yes,” he finally says. “I… my name is Brady Mitchell.”

And then… oh my God, it all comes back to me. “We dated!”

One corner of his lips quirks up. “You could say that, yes.”

Except that’s an understatement. And he knows it. We didn’t just have a few dates. He was my boyfriend… sort of. But it was ages ago. Back in college. He was, in fact, the teaching assistant for a computer science class I was taking. After the class was over and my grade was in, he asked me out, and I found him so adorably dorky, I said yes.

But he’s not dorky anymore. He looks very different—it’s no wonder I didn’t recognize him right away. He grew up. He used to be clean-shaven and skinny and gangly, but his face filled out and… Well, it’s hard not to notice his chest filled out too. And why is he bartending? The guy has a bachelor’s degree in computer science. He was a genius—he could do anything with a computer.

“Why didn’t you say it was you?” I ask.

His eyes meet mine, and he doesn’t need to answer the question. Obviously, he doesn’t feel great about where his life is right now. I don’t know how he ended up this way. Not that being a bartender is terrible, but I expected he would be the next Bill Gates by now. Something went wrong. Got caught hacking? Drugs? I have no idea.

“Anyway,” he says, “congratulations on your career. I remember you always wanted to be a surgeon. Not that there was any doubt. I’ve never seen anyone so dedicated. You did everything except make a sacrifice to the premed gods.”

“Thanks.” (I think.)

I take a sip of my drink, enjoying the warm feeling that comes over me. Brady Mitchell. My God. We dated for about three months, if I’m remembering correctly. He was nice. I was the one who ended it, but I don’t think it was overly traumatic. We ended on good terms.

The part I’m having trouble remembering is why I ended it. I must have had a reason, beyond just three months being the upper limit of how long I’m willing to date a guy (which is true). I’m sure I had a good reason for breaking up with Brady.

But why?

Well, I can’t exactly ask him. Even if I told him the truth at the time, which I suspect I did not.

“You’re wondering why I’m working here,” he says. I blink at him. “No…”

He makes a face at me. “Oh, come on. Look, I don’t blame you. I’d be wondering too.”

I shrug. “Not really.”

“Oh? Well, in that case, I’m not going to tell you.” “Fine,” I concede. “I’m wondering. A little.”

He nods, satisfied. “So I came out here because I got a great job in Silicon Valley,” he says. “But dumbass that I am, I quit my awesome job to join what I thought was an incredible startup. Which then failed spectacularly. So I am currently passing my resume around, and it’s not going great.” He looks around the bar. “This is so I don’t end up living in a cardboard box, you know? Those boxes are not very comfortable to sleep in.”

“Right.” I think for a minute, wondering if there are any strings I can pull at the hospital to get him an IT job. But I’m not sure if he’d appreciate that. “I’m sure you’ll find something else.”

“Yeah… The job market isn’t great now. Of course, it’s all my fault.” He rubs at his chin which has even more stubble than last night. Back in college, he could barely grow a beard—now it seems to be happening against his will, as the night goes on. “But the truth is, I like working here. It’s a good break. I was going cross-eyed sitting in front of a computer day in day out for fifteen years. And carpal tunnel sucks.”

He smiles at me again. Boy, he’s cute. Why on earth did I break up with him? It’s driving me nuts that I can’t remember. “I always figured you’d be married by now,” I remark.

He glances down the bar to make sure nobody is trying to get his attention. But it’s quiet tonight. “I was. Not anymore.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry.” He shakes his head. “Back when I was married, that would be the time to say sorry. Now you should say congratulations, because I’m out.”

“Oh. Well, congratulations.”

“Gracias.” He looks pointedly down at my left hand. No ring. “How about you?”

“No, never went that route.” He snorts. “Not surprised.” I inhale sharply. “Why?”

He laughs. “That was your mantra in college, wasn’t it? I will never get married, Brady. I never want kids.”

“Oh, right. I guess I knew what I wanted at an early age.”

I take another sip from my drink. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or what, but I don’t remember feeling quite this drawn to Brady back in college. I liked him, but he’s on another level of sexy now. But so what? Nothing is going to happen. It’s been too long. And also, I just noticed a splatter of blood on the leg of my scrub pants, right in that gap between where my gown ended and the booties began during my surgical cases from today. That’s pretty much the opposite of sexy.

Well, unless you’re my father.

“That guy from yesterday…” he says. “He didn’t bother you after you left, did he?”

I decide not to mention the fact that Callahan started following me as I drove home last night. It would just worry him. “No.”

He leans on the counter close enough that I could smell a hint of his aftershave. “I was worried, you know. I was about to go to the door and watch to make sure you made it to your car okay, but then this big crowd of customers came in together and I had to deal with them.”

“It’s fine. I could’ve handled him.”

A smile plays on his lips. “Yeah. I’ll just bet you could have.”

Why can’t I remember why I broke up with you?

Somebody is calling for Brady to get a drink, so he leaves me alone. I sip on my Old Fashioned, watching him. There’s a woman at the other end of the bar ordering a drink, and she’s flirting with him. Her hand is on his forearm, and she’s laughing at some joke he made. Or maybe just laughing. He’s flirting back, but a few times, I catch him looking in my direction.

I don’t want to encourage him though, so I turn my attention to the television screen over the bar. The evening news is on this time. The handsome reporter is talking about a young woman named Amber Swanson who’s been reported missing. The police are searching, but she’s disappeared without a trace.

It’s a dangerous world out there.

I finish the last of my drink and pull out my purse to pay him. But before I can get out my wallet, Brady is suddenly back in front of me. He’s staring across the counter of the bar with his nice brown eyes.

“Hey,” he says. “You heading out?” I nod. “Yes.”

“Got an umbrella?”

I glance out the window. The rain seems to have intensified since I’ve been here. Gigantic droplets are plummeting from the sky. “I’ll be fine.”

Brady reaches under the bar. He pulls out a small folded umbrella and holds it out to me. “You don’t want to get soaked.”

“I don’t want to steal your umbrella.”

“Steal it—please. It’s pouring out there.”

I almost refuse again, but he’s insistent. I have a feeling he’s not going to take no for an answer. “Well, thanks.”

He hesitates for a moment. “I get off work in half an hour. Do you want to go get a drink?”

I stare down at my drained cocktail. “I think I’ve had enough for the night. You’re not trying to get me drunk, are you?”

“Okay, okay…” He raises an eyebrow. “Dinner then? I know a great Greek place.” He grins at me. “We can catch up on old times. It’ll be fun.”

Right. We can “catch up” on “old times.” Although I have no doubt it will be fun.

“Hmm.” I fiddle with my wallet, even though I already know what I’m going to say. “The thing is, I’ve been up since five in the morning.”

“Yes, but you seem so bright and perky.”

“Looks are deceiving.” I smile apologetically as I drop a ten-dollar bill on the table. “Plus I have to be up early tomorrow morning. Life of a surgeon, you know?”

“I don’t.” He sighs and shakes his head sadly. “But I do appreciate you letting me down easy, Nora. I always liked that about you.”

“Happy to oblige.”

Am I making a mistake? Maybe a night with a cute guy is just what I need. But no. I have a feeling if I spend the night with him, it won’t just be a night. There’s something about him…

“Listen.” His mild brown eyes stay on mine. “If you change your mind, I’ll be here another half hour, like I said. And I’m on tomorrow night too. Just in case you wake up tomorrow, deeply regretting not hanging out with me.”

I feel a smile twitching at my lips. “What if you change your mind?”

“No chance of that.” He nods at the black umbrella I’m clutching in my right hand. “Besides, you have to come back to return my umbrella.”

He holds my gaze for another moment. To be honest, I’m very tempted to change my mind. But I decided a long time ago this isn’t a good idea. I know who I am, and I know what I can handle. So I get up off the barstool and leave Christopher’s. I’ll return the umbrella when he’s not around, and then I’ll find a different bar to go to until he finds another job.