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Her roommate’s voice was so loud that she had to pull the phone away from her ear.
Once Honey realized Valentine was looking for a response, she ran her tongue over her teeth, trying to produce some saliva that would dampen her mouth. “I have no idea,” she finally said. “I went home from work, not feeling good. I kept getting sick and ended up here.”
“It’s probably from your cooking.”
“Don’t make me laugh.” She held her abdomen, feeling the pull of her stitches. “I’m terribly sore, even with all the drugs.”
“I just got home and heard the message on the answering machine. I’m going to get changed, and I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“What message?”
Honey had left her a note on the kitchen table, saying that she was driving herself to the hospital, but that wasn’t what her roommate had said.
“The doctor left one for me,” Valentine replied. “And then I saw what you had written. I called the hospital, and they connected me to your room.”
If her stomach didn’t feel so tight, she would have shot up in bed. “He did?” She thought back to the conversation she’d had with the doctor, telling him he wouldn’t be able to get in touch with her roommate or parents.
Her warning hadn’t stopped him from trying.
It was just another act of kindness from the man whose face she still hadn’t seen.
“That was awfully nice of him,” Honey said.
“I thought so too. I’ll see you soon. Hang in there.”
“Good morning,” a man said when he walked into Honey’s room.
She had just finished breakfast and was watching the news. His white coat told her he was a doctor, but it was his voice that identified him.
“It’s you,” she said. “The surgeon from last night. Andrew …”
The doctor smiled as he got closer to her bed. “That’s me.” He checked the monitor, jotting something down on the chart he was holding.
Honey couldn’t stop staring at him. He was handsome in a boyish way, but she could tell he was at least thirty. He had eyes that gleamed like his irises were surrounded by fireworks. A smile that was charming and devilish. And then there were his hands with those incredibly strong fingers.
Hands that had cut into her body.
A body that was now healed because of him.
“Your numbers look great,” he said, glancing between the monitor and her chart. “Vitals are perfect. Blood work came back”—he flipped a page, and then he looked at her—“all normal. So, I don’t see why you can’t be discharged today.” He set the paperwork on the table, and then he came over to the bed, rubbing his hands together as though he were trying to warm them. “I’m just going to check your incision.”
Honey filled her lungs with air and held it while he examined her stomach. His touch was gentle, his fingers much warmer than she’d thought they would be.
“Just the way I want it to look,” he said, covering her back up. “I’m going to have a case manager work on your discharge plans. Will your roommate be picking you up?”
Honey couldn’t believe how rude she had been. All morning, she had planned what she would say if she were given the opportunity. And here he was, and she still hadn’t said anything.
“Yes,” she answered.
She was about to say more when the doctor added, “We’ll be able to get you out of here in an hour, two tops. Follow the nurse’s instructions on aftercare and schedule a visit with your primary doctor. You’ll be in good shape.”
“Thank you.” She lifted her arm and held it across her stomach, her body already feeling less sensitive than when she had woken up. “You were wonderful with me last night. Thank you seems so simple for all that you did”—she looked at the IV in her hand—“but I truly mean it.”
The doctor stayed facing her, still standing only inches from the bed. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.” His eyes moved down to her mouth. “Do you have any questions for me?”
There was one that had been on her mind since Valentine visited her last night, one that both girls wanted the answer to.
