“Dylan, how are you?” Georgia said as she answered her cell phone while simultaneously trying to juggle her files and let herself into her office. It had been a while since she’d heard from her old college friend who’d transferred to a large hospital in London three years earlier.

“I’m good. Things are crazy busy here. With the whole Brexit thing, we’re having to put all kinds of plans in place for all the nurses who’ll probably leave and go back to Europe. But the hospital is fantastic.”

“That’s great to hear. And how is Olivia?” Georgia dumped the files onto her desk, wincing as the manila folders slid off one another and slithered across the surface, then carefully placed the little bag of three cookies that Lennon had insisted she bring for her first coffee break next to her monitor. His suggestion had been sweet and thoughtful and . . . normal.

“Well, she’s now my fiancée . . . as of New Year’s Eve, so I would say she’s great. I popped the question while we were skiing in Switzerland.”

Georgia grinned, genuinely happy for her friend despite the twinge of envy that skittered through her. “Congratulations,” she said. “I’m so thrilled for you. When’s the wedding?”

“Next summer. I hope you’ll come. In fact, I’m hoping I can persuade you to come out here even sooner.”

She sat down in her chair and swiveled to look out of the small window. It faced onto the brick wall of the building next to hers, but for some reason, it still made the space feel bigger. “Am I going to like this?” she asked.

Dylan laughed. “Well, that depends. Do you like fall?”

“Fall?”

“Yes, because England feels like late fall in New York all year round. It’s rarely hot or freezing cold, generally overcast, and has a decent probability of rain. There’s a world-class hospital here in the land of perpetual New York fall, and we have an opening in pediatric neurology. You are the only person I want to fill it.”

Georgia’s ego soared as her heart sank. To be wanted for her skills was a wonderful thing. It was what she’d dreamed of. But she was a Starr of New York, and despite her threats to her father, she loved her home. She loved the red curtains and the small stage and eloquent jazz of Village Vanguard over on Seventh Avenue. She loved the way the first snowfall over Central Park made New York look like a ginormous snow globe. And the hospital, her friends, her colleagues, each and every patient under her care. And Lennon. . . . She shook her head. It was way too early in their fledgling relationship for him to factor into such a momentous decision.

“Wow. That’s quite the invitation, Dylan. You didn’t feel like leading up to that? A bit more small talk perhaps?”

She could hear Dylan chuckle at her response. In a completely non-romantic way, his laugh had always been her very favorite thing about him, but it paled in comparison to Lennon’s throaty laughter. It certainly didn’t stir things in her that Lennon’s deep reverberations did. “I know you, remember. A direct approach is good. Catching you off guard is even better. Less time for you to think, making it more likely you’ll give an honest rather than a rehearsed, answer.”

He was correct of course. The more time she had to prepare, the slicker and smoother her reply would become.

“Before you answer, I want to walk you through it. Please listen to me first, perhaps even fly over for a visit and see what I am talking about. I think you’ll really enjoy the surgical freedoms you get here, and I swear it’s a kick-ass team. You can talk to anyone you want to here, especially those who support the kind of surgeries you do.”

Georgia spun back to face her desk and looked at all the photos on the walls. All the kids she’d helped with different neurological conditions. The conjoined twins that she’d assisted in separating.

“I have to be honest, Dylan. I love it here. I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”

There was a pause at the other end of the line. “Is that Georgia talking, or the latest in the long line of Starrs of New York?”

She wanted to be mad that it even mattered, that he’d called her out. “I’d be lying if I didn’t say it was a bit of both.” The idea that her family legacy rested squarely on her shoulders wasn’t healthy, nor was it accurate. Two of her brothers were still here, Randall could always return from Atlanta, and her father was too stubborn to die any time soon. And hell, she could always come back should things change. Call her old-fashioned, but there was something reassuring about knowing New York was her place on the planet.

But she’d also be lying to herself if she didn’t acknowledge the control her father still had over her. Because her father’s dreams for her had always lined up with her own for herself, she hadn’t noticed the pathological need she had for his approval. And she knew he would not approve of this.

“Listen,” Dylan said, “it’s a bigger hospital, a better role, and I can beat your current salary by at least twenty percent.”

“How the heck do you know how much I earn?”

“You didn’t think I’d enter into a negotiation with you without coming armed with facts. I know this is going to be a hard sell, but as you know, I can be persistent. We have the permission of Jim Stein, the head of the hospital, to approach you.”

Now it was Georgia’s turn to laugh. He could be persistent, she knew that. It had taken months of effort on his part to get her to agree to work with him on a project together at college, but she had enjoyed every moment, and their friendship had formed in the process. “I would have thought my salary information was confidential.”

“Look. Take a weekend. Come see me and Olivia. We’ll chat. At least tell me you’ll think about it.”

How could she not? “Fine. I’ll think about it, and if I can get my head around it, I’ll call you to discuss it.”

There was a knock at her office door, and then Robert Woo popped his head in. She held up one finger and motioned him inside. Ever the comedian, Robert tiptoed ridiculously with his finger over his lips.

“I can live with that. But if I don’t hear from you within four weeks, I’m getting on a plane and ambushing you somewhere you least suspect it.”

Georgia grinned. “I look forward to it. Bye Dylan.”

“Bye, G.”

The phone disconnected.

“So, what has put that smile on your face?” Robert asked, picking up the photo of her and her brothers from her desk and looking at it. Like he did every single time he set foot in her office.

Nobody needed to know the nature of her call. At least, not yet, when there was nothing to tell other than a crazy idea to move halfway around the world, which was not even close to becoming a reality. “Call from an old friend with some good news. He’s getting married.”

Robert shivered. “Ugh. Poor soul. Why on earth do people continue to rely on matrimony? It serves no purpose except to line lawyers’ pockets with pre-nups.”

This was a point on which she normally agreed, not because she truly believed what Robert said, but because saying so covered her hurt and disappointment at not having found someone to settle down with. It was ridiculous for someone as accomplished as she was in her professional life to want to be someone else’s other, but she did. Badly. Today, after the weekend she’d spent with Lennon, it hurt to pretend that it didn’t matter. This weekend had shown her more about the kind of relationship she wanted in her life. With a man happy to bake cookies. A man happy to make out without needing to have sex. . . . Well, okay, they’d skated pretty damn close to sex, but they still hadn’t had the penetrative kind. Her cheeks heated as she thought of all the delicious things they had done.

She looked at the pile of reports on her desk that needed her attention because she’d baked cookies, and made out, and dozed on the sofa. Something about being around Lennon made her forget about responsibilities.

“What can I help you with?” she asked Robert.

“I have a thought for the direction of our paper on the twins.” He didn’t need to explain which twins; there was only one set worth the effort of a paper. “And I need a date for my cousin’s wedding. My mom is threatening to cut me out of the will if I show up alone, so she told me to ask you to bring me. ‘Take pity on his pathetic ass.’ Those were her exact words.”

Having met his mom, she could believe it. And it wouldn’t be the first time Georgia had helped him out. Their relationship was purely platonic on both ends, but somehow, even though there was nothing going on between them, it would feel wrong to accompany him, would feel as if she was being disloyal to Lennon.

“You know, I’m not sure I can,” she said without opening her calendar.

“It’s the third Saturday in May. I’ll trade whatever shifts and cases you want this month just to keep her happy.”

Georgia knew it wasn’t the cost of getting there or the threat of being him written out of the will that mattered. Robert’s father had died the previous year, and as an only and well-loved child, he was anxious to help his mom out any way he could.

She wanted to help, she really did, but Lennon was . . . new . . . special. Crap. “I’m sorry, Robert, but I’ve just started . . . well, there’s a guy. And it wouldn’t be right for me to say yes when I have this new thing.” It was difficult to begin to articulate what was going on between her and Lennon. They’d had no conversations about a future, or whether they were officially even a couple. But damn, whatever they were together, this was something that didn’t come along every day. Even if they only lasted as long as it took him to realize he should be back with his friends in Toronto, she would savor the little window of “normal.”

“Ugh. Then I’m stuck with accompanying my mom’s goddaughter from Cleveland.”

Georgia grinned. “You have something against girls from Cleveland? Or Cleveland in general?”

“Georgia, I’ve got a thing against the entire Midwest. Flat, industrial, pedestrian. And that’s just the women.”

She shook her head. Certain New Yorkers had it in their heads that they were the center of the universe and thought that anyone who chose not to live in the metropolis were somehow lacking or deficient in social skills. “That’s very parochial of you.”

“Indeed. But it hasn’t escaped my attention that you said there’s a guy.”

Immediately her thoughts went to Canada, a country she lived so close to but had never visited. Why were all of her thoughts centered around Lennon? She needed to focus on topics that wouldn’t remind her of him—at least while she was at work. “I know I did, but it’s way too early to say more. So, the article. What can I help you with?”

After eleven hours—and several more reminders of Lennon—Georgia exited the subway. The night air was crisp and clear, and Georgia tugged her scarf tighter around her neck. It was a lovely evening for a walk, perhaps a late dinner if he hadn’t eaten yet. She wondered if she could persuade Lennon to join her.

She passed a family who were laughing at a pigeon walking in circles around a garbage bin. It was innocuous, barely even funny, but the toddler was in hysterics, the parents laughing at the child’s reaction. Moments like that seemed so very precious and yet so far out of reach for her. What kind of father would Lennon be? It was a stupid thought, the kind a loved-up eighteen-year-old would think. But she couldn’t stop herself. He’d be fun, she concluded, their house filled with music and instruments. Their child would be a product of both the sciences and the arts.

Spontaneously, she decided to surprise him. She popped into her favorite patisserie and grabbed some indulgent salted chocolate tarts. It could be their reward for going outside, assuming she could convince Lennon to walk with her. It was a very date-like thing to do and the thought made her grin. She got off the elevator at his floor, slipped her coat off, and knocked on his door.

Maybe she should have put on some fresh lip gloss, but he didn’t seem to care whether she wore makeup or not.

The chain rattled as Lennon unlocked the door, and then he pulled it wide open. The first thing that hit her was an overwhelming smell of alcohol.

* * *

“Gee-orr-gia!” Lennon slurred as he opened the door. “God, you are so fucking pretty. Come on in.”

He gestured into the room and lost his balance. Quickly, he reached for the doorframe and held on tight to remain upright. Fuck, he was hammered. Waves of nausea sloshed in his stomach. His head spun as he tried to think of something else to say, but he was beyond drunk and he knew it.

So did she. The wrinkle of her nose was quickly replaced by a look of disappointment he could feel all the way to his toes.

He shouldn’t have answered the door. Shouldn’t have let her in when he knew his guard was down, his filter nonexistent. But she had been standing outside in the hall biting on her lower lip. Those beautiful plump lips he’d seen wrapped around his cock, her cheeks all hollowed out as she’d pleasured him. She turned to look down the hallway, and he saw the perfection that was her ass in that tight pencil skirt, and suddenly all he could think of was playing secretary, which included her taking notes while bent over the dining room table.

“Lennon,” she said primly as she walked past him, her black stilettos clicking on the floor. Every tap of her heels etched a rhythm onto his heart. She didn’t kiss him. And even through the numb blanket of alcohol, embarrassment flooded in. He’d disappointed her. He’d disappointed himself. Again.

“Hey,” he said, grabbing her arm and dragging her until she was flush against his chest. “Don’t I get a kiss hello?”

He pressed his lips to hers, savoring the way her breasts were pressed against his chest, how good they looked in her white fitted shirt. Business attire had never turned him on especially, but now all bets were off. Plus, there were two of her as he struggled to focus. Four perfect tits to admire. He snorted at the thought.

Her hands pressed on his chest. Shit, she wasn’t smiling. Those bottomless eyes of hers were as guarded as he’d felt at the clinic he’d attended early that morning. “You smell like a bottle of Jack, and it’s not even nine o’clock.”

The words weren’t in jest. She actually meant them. He pulled his T-shirt away from his chest and sniffed it. “I smell ocean fresh, just like the fabric softener said.” He laughed because it was fucking funny.

He caught Georgia’s eyes then and hated the disappointment he saw there. Fuck it. She had no idea what he’d been through today.

“Bonus points for doing your laundry,” she said dryly. Her eyes flitted around his apartment, and he was relieved he’d taken the time to tidy it that morning before he’d left for the hospital. Now he had a new compression sock. Now he knew what his prosthetic options were. Now he’d sat down with the occupational therapist and knew what “desensitizing” meant and why he needed to do it. Now they would all get off his fucking case and leave him alone. At least for a little while.

“Knock knock,” he said. There’d been a little kid at the prosthetic clinic who was nonstop with the knock-knocks and had needed a leg. Lennon thought of an X-rated spin he could put on one of those jokes.

Georgia eyed him carefully. “Who’s there?”

“Genoa.”

“Genoa who?”

“Geno-I really want to slide that skirt up your thighs?” Lennon started to laugh, but Georgia remained stone-faced.

Maybe it wasn’t the best knock-knock joke, but she needed to lighten up.

“I should go. We can talk in the morning,” she said, turning toward the door. “Here. I bought us cake, but you eat both pieces to sober up.” The bottom dropped out of his world as she reached for the handle. He didn’t want her to leave.

“Wait,” he said, stumbling toward her. Damn, the room was spinning and he could barely keep himself upright. He placed the bag she’d given him down on the table.

Metallica’s “Sad but True” blasted through the apartment, hardly conducive to whatever Georgia had stopped by for. He reached for his phone and changed it to classic Zeppelin, dropping the sound down by half.

“I missed you today,” he said, meaning every word. After the time they’d spent together over the weekend, his apartment and life had felt quite empty. Never had he hung out with a woman like Georgia. Smart, witty, but so contained. There was an air about her that made her seem like she was wrapped in some kind of . . . damn, shield. Like if he managed to unwrap her she would just explode into herself. And it would be fucking beautiful.

She was composed now as she looked around. Knowing her, she’d worked twelve hours before landing on his doorstep. She’d probably seen clients around the world and written a medical article before lunch, and yet she still looked as beautiful as she had when she’d come apart in his arms . . . arm. Fuck. Why couldn’t he get his thoughts together to say something that would lead them both back there?

Why couldn’t he just say something to at least make her stay?

He was suddenly embarrassed by his physical state, even though he’d needed a drink, something to take the edge off the fact his prosthetic appointment had been the splash of cold water to the face he’d been expecting.

Needing a moment, he walked to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. Placing it between his knees, he cracked the lid open, a little spilling over and wetting his jeans.

Nervously, he took a few sips. “I’m sorry, Gia,” he said quietly.

“For what?”

“For being drunk. Again.” He offered her the water and she took it from him only to put it straight onto the kitchen counter.

The stiffness went out of her shoulders. “Lennon,” she said, taking hold of his hand. Her fingers felt small in his, fragile even. Surgeon’s hands. Like the ones that had removed his arm. Someone just like her had made the decision as he’d lain on an operating able that his arm wasn’t worth saving. What if they’d rushed the decision to get home, to go to the golf course? Lennon shook his head. Fuck.

“I want to see where this goes,” she said. “I wish I had super-sexy words and big gestures to explain it, but I don’t. But this,” she said, gesturing between the two of them, “this can’t happen if you keep drinking like this. I don’t want to spend time with someone who is drunk. I like you sober.”

I don’t want to be this person.

I want to be the person you have in mind.

I want your hands on me.

But I don’t know how.

Lead me, Georgia, please.

Show me how to navigate this . . . this . . . fuck.

Show me how to be in a relationship.

With you.

Show me how to do this.

“I like me sober. I like me with two arms too,” he added quietly.

Georgia stepped into him and placed her arms around his waist. “It doesn’t matter to me how many you have.” She pressed her head into his chest.

Fuck. How did he stop his head from spinning? He’d drunk the last third of the bottle just before she’d arrived. Instead of sobering up, he was feeling worse. Diving into a bottle had seemed like a good idea, but now he realized that if it was a choice between escaping his problems with alcohol or with the woman in his arms, he’d pick her every day.

“Take care of me,” he whispered against her neck. “I’m lost, Gia.”

“I know you are,” she replied quietly. “But this isn’t the answer.”

He nodded against her shoulder. He’d never been a sloppy drunk, but for some reason, tears threatened to fall. It wasn’t the alcohol that was opening him up to crying. It was the sum of everything. It was the beauty of having someone to hold onto, to have someone hold on to him while it all crashed over him in a wave.

“I’m tired,” he admitted.

“And I’m here for you,” she said, her hands running up and down his back. “Let’s take care of you,” she said.

He let her lead him to his bedroom. Quietly, she lifted his T-shirt over his head, then nudged him onto the bed. He tumbled onto the mattress with no grace whatsoever and began to laugh, the sound frantic to even him. Lord knew what Georgia must be thinking. He couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in her eyes. But she gripped his chin and made him face her.

“I’m not going to say it’s going to be okay, because that’s glib. I have no idea how things are going to turn out. But I’m here for you, and I’ll pick you up a thousand times over if that’s what is required to get you through this. Whether you and I are still together at the end of all this is on you, Lennon. Do you understand that?”

I need you to get through this.

I need a reason to try.

My music isn’t enough.

Give me a reason, Gia.

Love me for who I am.

See beneath this. Pick me. Choose me.

Just don’t leave me.

Lennon nodded.

Georgia stood and left the room, and he fought the tears that burned in his eyes. He’d wanted to do nothing more than hold her through the night because the feel of her reminded him that he was still here, that his heart still beat in his chest. And she’d left.

Alone, he wriggled out of his shorts. Drunk, naked, and . . . fuck, he hated the word “vulnerable.” It was such a pussy word. If he had half a brain cell more, he’d probably know what the exact definition was, but he knew how it felt. To be alone. To be exposed. To not be worth anything to anyone.

He flopped back onto the bed and laid his head back against the pillow. The ceiling spun when he closed his eyes so he opened them. Shit, it spun with them open too.

Footsteps in the hallway made his heart race. Georgia stepped back into the bedroom with a glass of water and a couple of pills. “I’m not an advocate for pain medication abuse, but you’re going to need these in the night,” she said, offering him two painkillers.

Speechless that she was still here taking care of him, he took what she offered, swallowing the pills.

His eyes followed her as she wandered to the window and closed the curtains. When she finished, she removed the pins that were keeping her hair in place. He couldn’t stop staring at the way her hair fell in soft waves onto her shoulders. It was the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes.