“I’ve always pitied you immortals for not being able to grow facial hair.”
“I dunno. I’m pretty thrilled I’ll never grow a beard. I’m Vivienne, by the way.”
“You’re only half-right, Vivienne.” The candlelight danced along the sun-kissed streaks in Alex’s caramel-colored hair. “I’m one of the unfortunate souls with a lazy Nevergene.”
“I’m so sorry.” She wasn’t sure what else to say, so she shoveled some turkey into her mouth.
He shrugged and spread his napkin onto his lap. “How do you like Neverland?”
Her eyes found Deacon, and her heart gave an answering thump. Deacon said something to Ethan that made everyone around them laugh. “It’s pretty great.”
“I’m very happy to hear that.”
“Do you live around here?” she asked, helping herself to more mashed potatoes. He didn’t look familiar.
“No.” Alex handed her the gravy boat before she could ask for it. “But the holidays aren’t the same on a California beach as they are in the blustery snow in Massachusetts.”
A glimpse of the blizzard swirling on the glass above them sent chills sliding beneath Vivienne’s shirt. “I don’t know. A bit of heat would be nice right about now.” Snow was fine, but heat and sunshine were better.
His piercing blue eyes narrowed. “You’re not a Mermaid, are you?”
What kind of a question was that? “Not that I know of,” she laughed, pretending to check beneath the table for a tail.
A grin. “Everyone knows Mermaids hate the cold.” Thankfully, she was saved from having to respond when Alex asked where she was from.
“I’ve lived in Ohio my whole life.”
He pointed to the snow-covered ceiling with his fork. “Then you should be used to this weather.”
“Just because I’m used to it doesn’t mean I like it.” The mashed potatoes were so buttery she could feel the extra calories in each bite.
“All right, Vivienne from Ohio, here’s a question for you: what’s your favorite kind of pie?”
That was an easy question to answer. She had loved the same kind of pie for the last ten years. “Peanut Butter.” She cleared her scratchy throat and drank some water to ease the pain.
Alex shook his head as he reached for the salt shaker. “Wrong answer.”
“You asked my opinion. There is no wrong answer.”
“Wrong again.”
“Okay, Alex from California,” she drawled, “what’s the right answer?”
“Pumpkin.”
Pumpkin? Gross. “I hate pumpkin pie. It is the worst kind of pie in the history of pies.”
He looked horrified. “I can’t…Are you serious right now? I can’t even talk to you anymore. I wish I could say it was nice to meet you, but you’re obviously a terrible human being who has awful taste in pie.” He twisted so his back was to her and leaned his elbow on the table between them.
What was happening? Ridiculous. This guy was ridiculous. She caught his smile when he reached for his glass of wine. A ridiculous guy with cute dimples.
“And what makes you the resident pie expert?” she asked, poking him in the arm.
“Shhh! Not so loud,” he snapped, looking around them before scooting closer and saying in a quiet voice, “I don’t want everyone thinking I associate with people as awful as you.”
She leaned forward and matched her voice to his. “What makes pumpkin so much better than peanut butter?”
“It’s a vegetable. Which means you can eat more of it, obviously.” He rolled his eyes, but she could tell he was fighting a smile.
“I’m not a doctor, but I’m pretty sure that pumpkin pie isn’t any healthier than any other kind of pie.”
“Well, I am a doctor, and I say it is. And since I’m the expert, I’m right.”
She snorted. “You honestly expect me to believe you’re a doctor?”
His brows came together, and his eyes widened. “Why wouldn’t you believe me?”
“You don’t look like any doctor I’ve ever met.”
“And what about my looks is so un-doctorly?”
For one, he was hot. And even though he looked too old to be a PAN, he looked way too young to be a doctor. And he was too fit. Most of the male doctors she’d met had been overweight and balding. But she couldn’t say any of that out loud, so she went with, “You’re not wearing any glasses.”
He held up a finger, reached into his breast pocket, and pulled out a pair of tortoise shell glasses. Somehow they made him even cuter. “How about now?”
“I’m still not convinced. Maybe you should say something doctorly.”
He sat up and rubbed his stubbled chin. “As an incredibly smart and important doctor, I travel to hospitals to assess teenage patients with a handful of specific symptoms—unexplainable spikes in adrenaline, dizziness, loss of consciousness, high levels of unknown hormones, those kinds of things. Doctors who aren’t as smart as I am sometimes misdiagnose an activating Nevergene as pheochromocytoma or paraganglioma, even though there’s no tumor present. I double check to make sure they’re not PAN.”
Vivienne had no idea what pheo-chrom-whatever or para-gangly was, but they sounded complicated.
“Was that doctorly enough for you?” He winked, removed his glasses, and replaced them in his pocket.
“Wow. You’re awfully full of yourself.”
“I was trying to impress you.” He flashed her a grin before taking a sip of wine. “Did it work?”
“Maybe a little,” she admitted.
Alex proved to be good company—which was a relief, considering Max spent most of the meal talking with his friend Barry about extraction. She appreciated his easy conversation because it kept her distracted from the amount of laughing Deacon and Emily and the rest of her friends were doing across the table. Seriously. What was so funny?
She ate until even the smell of food made her feel like bursting. The combination of a full belly, a terrible cold, and the warm atmosphere left her yawning so much her jaw ached.
“Am I boring you?” Alex asked after one particularly drawn out yawn.
“It’s not you, I promise,” she said from behind her hand. “This cold is kicking my butt.”
“You should go home and rest—and drink lots of fluids.”
“I think you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. I’m a doctor, remember?”
“It was really nice meeting you, Dr. Alex.” It surprised her how much she meant that.
He rose from his chair and caught his napkin before it slipped onto the floor. “Would you like me to walk you home?”
“There’s no need. I’ll be there in two minutes.”
“Alex McGee!” Julie shouted, approaching them with another woman in tow.
Vivienne touched his arm. “Thanks for keeping me company.”
He put his hand over hers. “Any time you need company—or pie—I’m your man.”
Out of all the people in the whole bloody world, why did Vivienne have to sit next to the person Deacon hated most? Growing up, Alex McGee had spent his summers in Harrow with his great-grandad, which meant Deacon had been stuck entertaining him. Deacon’s mother had this mad notion that the two of them could be friends. As if he’d want to be friends with an arrogant asshole who thought he knew everything. Alex was dull and prattled on constantly about his “theories” regarding the Nevergene—and that was before he’d been accepted into medical school.