Fling with Her Hot-Shot Consultant

by Kate Hardy

  Or maybe to fix the broken parts of himself, so he actually had something to offer someone. So he’d be able to let a partner close instead of keeping those last barriers round his heart, scared that if he let her closer she’d find him wanting and walk away—just as everyone in his life had since his mother’s death, except his dog.

  Truffle didn’t expect him to talk about feelings; she was happy just to be with him, to walk with him on the beach or over the hills, and curl up by the fire with him. She accepted him for what he was. Whereas a relationship meant talking and sharing feelings, letting someone see deeper into him and risking that they wouldn’t want what they saw.

  ‘What would you wish for?’ he asked, to distract himself.

  ‘Ah, no. Telling what you wish for means it won’t come true.’

  What would she wish for? Obviously to have Charlie back, for him not to have died.

  But if by any chance her wish was to fall in love again, could it be with him? Could they find some way to make this work? He had no idea.

  But here, with the meteors streaking across the sky, he was starting to think there were possibilities. That maybe they could help each other over their pasts, step by tiny step. He just had to find the right way to suggest it.

  * * *

  Over the new few days, Georgie really felt that she was settling in and enjoying everything Edinburgh had to offer, from the theatre to the pandas at the zoo; and she found herself enjoying the fact that Hayloft Cottage was in the middle of nowhere. She liked getting up and seeing the sheep from next door peering in through the kitchen window; she liked sharing her space with a dog who’d grown used to her enough to curl up on the sofa next to her when she sat reading a magazine, with her chin resting on Georgie’s knees; and she liked the feeling of freshness and hearing the birds sing when she walked out of the front door in the morning.

  She enjoyed the hospital, too—and she was glad that Ryan was on with her in the PAU when a mum came in, panicking. ‘My baby! He’s all floppy and he keeps being sick and I can’t get to see my family doctor and...’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Georgie reassured her. ‘You’re in the right place.’

  Ryan took the baby and started to examine him, while Georgie tried to ascertain the medical history. ‘Tell us about your little boy.’

  ‘Max is four months. He’s never been a good feeder, and my milk’s drying up so I’ve been giving him a few bottles to keep him going,’ Max’s mum said. ‘I thought he’d picked up a bug, because he’s been sick and had diarrhoea for the last couple of days, but then this morning I noticed this rash, and he was wheezing, and he’s floppy—and all the baby books say if he’s floppy it’s really serious, and... Please, just help him,’ she begged.

  Georgie was pretty sure she’d seen cases like this before in London. ‘So you’re giving him formula as well as breastfeeding? Has he been sick before when you gave him formula?’

  ‘He was sick on the breast, too,’ Max’s mum said. ‘Do you think it’s the formula that’s made him worse?’

  ‘I think there’s a strong possibility he might have a milk allergy,’ Georgie said. ‘And that’s not just the formula—if you’ve had any dairy, that will go through your breast milk. Are there any allergies in your family, or does anyone have asthma or hay fever?’

  ‘Nothing like that.’ Max’s mum looked worried.

  ‘I’d like to do a blood test to check my diagnosis,’ Georgie said.

  ‘I think she’s right,’ Ryan said. ‘Have you seen any blood or mucus in Max’s stools, when they’ve been solid?’

  ‘Yes. I was so scared it was cancer or something like that.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure it’s a milk allergy,’ Georgie said again. ‘That would explain why he’s not feeding well, too. Once we get that sorted out, you’ll find he gains weight well and you’ll be a lot less worried about him.’

  Max’s mum bit her lip. ‘If he’s allergic to formula, what am I going to do? Give him soy?’

  ‘Often there’s an allergy to soy as well,’ Georgie said. ‘We can give you a hypoallergenic formula to try.’

  ‘And a calcium supplement,’ Ryan added, ‘and a multivitamin syrup with vitamin D.’

  ‘Let me sort out the blood test,’ Georgie said. ‘We’ll see how Max goes on the hypoallergenic formula, and then bring him in to reintroduce a milk feed and see if he reacts. We’ll do the test here, so if he reacts strongly we can help straight away. And if we’re right you’ll need to check the labels for absolutely everything you feed him, to make sure you avoid giving him anything with milk in it for at least the first year.’

  ‘About one in five babies outgrow a milk allergy by the time they’re a year old,’ Ryan said, ‘and most have outgrown it by the time they’re three, but some will have an immediate reaction to even small traces of dairy.’

  Georgie cleaned Max’s heel and took a tiny sample of blood through a heel prick test. ‘It’s only temporarily uncomfortable,’ she reassured Max’s mum. ‘It’ll take a couple of days to get the results back, but in the meantime we’ll sort out the formula for you.

  ‘So he’s going to be all right?’ she asked.

  Georgie rested her hand on the woman’s shoulder. ‘Yes. I know right now everything looks scary, but Dr McGregor and I have seen a lot of poorly babies in our time, and we’ve made them better. There are lots of things we can do to help Max.’

  * * *

  That was one of the things Ryan really liked about Georgie: she was calm, kind and practical. While she talked to Max’s mum about how to read labels and what kind of alternatives to try when weaning, Max’s mum was visibly relaxing and seeming more confident in her ability to manage.

  Funny, Georgie made him feel that way, too. Not so much in his job—he knew what he was doing at the hospital—but outside. When he was with her, he saw the world in a different way. He was starting to feel connected. It scared him, because he’d never managed to do that before; yet at the same time he wanted more. Much more.

  * * *

  The following night, Georgie was woken by an insistent knocking on her bedroom door.

  She grabbed her dressing gown, wrapped it round her and stomped over to the door. ‘What?’ she snapped as she opened the door to Ryan.

  ‘You need to come outside,’ he said. ‘Right now.’

  ‘I was asleep and I’m in my pyjamas,’ she pointed out, glaring at him.

  ‘Just get your coat and your boots on. Now. You’ll really regret it if you don’t.’

  ‘Are you insane?’ She glanced at her watch. ‘It’s one in the morning and I’m on an early.’

  ‘I know. Stop arguing, Georgie. It’s important.’

  Important? How? If it was a fire, she would’ve heard the smoke alarm. Why was he looking so pleased with himself? Why wasn’t he explaining whatever it was? Why was he such an irritating man?

  He waited for her to walk before him, not leaving her with much choice.

  Scowling, she pulled her boots and her coat on, and followed him out to the garden.

  ‘Look up,’ he said.

  She did so, and felt her eyes widen as she realised why he’d wanted her to go outside—and why he hadn’t explained. He’d wanted this to be a surprise. A delight.

  And it was.

  Above them, curtains of pale green light rippled slowly across the sky, the stars still visible through the green haze. The thing she’d always wanted to see. The Northern Lights.

  She’d never seen anything so gorgeous and breathtaking before.

  ‘Oh, my God, Ryan, it’s...’ Words failed her, and she stood staring up at the sky, utterly entranced.

  She had no idea quite how it happened, but then his arm was wrapped round her shoulders and hers was round his waist.

  It was just for bodily warmth, she told herself, because it was a cold night and they had pyja
mas on under their coats.

  And when he stooped slightly so his cheek was against hers, again she told herself it was just for warmth.

  But then somehow they ended up facing each other. He rested his palm against her cheek, and she found herself doing the same. Right here, right now, under the glow of the Northern Lights, everything felt like a different world. A magical one, full of possibilities.

  He dipped his head, and brushed his mouth very lightly against hers. Her lips tingled at the touch: an invitation, a promise, a temptation. Warmth and sweetness. A real connection. Things that had been missing from her life for so very long.

  And she couldn’t help responding, sliding her hand round to the back of his head and urging his mouth down to hers again. His kiss was long and slow, and so very sweet that it made her ache. Asking, not demanding; it made her feel as if she was unfurling under the spring sunshine after a hard and lonely winter, as if the dancing lights in the sky were flickering inside her head, and she didn’t want it to stop.

  Yet, at the same time, common sense seeped back into her along with the chill of the night air.

  She was kissing her housemate.

  Ryan was gorgeous, but he’d had a miserable time in the past. And how did she know things would even work between them? Hadn’t she learned the hard way through Charlie that her judgement in men wasn’t good enough?

  She pulled away. ‘This isn’t a good idea.’

  His eyes were dark and unreadable. She didn’t have a clue what was going on in his head.

  But then he nodded. ‘You’re right. We’ll forget this ever happened. Blame it on the excitement of seeing the Northern Lights.’

  Lights that even now were fading away, melting back into the stratosphere.

  Just like that feeling of warmth and connection.

  Leaving her back in the shadows of loneliness.

  ‘Agreed,’ she said, trying to stem the sudden flood of misery.

  It was only a kiss.

  A temporary aberration.

  Not to be repeated.

  ‘Thank you for waking me to see the lights,’ she said, putting as much politeness as she could into her voice. Distance, that was what she needed most right now. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, and let her walk back into the house without following her.

  * * *

  What the hell had he been thinking?

  Of course it wasn’t a good idea to kiss her.

  Ryan knew he’d come up with a pathetic excuse. Blame it on the Northern Lights, indeed. He knew precisely why he’d kissed Georgie. She’d switched from super-grouchy at being woken in the middle of the night to almost glowing with joy when she’d seen the display of lights dancing through the skies. He’d found her delight irresistible, to the point where his common sense had been completely bypassed by need and he’d held her close. She’d held him back. And then he’d kissed her, her mouth warm and soft and sweet under his. She’d kissed him back. He’d felt the kind of connection he hadn’t thought was possible for him.

  And then she’d stopped kissing him and said it wasn’t a good idea.

  She was right. Of course it wasn’t a good idea. It was stupid. She was still mourning her husband, Ryan wasn’t a good bet when it came to relationships, and they were only going to be in each other’s lives temporarily.

  Utterly stupid.

  But what was even more stupid was that he wouldn’t have changed a thing. If he could rewind time and go back to the second when he’d slid his arm round her shoulders... He would still have done it. He would still have touched her face like that. Still have kissed her.

  And he’d lied—to both of them—when he’d said that they could just forget it had ever happened. Because he couldn’t forget it. That kiss just kept replaying in his head, in full Technicolor. When Ryan finally went to bed, he dreamed about kissing Georgie. He woke, aching, because he wasn’t kissing her; and then he thought about it all over again. Drifted back into a fitful doze. Dreamed again. Woke again, thinking of her.

  What had the actor said in that Shakespeare play Zoe had taken him to, a couple of years back, the one with the magician standing on the top of the stage with his cloak billowing out like a stormy sky as he conjured up a tempest?

  When I wak’d, I cried to dream again...

  But dreams could be broken all too easily.

  Giving up on sleep, Ryan went out for a long walk with Truffle. Thank God he and Georgie were on different shifts today. She’d be gone by the time he got back to the cottage, and he could have a cold shower—and hopefully some common sense would leach back into his head along with the water.

  And then somehow he’d have to find his way back to a decent working relationship with her.

  CHAPTER SIX

  OVER THE NEXT few days, Georgie was pretty sure that Ryan was avoiding her. And it was her own fault, for kissing him. She shouldn’t have done it. When he’d slipped his arm round her shoulders, she should’ve found an excuse to step away, instead of leaning into him and sliding her arm round his waist. She should never have responded.

  ‘How am I going to convince him that it was a mistake and I’m not going to make life difficult for him?’ she asked Truffle.

  The dog just gave a soft wuff, as if to say that she didn’t have a clue, either.

  It was fine until the Friday morning. And then she made the mistake of flicking into her social media account and all the memories popped up from six years ago. Her wedding day. Pictures of herself and Charlie in the doorway of the tiny ancient church where they’d just pledged to love, honour and cherish each other.

  Forsaking all others.

  Had he meant it at the time?

  She’d loved him so much. She’d thought they were so good together. They’d got on well with each other’s families, they’d got on well with each other’s friends, their jobs had complemented each other’s, and that day had been so bright and sparkly. The sun had shone all day, and she’d thought they were so lucky to spend such a perfect day with their family and their closest friends, sharing the love and the hope and the joy. She’d graduated and had been halfway through her foundation training, whereas Charlie was two years older and working in the Accident and Emergency Department.

  They’d had such plans.

  She’d finish her training, do three years in her specialty, and then they’d think about starting a family.

  Except Charlie had found a reason to put off having children with her: a reason Georgie had had no idea about at the time. Trisha Hampson, the woman he’d had an affair with. A long-running affair that had started a good year before he’d died and had then continued through every disaster mission he’d gone to help with.

  And, just before that last mission, according to what Trisha’s parents had told her later, Trisha had found out that she was pregnant.

  Had she told Charlie straight away? Or had she wanted to wait until she could tell him face to face, and maybe they’d both been killed before she’d had a chance to tell him?

  If they hadn’t been killed in the landslide, would he have told Georgie about Trisha and the baby when he came back to England? Would he have chosen to stay with her and give Trisha financial support for the baby, or would he have left Georgie and gone to live with his new family?

  And why had he needed to have that affair in the first place? Hadn’t she made him happy? She’d never had any real fights with him, and she’d always agreed to whatever he wanted. She’d thought they were good together. What had been missing, for him, in their relationship? Where had she gone wrong?

  All that potential, all that sparkle on their wedding day: now she looked at the photographs, and the day just felt tarnished. Her marriage had been a big, fat lie, and she’d been too stupid to realise it until it was too late.

  She wasn’t even aware she was crying until the kitc
hen door opened and Ryan walked in with Truffle.

  ‘Georgie? What’s wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing.’ She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.

  ‘It doesn’t look like nothing.’ He filled the kettle and switched it on. ‘I prescribe a mug of tea. And I’m...’ He paused. ‘I’m not prying, but I’m here if you want to talk about it—and it won’t be going any further than me.’

  Nobody at St Christopher’s knew that she was a widow. He’d kept his promise about that. She really had to stop letting Charlie’s behaviour affect every other relationship she had. Just because he’d been a cheat and a liar, it didn’t follow that everyone else in the world was, too.

  ‘It’s my wedding anniversary,’ she admitted. ‘Or it would have been.’ Would she even still have been married? Charlie’s child would’ve been crawling by now.

  ‘It’s the first anniversary since he died?’

  ‘Second,’ she said. The first one, though, she hadn’t known about Trisha, and she’d still been mourning the man she’d thought she’d married. Now... It was different. She knew Charlie hadn’t loved her as much as she’d loved him, or he wouldn’t have had the affair.

  Ryan clearly thought she was still in mourning; maybe that was why he’d backed off so fast after their kiss. Should she tell him the truth? But then he really might be tempted to pity her—not just poor, widowed Georgie, but poor, widowed, clueless, cheated-on Georgie. She didn’t want that.

  * * *

  Georgie looked totally lost, and Ryan had to stop himself walking over and putting his arms round her. Things were still slightly awkward between them since he’d kissed her in the garden, and the last thing he wanted to do was make that awkwardness any worse.

  ‘The photos came up on social media as a memory from six years ago. I should’ve expected it, but it caught me a bit on the raw.’

  ‘I’m not pitying you,’ he said softly, mindful of when she’d told him that her husband had been killed in a landslide while helping people after an earthquake. ‘Of course something like this would catch you out. I’m planning to take Truffle for a very long walk by the sea on my wedding anniversary.’ It would be the second anniversary for him, too, since the divorce.