nestled between the flower pots made her smile back. “No. Not yet, anyway. I use the exam rooms, obviously, for physical investigation, but the garden is much more conducive to talking things through.”
“Things? Such as unfavorable diagnoses?”
“Not exactly. I guess this is where I should say that I’m a psychiatrist.” She held up her hands. “No couch jokes, please.”
His head jerked back, a muscle in his jaw twitching for a second before going still. “Couch jokes are the farthest thing from my mind at the moment. Theo hired you?”
She bit her lip. Maybe the Serenity Gardens wasn’t the only thing Dr. Patera would disapprove of. “I just happened to be on the island when the earthquake hit. I stayed to help. It’s on a volunteer basis at the moment.”
“The quake happened over a month ago. What about your own practice?”
It was her turn to shrug. “I’d already given notice at my hospital, so I’m kind of between jobs.”
“And where was that? In Athens?”
Ah, he thought she actually lived in Greece. One of the perks of having parents who had immigrated to Canada from Greece when she was a kid was that she was bilingual. The fact that he hadn’t heard any trace of an accent made her happy. As did the ease with which the islanders seemed to have accepted her.
“No, I lived in Canada. Toronto.”
“Your family is Greek, though.”
It wasn’t a question. “Yes. They moved there when I was young.”
Someone came up on his right and said something to him. Dr. Patera turned his head to give the man his attention and Lea’s breath stalled in her lungs at what that shift of position revealed.
Scars. Big ones.
Wickedly thick, they began at the lower half of his strong square jaw and formed twin streams that coursed down the side of his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. Continuing on to those shoulders she’d just been admiring? Probably. The scars were paler than the rest of his skin. So they were old.
How old?
God. Those wounds must have been agonizing when they were fresh. Debriding. Skin grafts. Therapy to allow for movement. All part of third-degree burn treatment.
What had caused them? An explosive device? Some kind of caustic agent? Maybe he’d been in the military or something. She had a feeling that what she’d thought was an attractive lopsidedness to his smile might be due to the contracture of skin and muscle drawing everything down. Her gaze traveled to his chest. How many more scars were hidden beneath his clothes?
Her mind tossed an image of a very naked Dr. Patera at her—one who aimed that scrumptious crooked smile right at her and sent her brain into overdrive. She swallowed hard, feeling a weird shifting sensation burrowing through her midsection. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip.
Oh, Lord, what was once seen could not be unseen.
Except she hadn’t really seen him naked. She’d just—
His attention shifted back to her with a suddenness she hadn’t expected. She released her lip in a hurry, but it was too late. She knew it the second his eyes flickered to her mouth and back up.
* * *
She’d seen them. His damned scars.
He gave an inner grimace. They were kind of obvious. His tendency to keep his right profile to a person was ingrained from years of trying to keep the damage to his skin out of sight. Hidden, but not forgotten.
Along with his sense of shame?
Probably. The two things seemed to go hand in hand. It was one of the things that had kept him from wanting to come back to the island. Almost every person on Mythelios knew what he’d done. Or at least they thought they did.
Except Dr. Risi, here. And now even she had seen the evidence—she just didn’t know the reason for it.
He wasn’t even sure why he’d participated in the founding of this clinic. He’d wanted to leave after medical school and never come back. And for the most part he’d done exactly that. But his three best friends in the world had been determined to take their parents’ tarnished legacies and turn them into something good. And as long as he could give his input from a distance he was good with that. His traveling did the trick for the most part. He was able to give his nods of approval from afar, except when they absolutely needed his physical presence.
Like now.
If he’d expected to see a quick show of pity on this new doctor’s face, though, he was sorely disappointed. She met his gaze with steady green eyes that gave nothing away.
That was probably the psychiatrist in her. She was trained to listen without judging. Not to seem shocked or horrified, no matter how ugly the story. Or how hideous the outward appearance.
His dad—after a rare crack had appeared in his chilly demeanor—had once sent him to a shrink in Athens, six months after the accident. But Deakin, his scars still fresh and painful, had refused to say anything. After four sessions of sitting there in sullen silence they’d given up. All of them—including the psychiatrist.
He tried to recall what Lea had been talking about moments earlier, working to forget the way those white teeth had captured that full bottom lip in a way that was far too sexy for a psychiatrist.
He switched to English so those around would be less likely to understand them if she tried to ask about his scars. “So, what part of Greece were your parents from?”
“Athens—like you thought. My dad was a welder and went to Canada to help with the building of one of the Orthodox churches. He ended up staying.” She sent a lock of long dark hair spinning over her shoulder with a flick of her wrist. “He sent for me and my mom a few months later, and we went, sight unseen. But we love it there now.”
The switch in language hadn’t thrown her for a loop. In fact her English was as flawless as her Greek. He knew himself well enough to know that his Greek accent was still fairly strong, even after years of speaking English in other countries.
“You don’t ever get homesick for Greece?”
“Not really. I was a kid when things changed.”
That he understood. He didn’t get homesick either. And he’d also been a kid when things had changed. Only, unlike for her, the change hadn’t been a good one for him.
She went on. “Besides, you can find Greeks on almost every street corner.”
“You can, indeed.” Deakin had found pockets of Greek communities almost everywhere he’d gone. “Well, shall we get started? Are you only seeing patients who need counseling?”
“No, we’ve been kind of short-staffed, as you can imagine, so I’ve been helping wherever I can. The immediate injuries from the quake have been taken care of, but there are still issues—broken bones, lacerations that have become infected... Burns. But I have been seeing patients who are struggling to cope with the after effects of the earthquake. It’s what I specialize in. People dealing with PTSD.”
He tried to ignore the way she’d hesitated before saying the word “burns.”
“PTSD from time served in the military?”
“No, civilian for the most part. Trauma comes in many forms.”
Yes, it did. He wasn’t sure if she was subtly trying to dig into his past struggles, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. He didn’t need someone probing where they didn’t belong.
Time to get to work.
Just then Petra came back from wherever she’d been and glanced his way. She did a double-take, her eyes widening.
“Deakin!”
She