03_The Doctor's Perfect Match Read Online Free PDF Page B

linen napkin and leaned back in his chair, nursing a final cup of tea.
    “I second that.” Christopher slathered his last miniscone with generous layers of wild strawberry jam and imported clotted cream. “Not so good for the cholesterol, though.”
    “I’m eighty-five. If cholesterol hasn’t gotten me yet, I doubt it will. And if it does—” he gestured to his empty plate “—what a way to go.”
    Christopher consumed the scone in one bite and chuckled. “It’s hard to argue with that.”
    Scanning the room, Henry folded his napkin and set it beside his plate. “I hope Marci remembers to stop by. She’s a nice girl.”
    “Seems to be.”
    “She’s not wearing a ring.”
    Uh-oh. Christopher knew where this was heading.
    “She’s also only here for a short time, Henry.”
    “Doesn’t take long.”
    “For what?”
    “To know if someone’s a good match.” A soft smile tugged at the older man’s lips. “When I met Marjorie at that USO dance, things clicked right away. I won’t say it was love at first sight, but I knew the potential was there. We were married for fifty-four years, so I guess my instincts weren’t too shabby.”
    Christopher swallowed. “Not everyone is blessed with sound instincts.”
    “You were. Otherwise you wouldn’t be such a good doctor.”
    He gave a slight shrug. “Then I guess they don’t translate to my personal life.”
    “What happened with Denise wasn’t your fault, Christopher. The problem was her, not you.”
    Brushing a few crumbs into a neat pile on the snowy linen, Christopher picked them up and deposited them on his plate. When he’d come to Nantucket, he’d had no intention of sharing the story of his ill-fated romance with anyone. But he’d changed his mind one stormy night a few weeks into his stay after he’d discovered his landlord trying to batten down the gazebo his late wife had cherished.
    Though Christopher had pitched in, they’d been unable to stop the brutal wind from ripping it apart and hurling pieces of it down the beach. Christopher had wrapped a protective arm around the older man’s shoulders and guided him inside, to safety. But he hadn’t been able to pry Henry away from the window. As the older man had watched the storm destroy the gazebo, tears streaking down his cheeks, he’d told Christopher he’d built it for his beloved wife years ago. That it hadbecome her favorite place. And that it was the only spot where he could still feel her presence.
    Now it was gone.
    Christopher had stayed to console Henry. But later, over strong cups of coffee and a stubby candle—the electricity had also been a victim of the storm—he’d found their roles reversed when Henry asked him about his own life and what had brought him to Nantucket. As the wind howled and the world was reduced to the diameter of a candle flame, he’d opened his heart—and sealed their friendship.
    In the ensuing months, Christopher had come to value the man’s insights and advice. About everything except Denise.
    “I’m not sure the problem was all hers, Henry. Besides, you didn’t know her.”
    “I know you. That’s enough.”
    Though he was gratified by his friend’s loyalty, Christopher was far less certain where the blame lay.
    “Well, gentlemen, how was your tea?”
    They both looked up. Marci stood beside their table, a small white box in hand.
    “Best tea I ever went to,” Henry declared, beaming up at her.
    Christopher quirked an eyebrow at him. As far as he knew, this was the only tea Henry had ever gone to.
    The older man ignored his skeptical reaction. “What did you think, Christopher?”
    “Very nice.” He smiled at Marci, appreciating how the simple but elegant white silk blouse showed off her figure. “Thank you again for the invitation.”
    “It was the least I could do. I was in desperate straits the day you stopped by. The antibiotics worked magic.” Transferring her attention to Henry, she set the small white box on the table.