Author: Kristan Higgins

“I missed you,” he said with a little smile.

Oooh. “I—I’m just so sorry I forgot about this,” I stammered.

He looked at me sideways. “It is kind of a first,” he acknowledged, just sheepishly enough to be adorable. “I’m usually the forgetful one.”

Score another point for Dr. Barnes, ladies and gentlemen!

Dinner with a shelf life of three years wasn’t exactly the romantic meal I’d planned, but nevertheless, Joe Carpenter and I were together.

“How’s work going?” I asked as Joe shoveled in heaping spoonfuls of the glow-in-the-dark food.

“Great,” he answered. “Almost done on the new wing at the senior center.”

“That’s wonderful,” I answered, taking a swig of beer.

“How’s your work?” he asked.

“It’s good, too. Pretty busy these days.”

“What is it again that you do?”

I blinked. How could he not know that? Not to toot my own horn or anything, but a small-town girl who becomes a doctor and returns to her place of birth…Everyone knew me. “I’m a doctor, Joe.”

“Oh, that’s right. Hey, you want some more mac ’n’ cheese?” He smiled so winningly at me that I forgave him his lapse, though my befuddlement remained.

We took our beers out onto the deck. It was getting dark. God had obligingly sent us a beautiful sunset; fuchsia and lavender suffused the entire western half of the sky, and the stars were beginning to wink in the deepening blue of the east. I lit the citronella candles that dotted the railing and put one on the table between us.

“This is a really nice house,” Joe said, gazing skyward.

“Watch this.” In another minute, Nauset Light’s beam flashed across the tops of the trees.

“Wicked cool,” Joe said. He reached over and took my hand, moving a candle so our flesh wouldn’t singe.

Was there ever a more perfect moment? Joe and Millie. Millie and Joe. Mr. and Mrs. Howard Barnes request the pleasure of your company at the wedding of their daughter, Millicent Evelyn Barnes, M.D., to Joseph Stephen Carpenter the Carpenter…I squelched a giggle.

“What’s your house like, Joe?” I asked to distract myself from my silliness.

“Oh, it’s kind of a work in progress,” he answered, turning to look at me. “I’ll show you sometime.”

“That would be nice.”

“Have you watched that movie yet? The one you rented?” Joe asked. “That looked good.”

“No, I haven’t watched it yet,” I lied. “Want to put it on?”

“Sure. And can I have some pie? I saw it in the cupboard.”

Ten minutes later I was watching The Bourne Identity for the second time in twenty-four hours. But this time, Joe Carpenter was sitting next to me, his big work boots on my glass coffee table, his strong, tanned arm around me. My heart pumped furiously, sending the blood flow straight to my nether regions. His hand brushed the back of my neck, his fingers played in my hair. I turned my head away from the TV and looked at Joe. He looked back. We looked and looked, and this time I couldn’t squelch the giggle that rose up.

“Millie Barnes,” Joe murmured, a slow smile lighting his perfect face. “Why didn’t I ever notice you before?”

And then he was kissing me, warm and soft and just right, nice and slow. My hand went to his neck, and I could feel his pulse thumping against my palm. Slowly, smoothly, he eased me back so I was half lying on the couch, Joe on top of me. Matt Damon screeched out of Paris. Joe slid his hand under my shirt, along my ribs and I sighed against his mouth. His hair was so soft, like a baby’s, and I ran my fingers through it. Then his hand cupped my breast, his thumb scraping over the lace of my bra, and my hands clenched into fists.

“Is this okay?” Joe whispered.

It was hard to think with him lying on top of me, his hand where it was, the clean, sunshiny smell of him.

“Millie, I really, really want to go to bed with you,” he whispered, kissing my neck.

“Okay,” I croaked.

SEVENTY-FOUR MINUTES LATER, Joe Carpenter was sleeping next to me in my bed. And guess what? We were naked, that’s what! We lay spooned against each other, Joe’s breath tickling my neck, his arm around my ribs. He was sound asleep.

I, on the other hand…I wanted to jump up and create a Web site that told the world I had just shagged Joe Carpenter. Joe Carpenter and I had had sexual relations. We had known each other biblically. We had done it. I had done it, too—I got my man, just as I had dreamed.

On the other hand…oh, damn. There was no getting around it. It hadn’t been perfect.

Of course, the first time can be awkward. I had felt pretty self-conscious…being naked with someone as magnificent as Joe made me feel rather imperfect myself. At least the lights had been off and we could barely see. Not that I didn’t want to see him, of course.

That wasn’t the only thing, though. I mean, the kissing on the couch had been glorious. But as soon as I had flashed the green light, my body had tensed up. We’d gone into the bedroom, and everything had been fine, but I couldn’t seem to get out of my head and enjoy what Joe was doing to my body and what I was doing to his. I had been just too nervous to really be present. Instead, my brain had narrated the whole thing. “Joe is taking off his shirt. Joe’s neck is very smooth. Joe is a boxers man.”

Well, it was only the first time. If I had just sort of gone through the motions, that was to be expected, perhaps. And Joe hadn’t seemed to notice.

I turned so I could see Joe’s face. Awake, he was the most beautiful man on earth. Asleep, he was an angel. The moon had risen and now cast a white light that turned his skin marble. His eyelashes were so long, his lips full and generous, his cheekbones…everything about him was beautiful. His hair fell across his forehead, and I smoothed it away.

Yes, I reassured myself, things would be perfect between us. This first-time awkwardness would surely pass.

I HAD TO WORK IN THE MORNING, so I crept out of bed, grabbed some clothes and tiptoed to the bathroom. After I showered, I took Digger out, made coffee and peeked in on Joe. He lay on his back, half-covered by the white sheet, looking like an ad for Calvin Klein cologne.

I sat on the edge of the bed and put my hand on his warm chest. He didn’t stir. “Joe?” I said softly. He opened his eyes.

“Oh, hey,” he said huskily, pulling me in for a kiss, making me glad I had just brushed.

“I have to go to work,” I said regretfully, running my hand over his smooth shoulder.

“Okay,” he murmured, closing his eyes again.

Okay? Was that it? As if reading my mind, Joe opened his eyes again,

“See you later?”

“Sure,” I answered. “There’s coffee if you want it.” I kissed him on the cheek and left.

Things were going great, I thought as I drove to work. I hadn’t been overeager, hadn’t tried to pin him down for our next date. The mix-up in nights had actually worked out well, since it seemed as if I wasn’t fixated on Joe, when of course we all knew the truth. But it had fooled him, and I had actually come off looking pretty good.

I think I could now safely say that Joe Carpenter was my boyfriend.

THE CLINIC WAS ALWAYS SLOW on Sundays, and we had only a few patients that day. Jeff, our college-boy temp, greeted me sweetly and then immersed himself in his books, leaving me free to talk on the phone, starting with Curtis, who definitely deserved the first call. After filling him in on the mix-up and subsequent nooky, we giggled happily together like ninth graders.

“So when can we officially meet your new boy toy, princess?”

“I’ll let you know,” I said. “Soon, I hope. Maybe we can have drinks down here.”

“Oooh. Venture into Hetero-Land? Well, now, that could be fun. And we could see your house. What have you done on that lately?”

We chatted a while longer in the comfortable way of old friends, talking about trivial things like the new lantern that Curtis had found at the marine surplus store or the teak desk organizer that I had ordered from Target. Once again, I thanked him profusely for his moral support, undying friendship and wardrobe advice, all of which were of equal import, reminded him that he was due for a tetanus booster and blew kisses into the phone.

After hanging up with Curtis, I wandered into the reception area and chatted up Jeff for a few minutes. He handed me some insurance forms, and I went back to my office to fill them out. That took ten whole minutes. I picked up the phone and called Katie.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Katie, it’s—”

“Michael, get out of that cupboard right now! And don’t whine at me! I am on the phone! Hello?” she demanded in that schizophrenic way mothers of young children have.

“Having a bad day?” I asked.

“Oh, hi, Millie,” she said.

“Want me to call back?” I asked.

“You know, lately they just hate me talking on the phone,” she answered. I could hear the sound of a toy siren in the background, followed by a crash and then a wail. “I don’t want to hear it!” Katie tersely informed…me? No, the boys. “Okay, they’re locked out. How’s it going?”

“Oh, fine,” I said, smiling.

“Do I hear the purr of a satisfied woman?” Katie laughed. Her voice changed. “Stop banging!”

“I hope you’re not talking to me,” I giggled.

“No, you can bang all you like,” she answered. “Listen, you can hear that this really isn’t the best time. Do you want to have that overnight we talked about? I have a couple of days off this week.”

“Sure!” I said. “I’ll tell you all about some recent developments.” We consulted our calendars and made a date.

“Mil, I have to run,” Katie said. “But I can’t wait for our night out. Corey, do not hit the door with that thing! You’re making dents! I’ll call you tomorrow, Millie. Put that down! Bye!”

Joe was gone when I came home, his coffee cup in the sink next to mine. I gave Digger a long tummy rub, cleaned up his mess on the kitchen floor (hoping he hadn’t pooped while Joe was still in the house) and wandered around. Peeking in the bedroom, there was absolute proof that I had indeed accomplished my mission…rumpled sheets and a condom wrapper in the wastebasket. And oh, hooray! There was a note on the pillow!

Millie—See you soon.

Joe?

A man of few words. The smiley face was cute. A little dopey, but cute. I gave the note a kiss, then lay back on the bed, grinning like an idiot. Complete and total satisfaction radiated from me. Joe had spent the night. I grabbed the pillow on which his perfect head had rested and inhaled. After a few minutes of reverie and self-congratulations, I rose, poured myself a glass of water and went out on the deck. The phone rang the instant my bottom touched the seat.

“Hi, Aunt Mil! It’s Danny!” my nephew barked into the phone like the Irish setter that I suspected he was.

“Hello, Danny,” I grinned.

“Wanna go to the movies with my dad and me?” he asked. Now granted, most seventeen-year-old boys would not be caught dead going out with their dads and, God forbid, their aunts. But Danny was exceptional. He would probably start a new teenage trend in airing out aging relatives.

“Sure,” I answered, feeling a sudden bittersweet rush of emotion. A year from now, Danny would be getting ready for college, and an evening like this one would be a thing of the past. I could hear Sam’s voice low in the background

“Dad wants to know if you’d rather see Sisters Forever…the new Jackie Chan flick…Star Fighters or…what was that last one, Dad? Guerilla Politics, ‘an important documentary from one of America’s finest filmmakers.’”