Chapter Five

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Revised Objective List:

Find a job-still

Avoid Kevin-still

Find alternative means of releasing my research

Improve my flirting skills

Delighted by the interlude, I walked outside to wait for Art by his truck.

I tried not to be impatient. It showed good work ethic that he wanted to finish his work before taking a break, but loitering in front of a store that I'd just been thrown out of didn't make me comfortable. Especially with Myra glaring at me from inside. What if she called the police?

Art ambled up to me. "You ready?"

Glancing at Myra, who'd just picked up the phone, I grabbed his arm. "Let's go."

He grinned. "Eager or something, aren't you?"

"Or something." I pulled him down the block.

"Wait a sec." He dug his heels in and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "Starbucks is that way."

That meant passing in front of the market again, and I wasn't willing to go there. "There's an indie coffee shop this way."

"But I like Starbucks."

"It won't hurt to try something new."

He sulked. "Maybe."

His whiny tone annoyed me, but I reminded myself that he was very normal and wanted to spend time with me-not my brain-so I shut my mouth and dragged him along.

There was an open table by the window so I went to claim it while he got our drinks. Because I wasn't watching where I was going, I walked straight into someone.

For a split second, I experienced déjà vu. It seemed like I was back in front of the children's clinic and I'd walked into the doctor. Same shivery, feverish feeling. Same forearms.

Silly, I told myself as I looked up. It couldn't be-

Emerald eyes gazed back at me.

It could be. How very odd.

He did a slow, top to bottom survey of my person. And then a wide smile warmed his lips. "We meet again."

Shivering at the husky intimacy of his voice, I tried to ignore the fact that I wanted to warm his lips.

His hand wrapped around my bicep. "Why did you run off that day?"

Goosebumps broke out on my skin at his touch. A doctor was not at all the type of man I wanted, but so I had no doubts I asked, "You've got an IQ of, what? One twenty-five?"

His brow furrowed. "Closer to one forty if I remember correctly. Why?"

I nodded. Safer to stick with a more average man like Art. "Just curious."

"It seems an odd thing to ask." He tipped his head and considered me with sharper intensity. Somehow, it made me more uncomfortable than the sexual interest he'd shown earlier. "So you'd rather know a person's IQ than, for example, his name?"

I shrugged his hold off me. "In some situations, it seems the more prudent thing to ask."

"Doesn't it," he said, looking fascinated.

Thankfully, Art showed up with our drinks. Plunking my chamomile tea down on the table, he plopped into the chair across from me. "Next time we're going to Starbucks. They don't understand a plain coffee order here."

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