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I open my mouth and then snap it closed as his words sink in. I quickly eat a bite of brie to give myself time to think. And—oh my God—I hadn’t realized how much my poverty-stricken taste buds had missed brie.
What am I supposed to say to this? I assumed this was just Martin being an asshole. But in his mind he was defending me?
When was the last time someone defended me?
I don’t even know what to say about that.
Thankfully Martin smirks and adds, “I’m pretty sure he’s not a grad student who also volunteers with Alzheimer’s patients in his free time.”
I wince, reminded all over again exactly why I was crying in the rain with chicken shit on my pants, and thankful for the distraction. “Well, if it makes my case at all, after today, I’m not either.”
Martin stills. “What do you mean?”
“There was an ‘incident’ today at Precious Meadows.” I put air quotes around the word incident and Martin’s eyebrows shoot up.
“An incident?”
“One of the residents got a little handsy with Flew Bacca, who was just defending herself. No one got hurt, and I’m the only one who even got chicken shit on her clothes. But apparently it was a bridge too far for Stacy.”
“And Stacy is …?”
“You know her. Blond. Tiny. Dictatorial. Runs the front desk at Precious Meadows.”
He nods. “Right. The one who acts like she runs the place.”
“Exactly.”
“How exactly does someone get handsy with a chicken?”
I cringe. “Mildred wanted to know if chickens really have one hole for … well, everything.”
Martin’s eyes go wide. Then he rolls his lips between his teeth before asking. “And how did she check?”
“She took off Flew Bacca’s diaper and …” My own lips are twitching now as I make a poking gesture with my free hand. “Well, let’s just say I think Flew Bacca might needs some therapy of her own after that.”
Martin loses the battle, tipping back his head and laughing.
The sound is warm and deep, piercing my heart and stealing my breath. And his smile? It’s spectacular—full and toothy, revealing a crooked incisor that his smirk usually hides. I consider myself something of a connoisseur of smiles and his takes my breath away.
Gah … this man.
I’d be tempted to sigh and flutter my eyes at him if the reality of my situation wasn’t starting to sink it.
I sigh, propping my chin in my palm as I consider my options.
“Now I need to find a new center to work with. And start all over again. I wonder if my advisor will accept?—”
“What?”
Martin’s question snaps my attention back to him. I wave a hand dismissively. “Never mind. Those are problems for another day.”
“Stacy can’t actually prevent you from volunteering at the center.”
I shrug. “I’m pretty sure she can.” I can see that Martin is gearing up to argue with me, so I make a show of looking at my watch. “Wow. It’s gotten late. We should get out of here before the dinner rush starts.”
I wave the waiter over, but before he’s even halfway across the room, Martin is standing, pulling bills from his wallet.
I balk at the amount he tosses on the table, but before I can protest out loud, he’s picking up the pet carrier and my bag.
