“That, too.”
“I’m in.”
She unlocked the front door and tossed her keys on a table in the foyer. Hutch set the box on a chair and looked around with interest. “I like your house,” he said. “It looks like you.”
Simone made her way to the kitchen, painfully aware that he followed closely at her heels. “How so?” She opened the refrigerator to cool her hot face and to hide for a moment. Her heart raced at a crazy tempo.
“Modern. Stylish. Simple. Sophisticated.”
Wow. Was that really how he saw her? While she put the coffee on to brew, Hutch perched on a stool at the bar. “Thank you,” she muttered. Was he thinking about all the money she had spent while he was caring for sick babies in terrible poverty? Was his compliment actually a veiled criticism?
Maybe she was reading too much into a casual comment.
“Where will you live now that you’re back?” she asked. “Somewhere near the hospital?”
“Actually,” he said with a weary grin, “I’m going to be your neighbor. I’ll be closing on the brick colonial down the road soon.”
“Oh.” She knew the house well. It was less than half a mile from her place. Was that a coincidence?
Hutch shrugged. “I’m too old for bachelor digs. I wanted to put down roots.”
“No more Doctors Without Borders?”
“I don’t think so. It’s a young man’s game. I gave it more than five years of my life. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done, but it was time to come home.”
“I’m sure your parents are delighted.” Hutch’s mother and father were both lawyers. They had raised their son to believe he could be or do anything he wanted. Hutch had excelled all the way through school, despite the occasional run-ins with bullies.
“They were over the moon when they heard.”
“Must be nice. My mom and dad drop by only when they want to lecture me about something. Of course, you probably remember that.” Her parents had been none too thrilled about their only daughter dating someone they hadn’t handpicked for her. Neither Hutch nor Simone had let the veiled disapproval dissuade them.
Remembering the passionate affair and its inevitable end was something Simone managed to avoid. Mostly. But with Hutch in her kitchen, the memories came crashing back.
The two of them had met at a party at the Cattleman’s Club. Simone had been barely twenty-two and ready to fall in love. The town had thought she was promiscuous—still did—but that was a facade she hid behind. If people wanted to look down their noses at her, she wasn’t going to stop them.
Being introduced to Troy Hutchinson by a mutual acquaintance had been kismet. The moment she laid eyes on him, she knew he was the one. Though he was ridiculously handsome, it was his quiet, steady intelligence that drew her in. Hutch was no callow boy looking for an easy lay.
He had talked to her, listened to her opinions. Danced with her. Laughed at her jokes. And in a secluded corner outside the club, he had kissed her. Even now she could remember everything about that magical moment. The way he smelled of lime and starched cotton. The sensation of feeling small and protected, though she was more than capable of taking care of herself. He was taller than she was and extremely fit, which made sense, of course, for someone who had devoted himself to the pursuit of medicine.
“Simone? Hello in there...”
Suddenly he was standing in front of her, his smile quizzical. “You’ve been stirring that cup of coffee for a long time.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. Did he know what she was thinking? Could he read her mind?
“Here,” she said. “I fixed it the way you like it. Strong enough to peel paint and enough sugar to give you cavities.”
He took the cup and sipped slowly, his eyes closing in bliss. “Now this is good coffee. Might even compete with the real stuff in Africa.”
“I’m sure not everything was great. As I recall, you were a meat-and-potatoes guy, too. Not much prime beef where you were, I’d say.”
“You’re right, of course. I lost twenty pounds after I arrived in Sudan and never quite gained it back.”
“Let’s take our drinks into the den.” She grabbed a package of cookies out of the cabinet and led the way. Hutch chose a wing-backed chair near the dormant fireplace. Simone claimed one end of the sofa.
He sat back with a sigh, balancing his cup on his flat abdomen. “You’ve done well for yourself, Simone. I’m proud of you. Everyone in town sings your praises—well, your ad agency’s praises,” he clarified.
“That might be a stretch, but thanks. Hard work and a dollop of luck.”