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There were framed photographs on the mantelpiece and he walked over to take a closer look. A picture of Katrina with her cousin at what was obviously Madison’s graduation; another of Katrina in graduation robes with people who he assumed were her parents; another taken of Katrina, Madison and both sets of parents in a garden; more photographs of Katrina’s parents. The warmth of the family relationship was so obvious that Rhys felt a twist of envy: it was the complete opposite from his own family background.
Though in the circumstances he couldn’t blame his father for walking away and trying to find happiness elsewhere. And, given that she’d lost a child and her marriage had disintegrated, he couldn’t blame his mother for the way she was either. As Rhys had grown up, he’d come to terms with the way things were. And he’d worked out that it was much, much easier to be self-sufficient and keep people close enough to be professional, but far enough away so there was no risk of losing them from his life and getting hurt.
It wasn’t as if there was a gap in his life. He had a job he was good at, a job he really, really loved; he had his music and his books and his films to fill his spare moments; and that was all he needed. Becoming involved with Katrina Gregory would just complicate things. He needed to get them back on the right sort of footing—colleagues and acquaintances only—and fast.
Katrina, walking back into the living room with two mugs of coffee, noted the expression on Rhys’s face. Polite but distant again. Where was the man who’d chatted with her in the Moroccan restaurant, who’d relaxed enough with her to tease her back and laugh with her?
‘One black coffee,’ she said.
‘Thanks.’ He gave her a polite smile.
She couldn’t think of a single reason why he would suddenly be so reserved with her, not after the evening they’d shared. Knowing how easily a small communication lapse could turn into something huge, she decided to face it head-on. ‘Rhys, is something wrong?’
‘Wrong? No.’
‘But you’ve gone quiet on me.’
‘I’ve just realised how late it is. And I’m afraid I’m a lark rather than an owl.’
‘Me, too,’ she said. ‘Which means I end up drinking huge amounts of coffee on team nights out to keep me awake.’
‘Sounds like a good plan.’
She sighed inwardly. He was definitely back to being polite and reserved. And she couldn’t think of a single thing to say without it sounding inane or babbling.
The silence stretched until it was almost painful. And then he drained his mug. ‘Thank you for the coffee.’
‘Thank you for the meal,’ she said, equally politely. ‘And I hope you weren’t just being nice when you said about going to the cinema with me. It’s so rare to find someone who likes the same sort of films I do.’
He looked torn, but then he shook his head. ‘No, I meant it.’
‘Good. Then maybe we can check the listings together tomorrow, see what’s showing later in the week. If you’re not busy, that is.’
‘That’d be nice.’ He stood up. ‘Goodnight, Katrina.’
‘Goodnight.’ She saw him to the door. ‘See you on the ward.’
And when she washed up their coffee mugs, she was frowning. What had made Rhys suddenly clam up on her like that? Unless…She swallowed as the memories came back. Unless Rhys had had time to think about things and took the same view as Pete had. That her hearing was going to be an issue.
She’d thought she’d learned from her mistakes—but it was beginning to look as if she hadn’t.
CHAPTER FOUR
WHEN the going gets tough, Katrina thought, the tough get cooking. And as she was on a late shift the next day, she spent the morning at home baking brownies. Lots of them. The combined scents of chocolate and vanilla lifted her mood, and by the time she’d walked into work she was feeling a lot more serene.
She left a note on top of the tin in the staffroom, telling everyone to help themselves, and was about to head for the ward when Rhys walked in.
‘Good morning,’ he said.
‘Morning.’ She gave him a polite smile, reminding herself that she was going to keep it professional between them.
‘What do you know about choanal atresia?’ he asked.
‘The nasal passage is blocked by bone or tissue, so the baby can’t breathe properly,’ she recited. ‘Has the neonatal unit asked us to look at a baby?’
He shook his head. ‘We’ve got a little girl in, four months old—one of her nasal passages is blocked, which is why it’s taken so long to diagnose her. But I noticed yesterday you’re very good at reassuring parents. The Gillespies are pretty upset, and I could do with a calming influence. As in you.’
