“Rumi?” Lina smiled. “I haven’t thought of him in years. I used to read his poetry in high school. I loved him.”

“Why did you stop?”

“I don’t know. Life, I suppose. Different interests.” Phil, she thought but didn’t voice aloud.

“You should pick him up again.”

“You’re the reason Katie is suddenly reading poetry and philosophy?”

“No. Katie was interested in philosophy before she stepped in my office.”

“I had no idea.” Lina hated how little she knew of her own daughter.

“Katie’s quite introspective for someone so young, the complete opposite of my son, who is only interested in sports and girls, in that order. Oh, and food. He consumes more food in a day than I do in a week.”

Lina smiled. “The food part is definitely Logan. He never stops eating.” She took another sip from her drink. “If you don’t like competition, why do you let your son play?”

“Let him? You should know my parenting philosophy by now. He walks to the beat of his own drum. My role is to guide him, not direct him. He loves the competition. I try not to judge.”

“My mother would love you.”

“Most mothers do.” He winked, and her heart jumped. “Tell me about her. Katie seems quite fond of her.”

“No.” Lina shook her head from side to side. “You know enough about me. I want to know about you.”

“That’s not how it works. I’m the doctor, remember?” He finished his own drink and then motioned to a passing waiter for two more.

“You’re not my doctor,” Lina reminded him. “And this certainly doesn’t look like your office.”

“True, but I am your daughter’s doctor.”

“We’re drinking margaritas and sharing guacamole dip. Right now we’re parents of boys trying out for a lacrosse team.”

He leaned back in his chair, his hands resting on the table. “In that case, you’re going to need to call me Nick.”

“Nick,” she repeated, and as she met his eyes, a wave of attraction passed between them.

She averted her gaze as the waiter arrived with new drinks and Nick’s fajitas. While she took a couple of sips of her margarita and tried to calm her nerves, he proceeded to pile some shrimp, sautéed vegetables, onions, cheese and a dab of sour cream onto a soft tortilla. He placed the plate in front of her. “Tell me that isn’t the best fajita you’ve ever had.”

“Thank you.” She shifted her legs, and her knee bumped his under the table. She pulled her leg back, her body tingling with awareness.

“What would you like to know about me?” He began to build his own fajita.

“I don’t know. A little of everything, I suppose.”

She learned that on paper, he was similar to Phil: the younger of two boys, the son of a surgeon, raised in a conservative Catholic home. But whereas Phil embraced his parents’ belief system, Nick rejected his. “There’s a reason I understand Katie so well,” he said. “My mother used to say she thought she was a good parent until I came along. I thought my parents were ignorant and stopped communicating with them, refused to go to church, family vacations. It was hard for them. They didn’t know what to make of me. All I wanted to do was read philosophy and sail.”