“This is surprisingly homey,” Emma said.
“Why surprising?”
In a perfect world, Emma thought, she would have kept that observation in her head. Since it was out, she had to explain.
“I did an online search on you.”
“So you checked me out.” One corner of his mouth lifted.
“It’s not like you weren’t warned.”
He didn’t look at all bothered. “And?”
“You were the plastic surgeon to the stars. The go-to guy for new noses, lips and—” She glanced down at her chest, which suddenly felt woefully inadequate. Then she looked up and saw the amusement in his gaze. “Other things.”
“I do more than that.”
“So I found out. Doctors Without Borders. Trips to Central America to work on children with cleft palates. Donating your time to Heal the Children.”
“The specialty is more than just changing parts of the body a person doesn’t like.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Most plastic surgery isn’t cosmetic. It involves reconstruction. The adjective plastic in front of surgery means sculpting.”
“Very interesting.”
“I correct functional impairment caused by traumatic injuries, infection or disease—cancer or tumors. Sometimes a procedure is done to approximate a normal appearance. Trauma initiates sudden change, which can cause depression, make a person question who they are.”
Emma had questioned who she was every day since her mother’s deathbed confession about stealing her from another family when she was a baby. Plastic surgery couldn’t fix her. There was no procedure that would restore what she or her biological family had lost.
“Is it my imagination, or did you quote all that from Wikipedia because you’re the tiniest bit defensive about public perception regarding your field of expertise?”
“No. Maybe.” His grin was a little sheepish, a little boyish and a whole lot of sexy. “Sorry. Since moving to Blackwater Lake, I’ve been reeducating the locals who want Angelina Jolie’s lips or George Clooney’s chin.”
“Really? Men?”
“You’d be surprised.”
“For the record, I think what you do is very impressive.” She held up her hand. “Again, not flirting or flattering. Just stating the truth as I see it.”
He leaned back in the chair, more relaxed now. “Suddenly I feel like the one being interviewed.”
“It was more like adding context to the information on the internet.”
“I think that was a diplomatic way of saying that I like to talk about myself.” There was laughter in his eyes, making them sparkle. Very different from the gray intensity that reminded her of a storm.
“You said it.” She liked that he could make fun of himself.
“Speaking of interviews... Why are you surprised my house is homey?”
Too much to hope he’d been distracted enough not to remember that comment. She took a deep breath. “You made a lot of money doing what you did in Beverly Hills. I just figured your home would be chrome, glass, electronic gizmos, sculptures and art that cost the equivalent of a small country’s gross national product.”
His mouth pulled tight for a moment. “That was then, this is Montana. I wanted a change.”
“Because of losing your wife?” Emma winced as the words came out of her mouth. She could kiss this job goodbye. If she ever faced her biological mother, one of the things she wanted to know was which side of the family to blame for this chronic foot-in-mouth problem. “Sorry. That’s none of my business. You’re supposed to be asking the questions.”
“I am, but you touched on something important. Kyle will never know his mother, and whoever looks after him will be dealing with that issue as he gets older.”
“Of course. You’ll want to keep her memory alive.”
“For my son.”