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the year.”
    “And you’re okay with that?”
    Trick takes a sip of his water. “Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”
    “I don’t know. Long distance relationships don’t usually work.”
    He dips his chin into a slow nod. There’s something in his eyes that tells me for every word he does say, there are a thousand caught inside that tell his real story.
    I wait to see if he wants to add anything, but he seems mesmerized by the flickering flame of the votive in the middle of our table. “Okay, me … let’s see … I love working in the ER, and I like riding in vehicles with at least four tires.”
    Trick laughs and it’s such a beautiful sound. It’s like this frigid wall that’s been between us is beginning to melt one laugh, one smile at a time. “That’s it? All I get are two things that I already knew about you?”
    “You know I work in the ER, but you didn’t know that I love it. And don’t forget about the nail chewing.”
    He shakes his head as the waiter brings us our salads.
    “Thank you,” we both say to the waiter.
    “What’s your favorite part about working in the ER?”
    “The smell.”
    He squints, stopping mid bite.
    “Yeah, it’s the refreshing mix of alcohol, saliva, and dried blood. Some rooms smell like fresh plastic tubing. The nurses’ station smells like coffee grounds, and the rest is just …”
    Trick still hasn’t brought his fork the rest of the way to his mouth. “Don’t stop, now. You haven’t completely ruined my dinner yet.”
    I laugh. “Well if you insist. There’s nothing like the smell of a freshly incised abscess, 80-proof vomit—”
    “I get it!” Trick’s eyes bug out.
    I giggle. He didn’t let me get to the good stuff like the ammonia and fishy odor of lady parts in need of help, or the pungent stool smell from a GI bleed. I’ll save that for dessert.
    “So what are you dying to know if it’s not about my disgusting fingernail habit, my favorite mode of transportation, or the aroma of the ER?”
    He stabs his lettuce. “I’m dying to know what you would be doing tonight if you weren’t with me.”
    I chew my bite then dab my mouth. “That’s easy. I’d be on my back getting a subpar lay.”
    Trick chokes on his food to the point where I scoot out of my chair and wonder if I need to do the Heimlich maneuver.
    “Are you okay?”
    He nods with his hand fisted at his mouth.
    I ease back into my chair with apprehension. “Are you sure?”
    “Yes,” he says with a hoarse voice before taking a sip of water. He clears his throat. “I can’t believe you said that.”
    “Really? What else would my ‘rich-bitch whore ass’ be doing?”
    He flinches. I know it’s a low blow since he’s trying to make amends, but I’ve been judged my whole life and I’m tired of the Darby the Doormat role. “I’m sorry. I have trust issues with women and I shouldn’t have said it.”
    Keeping my eyes on him, I try to gauge his sincerity. Then my gaze slips to my wine glass and I nod. “I forgive you. I apologize for being so crass with my remark. I have trust issues with men, and I’ve never had a real friend so my casual conversation skills aren’t very refined—”
    “Wait.” He holds up his finger. “You’ve never had friends?”
    “Not really.” I look down at my plate and push my food around.
    “How is that possible?”
    “My stellar personality…” I wink “…was disguised by braces, zits, split ends, glasses, hips that developed before my boobs, and a painfully shy, introverted personality … get the picture? Oh, and how could I forget, I vomited down the back of the most popular boy in school who was sitting in front of me at a pep rally my freshman year. That’s the day my name was officially changed from Darby to Barfy.”
    Trick’s face morphs into a mixture of pain and humor. “And you chewed your finger nails.”
    I laugh and nod. “And that.”
    “Wow … that’s just … wow. Well now you’re …” His eyes move from