LITMIR.BIZ

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it hadn’t always been a coincidence. If he learned Franca was attending an event that interested him, he’d make a point of going, too. But there’d also been a synchronicity at work, he believed.

      Now here they were. And Belle was still between them. Speaking of Belle, she appeared happy in the picture. No doubt she’d long ago forgotten her disappointment in him.

      “She’s beautiful.” That was true of all brides, but especially of Belle, with her blond radiance. Yet her image failed to eclipse one particular bridesmaid. “As are you.”

      Peripherally, he observed the PR director taking her little girl to the counter to pay for their purchases. He was glad not to have to include them in the conversation.

      “No one could look beautiful in that dress.” Franca chuckled. “I plan to cut it into doll clothes. I’m here to pick out patterns.”

      Marshall decided to explain why he’d stopped in, as well. “I figured my nephew, Caleb, might like a bear in a tux.”

      “You have a nephew?” A pucker formed between her eyebrows. “But you’re an only child.”

      They’d had a conversation once about the advantages and disadvantages of their situations, him as a singleton and her as the middle of three kids. How odd that the normally hyperactive hospital grapevine hadn’t yet broadcast the news to her.

      “Nick and I were raised as cousins. We just learned that was a lie.” To his embarrassment, he had to clear his throat. Pull yourself together. “The short version is, we’re brothers and I was adopted by my aunt and uncle. Anyway, Nick asked me to be best man at his wedding next month, and Caleb’s the ring bearer. He’s engaged to my nurse, Zady. Nick is, not Caleb. But you got that.” He rarely stumbled over words. How embarrassing.

      “Zady told me she was engaged,” Franca said. “I was honored that she asked me to save the date.”

      “I see.” Up close, her cloud of reddish-blond hair made her amber eyes appear extra large, but Marshall noted there was something different. “Why did you change your hair color?”

      Franca shrugged. “I was tired of feeling like Raggedy Ann.”

      “I liked it.”

      “You liked that I resembled a rag doll with red yarn for hair?”

      “It was...you.”

      “Exactly,” she said. “A mess. And I’m not fishing for compliments.”

      “May I offer a word of advice?” Marshall plunged ahead before she could respond. “I realize you’re the expert on psychology, but you shouldn’t put yourself down.”

      “Where’s this coming from?” Franca asked.

      “From...” He broke off. In college, he’d been aware that Franca felt eclipsed by her stunning roommate. But he’d been in no position to explain that whenever he was around her, Belle faded. Nor did he wish to bring it up now.

      Fundamentally, nothing had changed. Marshall had recognized from the start that his attraction to Franca was destructive. They were opposites who disagreed on many important topics, and whenever they were together for long, their arguments brought out the worst in each other.

      “Never mind,” he said. “I shouldn’t have spoken.”

      “Actually, you’re right,” she responded. “I was indulging in either self-pity or false modesty.”

      “Nothing about you is false.” That skated too close to flattery for Marshall’s taste. He decided on a quick exit. “Good luck with your patterns.”

      “Happy bear hunting.”

      “Thanks.”

      Before he could escape, Jennifer Martin turned from the counter and cried, “I remember!”

      “Remember what?” Franca asked.

      “I’ll leave you two to chat.” Marshall started to retreat.

      “Wait, Dr. Davis!” Jennifer protested. “This concerns you.”

      “Excuse me?”

      “I have an idea for a new therapy group,” Jennifer burst out. “For men undergoing fertility treatments. How perfect if the pair of you ran it as a team!”

      Teaming up with Franca to plumb patients’ emotions? The concept struck him as anything but perfect. “I’m not a counselor,” Marshall said. “Dr. Brightman is well qualified to lead such a group.”

      “Men might hesitate to talk freely with a woman,” Jennifer said. “Also, while she’s a counselor, you have medical expertise. You’d be a great team.”

      “She has a point,” Franca conceded.

      “Any male urologist would do.” That was the best argument that came to mind. “Preferably one who has better people skills than mine.”

      “Such as who?” Jennifer demanded.

      Marshall’s mind skimmed over the urology staff. The head of the department, Dr. Cole Rattigan, had no spare time, since he and his wife were juggling fifteen-month-old triplets. Marshall’s suitemates were even newer to the hospital than he was and still honing their surgical skills under his supervision. It seemed wrong to pressure them into the job.

      So how did he get out of this?

      * * *

      FRANCA SYMPATHIZED WITH Marshall’s deer-in-the-headlights reaction. However, she couldn’t dispute Jennifer’s reasoning.

      “It’s worth considering,” she said. “Dr. Davis and I will discuss it.”

      “Great!” Jennifer said. “Okay if I mention it to Mark?” Dr. Mark Rayburn was the hospital administrator. “Oh, and Cole, too?”

      “What’s the rush?” Marshall asked irritably.

      “Things are slow after the holidays. There’s not a lot happening in March. I’d love to publicize a new therapy group in the newsletter,” Jennifer explained.

      “Give us a chance to consider how we might organize it and whether it fits into Dr. Davis’s schedule,” Franca said firmly. “Nice to see you and Rosalie.”

      “Nice to see you, too.” To the obvious relief of her daughter, who was hopping up and down, the PR director departed.

      “She doesn’t take no for an answer, does she?” Marshall growled.

      “She’s not usually pushy,” Franca assured him. “But if we don’t want this foisted on us willy-nilly, we’d better present a united front.”

      His jaw twitched as if he were about to dismiss the notion entirely. But Ada was observing them from the counter, and other voices were approaching from outside. “Let’s finish shopping and meet elsewhere to resolve this.”

      “Good idea.” Not at her apartment, and Franca wasn’t about to suggest his place. “How about the Sea Star Café down by the harbor? I haven’t had lunch.”

      “Is that still there?” Like Franca, Marshall had grown up in inland Orange County, but must have visited the harbor town over the years. “Yes, I’m hungry, too.”

      Into the shop surged a couple of women shepherding children.

      “See you there,” she said.

      “Done.” He drew himself up to his full, rather impressive height. “Let’s get this squared away before it blows up in our faces.”

      Would it be so terrible for them to coordinate a weekly group? she wondered, watching him move deeper into the store. Surely they could maintain a professional distance, despite her awareness of him as a man. And despite his disappointment in her new hair color. The picky comment reminded Franca of how exacting Marshall could be.

      Franca flipped

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