Heart Like Mine (16 page)

“I'm all set, thanks. Maybe in a bit.”

“Okay.
Mangia taj!
”

Delaney smiled as she picked up her fork. “What does that mean? Do you know?”

“It means shut up and eat, but somehow it doesn't sound so rude in Italian.”

“Ah.” She unwrapped a pat of butter and spread it on a hot, yeasty roll that had to have just come out of the oven. “God, this smells good.”

“Mama B is a genius back there.”

They took a few bites, and Delaney sighed when she caught the mix of spices and tender chicken on her tongue. “I think I was meant to be Italian.”

“Mama B would be thrilled to hear you say that.” He lifted his water glass, but didn't drink. “So I know how your father ended up here—but what about you? Were the two of you a package deal?”

“No.” She shivered, hating that so many people thought so. “Definitely not. He worked here for years before I decided to leave Mass General and move up here.”

His eyes widened. “Wow. That's quite a change of pace.”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “I was commuting in from the North Shore every day, and then Dad got this job, and I started coming up to visit Mom once in a while on weekends.” She shrugged. “I don't know. I kind of fell in love with Echo Lake—the pace, the trees, the sunsets—and when I saw a posting for the finance office, I sort of applied on a lark.”

“I imagine having a famous surgeon as a father here didn't hurt your chances.”

Delaney felt her hands clench in her lap at his words. This is what everyone thought, so it shouldn't stab at her to hear him voice what she already knew was the prevailing opinion.

But it did.

She wanted him to believe she'd gotten the job on her own experience and education, wanted him to believe she deserved that position—and the one above it, maybe, if things worked out.

At the moment, that seemed like a really long shot.

“I believe I was hired on my own merits. He didn't even know I'd applied.”

She tried to keep the tightness out of her voice, but when he sat back, she realized she'd done a lousy job.

He raised his eyebrows. “Sorry. I didn't mean to imply—sore subject?”

“Little bit, yes.” She picked up her fork, waving it carelessly. “It's okay. You're one of many.” And he'd be one of many who—if she did manage to capture the CFO position—would believe famous-surgeon daddy paved the way to that, too.

“I'm sure you're very good at your job.” His voice was quieter, apologetic, but his supposition still rankled her.

“I am.” She took a deep breath. “But enough about me and my questionable path to the golden palace. What brought
you
to Mercy?”

“I grew up here, actually. Went to UVM for med school, and came the whole two hours back down here.”

“Did you always know you wanted to be a doctor?”

He averted his eyes for a long moment, and she suspected there was a story there. “Not until high school. Have you ever met Ethan and Josie Miller?”

Delaney shook her head. “I've heard of them, but no. They run Avery's House, right?”

“And Snowflake Village.”

“Right.” She remembered the pictures on his office wall—remembered wondering whether he was involved as well. “Do you have something to do with Avery's House, too?”

He nodded. “My official title is medical director, but really, I just do rounds there every day and serve as backup if the nurses have questions.”

“That sounds like a full-time job.”

“Nah. It's really not. Mercy is more than a full-time job. Avery's House is the fun part of the day.”

“How'd you get involved?”

“Josie was in one of those Big Sister–Little Sister programs in high school, and she ended up being paired with this awesome little kid named Avery.” Joshua sighed. “So we all hung out with Avery a lot—me and Molly, along with Josie and Ethan. She had a pretty hellish life, so we sort of took her under our wings. But then she was diagnosed with a neuroblastoma.”

“Oh, God.” Delaney put her hand to her mouth.

She'd done just enough first-year med school to know the survival rates of childhood brain tumors, and though it was getting better, it still wasn't great.

“Yeah.” He frowned, and Delaney could practically see memories skittering through his brain. “She didn't—make it, and then the whole thing completely blew Ethan and Josie to pieces, and it just … was terrible.”

“I'm really sorry.”

She wished she couldn't relate, but anytime she thought of Parker, the pain was still sharp and ugly, even after all these years.

“So did they start Avery's House? They're so—young.”

Delaney envied the sense of purpose they shared. What had
she
done to honor Parker's memory, really? She struggled daily to answer that question, still.

He shrugged. “Sort of. Josie left town right after it happened. She just couldn't take it here—couldn't be where the memories were eating her alive. Ethan stayed, and when the old hotel went up for sale, he did everything in his power to buy it and turn it into what it is today. And then Josie came back two years ago, and the rest is history, I guess. Avery kind of drove all of us into what we're doing today.”

“It sounds like an incredible place.”

“You'll have to come see it one of these days.” He nodded thoughtfully, like the idea had just occurred to him. “I think you'd like it there.”

She smiled. It almost sounded like a second-date invitation … if this were, in fact, a first date.

A little while later, she noticed both of them had managed to clear their plates. Once they'd steered away from Avery, their conversation had flowed comfortably, interspersed with laughter.

Delaney pointed at the table. “Good thing we weren't hungry.”

He laughed. “Want dessert?”

“God, no. I couldn't eat another bite.”

“You sure?” He raised his eyebrows. “Have you tasted Mama B's tiramisu?”

Delaney's mouth watered, and she swallowed without meaning to. “I'll have to run six miles tomorrow to work off just this dinner. I'm not sure I'm up for seven.”

“No problem. She makes the no-calorie version on Fridays.” Joshua signaled for Molly, who appeared immediately, as if she'd been waiting eagerly to be called over.

She looked back and forth at them. “Ready for coffee now?”

“I think we are.” He smiled, and Molly got a self-satisfied look on her face. It disappeared when he said, “I think we'll have some tiramisu as well.”

“Really?” Confusion clouded her face, and Delaney wished she could read the woman's mind.

“Really. Delaney? Coffee?”

“Please.” She nodded, and Molly flashed her that fake smile again.

“So two coffees, two tiramisus?”

Joshua nodded.

“You want cream with your coffee?” Molly's eyebrows went up.

“No. Black's good.”

“You're sure.”

Delaney almost smiled. Creamers had to be the extraction signal, and he was decidedly not using it.

She was almost embarrassed at how giddy that made her feel.

“All right.” Josh slid her notebook toward her. “Now that we have food on board, should we get to the business part of this business dinner?”

The giddy feeling whooshed out.

 

Chapter 14

Josh looked at Delaney as she fished a pen out of her purse, and for about the hundredth time that hour, he thought about what it might be like to kiss her. As he'd watched her talk about med school and her father, he'd been struck by the emotions flipping over her face, and he couldn't believe he'd actually reached out to touch her. Multiple times, for God's sake.

Who did that at a business dinner?

Someone who needed to get control of himself, that's who.

He sat up straighter and cleared his throat, determined to handle whatever came next in a professional, detached manner. Yeah, she was hot. And yeah, he could imagine taking her out to the lake after dinner, finding a sweet spot to watch the sunset, kissing her, taking her home.

But no. He had to focus on why they were here, and concentrating on the pulse in her throat wasn't getting him anywhere but completely distracted, dammit.

“Okay.” He motioned toward the notebook. “Where are we at? I'm assuming you've ditched the original list?”

“Yes, in a sense.”

“In
what
sense? I thought we agreed it was—”

“Ill-informed? Presumptuous?”

He shook his head. “Just numbers-informed, rather than—”

“Reality?”

He sighed. “Are you going to interrupt every sentence I try here?”

“Possibly. But I let you get that one out, so maybe not.” She winked, and he couldn't help but smile.

“Fine.” He sat back. “You speak. I'll listen.”

“Excellent plan.” She squared her shoulders. “Okay, here's where we're at. I've got a number I have to meet, or there is very real danger that discussion could move toward transferring pediatrics out of this hospital altogether.”

“What?”

She slid a piece of paper toward him. “Board minutes from the last meeting. My admin was asked to type them up. She forgot a copy on my desk.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Forgot?”

“It happens.” She raised hers to match. “Tell me after you read it whether you're glad she's—forgetful.”

He picked up the page and scanned it quickly, feeling his eyes widen as he did. This particular meeting had been facilitated by some sort of company the hospital had brought in to help them think creatively about budgeting issues, and it looked like the floor had been open for a good long time so board members could toss ideas on the table, willy-nilly. A lot of the ones Megan had typed up were just plain ridiculous or untenable, but one that had gotten some discussion traction was the idea of shuttering the pediatric department for all but emergency cases, and funding transport to Boston Children's for the rest.

“Why pediatrics?” He set the paper down, feeling his gut sink.

She handed him another piece of paper, a frown taking over her face. “Because of this.” As he scanned the figures, she cleared her throat uncomfortably. “It's not a profitable department right now—hasn't been for three years running. And with Boston only two-ish hours away by ambulance, there's a case to be made for turning the floor space into something that'll bring in the dollars.”

He peered at her over the paper, tensing for her answer to the question at the top of his mind. “Do you agree?”

“No.” She shook her head firmly. “But I also can't find even a dollar to cut from your current budget. So … let's talk about the opposite approach. We need to find us a Daddy Warbucks.”

“Ah.” He slid the papers back toward her. “Well, that shouldn't be hard, sitting here in rural Vermont.”

“Am I hearing tone?”

“Sorry. Yes. It's a good idea, but where exactly do you plan to look? We're a little low on millionaires here in Echo Lake.”

“The big hospital fund-raiser is next week, right?”

“Ye-es. You're thinking we'll find deep-enough pockets there?” He pointed at the stack of papers. “To get to the number you've got on that list?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” She brought the tip of her pen to her mouth, and he had to blink hard to stop staring at the way her lips teased it as she pondered. “I'm checking the records on previous years to see if there's anyone in particular who might have a soft spot for pediatrics.”

“Okay, but if that doesn't work out, do you have a plan B?”

“Sort of.” She pointed at him with the pen. “All that paperwork I saw on your desk—any chance any of it is grant proposals you haven't finished?”

“A whole folder of it, yes. But they don't add up to the number you're looking at.”

“They could be a start, though, right?”

He shrugged slowly. “Maybe? But those things take eons to compose, and even longer to go through all of the channels. And even then, there's no guarantee we'll end up getting the money. It's a crapshoot.”

“True, but it might buy us a little time. If we can show that we've got
x
number of dollars possibly coming in within
x
number of weeks or months, it might back the board off a little bit. If we work together on the proposals, maybe it wouldn't take so long.”

Work together? When, for God's sake? Both of them were already working double shifts, for all intents and purposes. There
wasn't
any time.

He sighed. “I don't know, Delaney. Pretty sure you can think of a lot more interesting things to do than fill out grant paperwork. Not sure it makes sense to invest that much effort into a non-guarantee at this point.”

“
Everybody
can think of more interesting things to do than that. But that money's out there. Somebody's going to get it. Why not us?”

He put up his hands. Clearly, she'd already decided they were doing the grant paperwork. “Okay. We'll work on the grants, and we'll go pocket to pocket at the dinner. But let me ask you this—is there a second magic number? If we can't get to the target they gave you, is there another one that, if we hit it, could at least compel the board to back off for a bit? One that shows we're doing everything we can?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea. That's why I have a plan C. But I need you.”

He blinked, hearing the words in a different context, dammit. Then he shook his head.

“Need me?”

He saw color wash her cheeks … again. If he was a better person, he wouldn't be quite so thrilled that he could make her blush so easily. She reached for her water glass, and he swore he tried to stop, but his damn eyes wouldn't unlock themselves from her lips as she sipped, then swallowed. The cool water left a delicious sheen that made her look so damn kissable he had to close his eyes for a long moment. Jesus. He needed some sleep. Yeah, that had to be it.