Flirting with Forever

by Jennifer Bernard

  “You pick a table, and I’ll get the coffee,” he offered. “How do you like yours?”

  “I’m a two-artificial-creamer, one-sugar girl,” she said.

  “You like your coffee girlie. Got it.”

  “Okay then.” Something like appreciation shone in her eyes. “A bit sexist, but you’re teasing me and that seems like progress.”

  “Progress?”

  “Oh, I just got the impression you didn’t think much of me.” She turned to survey the selection of tables in the cafeteria. There were only ten or so, and several were already occupied. She headed for a table in the far corner, while he watched her with a sense of shock. Had he really given her the impression that he disliked her?

  Maybe that was part of his problem right there. He came off as more detached and critical than he actually was.

  He watched her pull out a chair and sink into it with a sigh. She rolled her shoulders, then twisted from side to side in a yoga-type stretch. It was the kind of thing he wouldn’t feel comfortable doing in public. He envied her lack of self-consciousness.

  Maybe Bo was right to call her his “new role model.” He should take a cue from his nephew.

  He poured out two cups of coffee and put some creamers and sugar packets in the pocket of his white coat. He usually took his coffee black, for efficiency’s sake. But he was about to try something new in this conversation with Chrissie. Why not start with adding cream and sugar to his coffee?

  When he joined Chrissie at the table, she gave him another radiant smile, this one filled with gratitude.

  “Come here, handsome.” She took the coffee cup from him. “Referring to the coffee, of course.” With a cheeky smile, she inhaled the fumes rising from the coffee. “Not that you aren’t also handsome, especially when you’re bringing me coffee.”

  He sat down and watched her with fascination as she poured cream and sugar into her cup. “You’re really good at that, aren’t you?”

  “At putting cream in my coffee? Yes, sir. But then I’ve had a lot of practice. Me and coffee go way back.”

  “No, not that. The…flirting, I guess you could call it.”

  She blinked at him with those sparkling blue eyes. “Was I flirting?”

  “Oh. I apologize. I probably misread the signals. I tend to do that.” He felt heat crawl up the sides of his neck. Of course she hadn’t been flirting with him. She was just a lighthearted person with a possible eye twitch. It had nothing to do with him.

  He must have looked as mortified as he felt, because she reached across the table and touched his hand lightly. “No, you’re right, I guess I was flirting a little. I did call you handsome, after all. I’d say I was doing some combo of flirting and teasing. I can stop.”

  “No, you don’t have to stop. Actually, I wish you would continue.”

  “Oh.” She twirled a wooden stirrer in her coffee. “You mean, right this second?”

  “We can schedule it for a future time if that’s more convenient for you.”

  Her lips curved in a smile that was pure mirth. “Very thoughtful.”

  Damn, this was not going well at all. He should explain himself better. “I asked you to coffee hoping I could ask you a few questions.”

  “About Lost Harbor? Sure, but it’s been a few years since I lived here. You probably know more than me at this point.”

  “No, not about Lost Harbor. About you.” He shook his head, impatient at his inability to express this properly. “About flirting.”

  “About flirting,” she repeated, her eyebrows quirking. “Um, sure.”

  One thing he’d noticed about Chrissie was that she accepted change easily. What was that phrase, “go with the flow?” Look how well she’d adjusted to her car breaking down. And to his invitation for a cup of coffee.

  Also, despite her playful manner, she didn’t seem to be laughing at him right now. She was watching him patiently as she sipped her coffee. “What sort of questions?”

  Since the direct approach was all he really knew, he went with that. “When you winked at me earlier, what were your intentions?”

  She took his question seriously, giving herself a moment to think before she answered. “I wanted to make it clear I was joking around.”

  “So you weren’t flirting with me? Was it the combo that you mentioned?”

  “I suppose that technically, it’s all a kind of flirting. I’m sorry if it was inappropriate or unwelcome.”

  “No. No, it’s not. That’s not it. I just—I’m trying to understand.”

  “Understand what?”

  She glanced at her phone, which was face up on the table next to her, and he wondered if she was hoping a call would come in and rescue her from this conversation. She caught his glance, and shook her head slightly.

  “Sorry. I’m expecting a call from a real estate agent. I’m having trouble lining one up.” She turned her phone over and pushed it a few inches farther away. “But this is more important.”

  And he could tell from her steady, clear gaze that she meant it. That made all the difference, and some of his awkward tension relaxed.

  “This is fairly personal, and we don’t know each other very well. I’m normally a very private person. So if it’s too…” He hesitated, and she saved him by shaking her head again.

  “Don’t worry about me. Say whatever you’re comfortable with. I promise I’ll tell you if I’m not okay with it.”

  He exhaled a long breath. “Thank you. Okay, well, the short version is that I’ve been working with a matchmaker. She’s trying to find a suitable partner for me.”

  Once again she showed her talent for “going with the flow,” as her only reaction was a slight lift of her eyebrows. “How old school. Most people do online dating these days.”

  “I did try that, but I don’t trust the algorithms. I don’t seem to match their parameters.”

  A smile played at the corners of her lips. It was such a nice mouth, he observed again, with a merry curve to it. “That doesn’t surprise me. They probably don’t get a lot of neurosurgeons, simply because there aren’t a lot of neurosurgeons in the state.”

  “Only three in this part of Alaska. The Interior has two more, and—”

  “I get it, you’re a rare bird, so you decided on a matchmaker instead.”

  Had he been sounding arrogant? In his view, he’d been making a literal point. But often people thought he came across as full of himself when that hadn’t been his intention. Curse his awkwardness.

  “Yes. I met with a matchmaker and she’s found someone who seems to be a perfect match. We’ve exchanged a few emails and I was excited to meet her. But the matchmaker advised against it at this point.”

  “Really? Is she worried you’re not compatible enough?”

  “No, it’s not that. She thinks that I need to work on my…well, flirting, I suppose would be the word for it. My dating skills. Apparently I strike people as too serious, and overly critical, especially during those initial encounters.”

  His gaze dropped away from hers. It was embarrassing to admit such a flaw. But how was he to address it without facing it?

  Luckily, Chrissie’s voice held nothing but sympathy. She reached over the table and touched his hand again. She was so comfortable with tactile contact, he noticed. Another difference between them.

  “Maybe it’s because dating is such an awkward concept anyway. I’d much rather just hang out with a man and see where it goes.”

  “Agreed, if I had time for something as amorphous as ‘hanging out.’” He could still feel her light touch on his hand even though hers was back around her coffee cup.

  “I get it. You’re overscheduled, overcommitted, you probably don’t want to date someone from the hospital, and it’s hard to meet people who don’t work at the hospital. Modern life doesn’t make it easy, does it?”

  He appreciated her attempt to make it sound like it wasn’t his fault. But he knew better. “For me, it’s a little more than that. Bree, the matc
hmaker, suggested that I treat flirting like any other skill that can be learned.”

  “Ahhh…” Understanding lit up her blue eyes. “I see where this is going now. You think I’m good at flirting and can help you learn.”

  “It does seem to come easily for you.”

  “It does. It’s one of my skills, though its never before been one of my marketable skills.” She gave him one of her sassy smiles. “I’m flattered. But just so you know, I don’t flirt with just anyone.”

  He froze. Was that…was she…

  She winked. “Yes, I was flirting a little bit just then. Flaunting my flirting ability. But it actually is true. Do you want to know why I have occasionally, in the short time we’ve known each other, flirted with you?”

  “Because I’m not bad-looking, or so they tell me?” He still didn’t truly believe it, but that was a different story. He’d tell her that tale some other day.

  “No,” she said patiently. “It’s because I enjoy it. You’re fun to tease. I like nudging you off your serious pedestal. I like seeing that little flash of confusion when you’re trying to figure out what I’m up to.”

  He stared at her, speechless. So confusing him was fun for her? For him, most interactions, except for medical ones, made him tense. Not that he disliked people—not at all. He wanted desperately to help people. That was his contribution to the human race. Fixing damaged nervous systems. And the people he’d helped were grateful. Beyond grateful; almost awed, sometimes.

  “Uh oh. I’ve broken the brain doctor,” Chrissie said lightly. “The hot mess strikes again.”

  “No no. I’m fine. This has been very helpful. You flirt because it’s fun, not because you want me.”

  Her eyes widened, and his own words echoed back to him. Not because you want me. Did that sound sexual? Awareness flashed through his body and tingled in his groin.

  He had to put a stop to that immediately.

  “What I mean is that I know you’re not interested in me as a potential partner,” he explained. “You’re just amusing yourself. You’re not flirting in order to attract my attention, are you?”

  As she held his gaze, he imagined that she was rapidly sorting through and discarding various potential responses. He remembered what Old Crow had said, that Chrissie was very smart. In that moment, he knew it was absolutely true. Her mind worked fast, he could see it in her face.

  “That’s right, I’m amusing myself. But generally, flirting also entertains the person I’m flirting with. The flirtee, shall we say. Most people enjoy being flirted with. It makes them feel good about themselves. It creates a moment of brightness in their day. I think that’s mostly why I do it.”

  “Can you teach me?”

  “Teach you to flirt?” She cocked her head, eying him in a speculative way. Behind her, an orderly scraped his cafeteria tray into the trash bin, while Ian hoped desperately that he hadn’t been overheard.

  He lowered his voice. “Please. I’m hoping to meet Helene in person as soon as possible. My work is extremely stressful, and I don’t have much free time in general. The matchmaker said that I should work on enjoying the process. She used that phrase, ‘it’s the journey not the destination.’”

  Chrissie finished the phrase along with him, rolling her eyes slightly. “I’m familiar with it. Except in my case, I need a damn destination. I’ve got the journey part down.”

  He nodded, though he wasn’t entirely sure what she meant.

  “So, are you interested in this…project? I can…compensate you in some way.” He winced, wondering if that sounded crass. Paying a woman to flirt with him didn’t seem right. On the other hand, not paying her to help him didn’t either.

  She pursed her lips to one side and tapped a finger against her chin. “Hmm. Favor to be named later? Ya never know, I might need some brain surgery at some point.”

  “Let’s hope not,” he said seriously. “Brain surgery isn’t nearly as fun as flirting, at least not for the patient.”

  Her gaze flashed to him, and she burst out laughing. “That was a joke, I hope?”

  “Yes.” He smiled at her. “I am capable of jokes, even about brain surgery, no matter what Bo says.”

  “Good. A sense of humor is very important when it comes to flirting.” She lapsed back into her pondering. “Since I probably won’t be in Lost Harbor for long, I should come up with something more immediate. I would have said a new head gasket for Prince Valiant, but I just got this job and they’re paying me quite well. And of course, once I sell the property, I won’t have any financial worries whatsoever. Assuming I ever get my ass—”

  She broke off after the word “ass,” somewhat inconveniently, because he was left with an image of her ass as she walked her dog across the slushy boardwalk toward the Olde Salt Saloon. She’d been wearing snug black pants with a subtle sparkle woven into the fabric, as if snow crystals were embedded in it. The sparkle did nothing to distract from the full curves of her behind.

  “I know what you can do!”

  She slapped a hand on the table, breaking him free from his reverie about her rear end.

  “What’s that?”

  “When’s your next day off?”

  “Two days from now. Why?”

  “There’s something you can help me with. We can start your flirting lessons at the same time.”

  Just then his pager beeped. He scanned the message.

  “I’m needed in the ER,” he told her. “Construction accident. Possible brain bleed.”

  “Go. Go. I’ll see you in two days.”

  He dumped his coffee cup in the trash and hurried off to the ER. It wasn’t until much later that he realized she’d never answered his question, You’re not flirting to attract my attention, are you?

  Was that significant? He had no idea. But since she kept saying that she wasn’t staying in Lost Harbor, it hardly mattered.

  Firmly, he mentally placed her in the “nonviable” category. And if there was one thing he was completely confident in, it was his mental willpower. Chrissie Yates was a no-go. Case closed.

  Eight

  Chrissie picked up Ian two days later at Gretel’s Café. Back in her day, the coffee shop had been known as the Wicked Brew, and had been painted black and filled with moody teenagers.

  The teenagers still huddled around a back table—new teenagers, of course—alternating between tapping on their phones and laughing hysterically. But the interior had been completely transformed into a warm and inviting space that reflected the whimsical personality of its owner, Gretel Morrison. Gretel was a blond pixie-ish twenty-something, who wore streaks of purple in her hair and sparkly eyeshadow.

  When she’d wandered in for a mocha on her second day in town, Chrissie had clicked with Gretel immediately. She liked Gretel’s fun-loving spirit and the fact that she’d traveled quite a bit before settling in Lost Harbor with her honey, Zander Ross. Gretel described herself as a former aimless party girl. Chrissie related to the “aimless” part, though not necessarily with the “party girl.” Gretel came from money, not eccentricity, as Chrissie did.

  Nonetheless, she already had a soft spot for Gretel, so it was a bit of a shock when she discovered her new friend deep in conversation with Ian at the counter.

  They seemed to know each other well, and if her observational skills were as good as she believed, they’d had a “thing.” A fling thing? A love thing? A sex thing? Her powers didn’t go quite that far. She’d have to grill Gretel later.

  Gretel caught sight of her and gave her a friendly wave. “Good morning, Chrissie. Coconut mocha?”

  Ian turned to greet her with a smile. Freshly shaven, eyes bright from his conversation with Gretel, he looked absolutely yummy. Unnervingly so. He wore a finely knit black wool sweater that set off his strong features. She looked for a flaw in his perfection and found one—a tiny speck of blood where he must have cut himself shaving. No wonder; he had that thick black Irish facial hair that must be hell to wrestle with.


  “You know me so well. Thanks.” Her glance traveled back and forth from Ian to Gretel, and her curiosity must have shown.

  “Ian and I got to know each other last year,” Gretel explained. “We were kind of thrown together, you could say. We were roadkill on my sister’s highway to loooove.”

  “Sounds like a juicy story, Ian. You’ll have to fill me in while we drive.” Chrissie accepted the mocha from Gretel and handed her a ten-dollar bill.

  “It’s only five-fifty,” Gretel said, but Chrissie waved her off.

  “I always round up, It’s just easier that way.”

  “Okay, well…thank you.” Gretel beamed at them as they turned to go. “Drive safe. Watch out for roadkill.”

  Chrissie quirked her eyebrows at the younger girl, wondering if that was a reference to the “highway to love.” Which had nothing to do with her and Ian, obviously. Did that need clarification?

  But Gretel turned her attention back to the chalkboard she was writing on. Pink chalk letters read “Get your Trivia On! Every…” She seemed to be working on a W next.

  “We really need to talk about your accounting system,” Ian said as they stepped out of the coffee shop. A light precipitation drifted through the air, more of a chilly mist, really, as if it didn’t have the energy to form sleet. “You’re overpaying for your coffee.”

  “It’s my money. Why can’t I overpay if I want to? I take my dollar votes seriously. I love Gretel’s place and I want to support her.”

  “Hm.” He seemed stumped by that comment. “So you see prices as suggestions?”

  “Sort of. I never underpay, unless there’s a very good reason and I negotiate it first.”

  They reached her car, with its chipped gold paint and graceful fins. It was so good to have Prince Valiant back.

  She caught Ian eyeing it dubiously. “So we’re taking your car. Has Prince Valiant completely recovered?”

  “Physically, yes. Emotionally, it might take a while.” She patted her beloved car’s roof. “But we’re working on it.”