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“It’s my counselor. I felt the exact same way as you about seeing one. Until I met Dr. Miller. He’s done wonders to help me.”
I’m not jazzed about seeing another paid professional to listen to me rattle on. But I need to do something. “Sure. It couldn’t hurt to try. You’d think after all of this time, I wouldn’t still need counseling.” I lean my elbow on the table and drop my chin in my hand.
Katarina takes a sip of coffee before giving me a stern look. “There’s no deadline for grief, Poppy. Heck, I still see Dr. Miller from time to time. It’s a judgment-free zone. A place where a trained professional can help you discuss the things you’re struggling with. So you can come up with an objective solution. For me, it’s freeing. To have one place where I can get things off my chest without burdening my friends or family.”
“I’m sure Nick doesn’t think you’re a burden.”
Kat wipes her mouth with her napkin and places it on the table. A frown appears as she witnesses my untouched food, and I can tell she’s figured out I’m no longer interested in eating my meal. “No. I’m lucky. But sometimes, you want to be heard without someone trying to fix things for you. You know?”
Yeah. I do know.Not that I have people standing in line to do that anymore. But it’d be nice to unload my thoughts on someone other than my hard-of-hearing mother or the overwatered fern in my sunroom. I think they’re both quite tired of my pitiful mood.
Kat waves toward our server and asks for a to-go container for my meal. “I’ve got to run.” She leans in for a hug. With her heels, she’s easily two to three inches taller than I am. “We need to do this more often. But next time, we’ll share our achievements and happy moments now that we got the morose stuff out of the way.”
“I adore you, Katarina. Thank you. I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”
“Good. I predict it won’t be long before I’ll get to hear about your hot date with Dr. Weston.”
I immediately push away from her. “What?”
Kat snorts. “Oh, come on. I can dream, can’t I?”
Can’t we all?
“Not that he’d ever ask. But I’m not dating anyone from work.”
“I understand. But if that man asked me out, I think I’d consider giving my two weeks’ notice.”
CHAPTERFIVE
BROADIE
“Hi, Dr. Weston.” I look up from my phone and see Sharon leaning against the nurses’ station counter. She’s an attractive, albeit overly plastic, blonde with brown eyes and shoulder-length hair. Nothing about her seems natural. Her hair looks over-processed with heavy highlights, and her lips have the inflated appearance of someone who’s received an injectable filler. Sharon’s worked at St. Luke’s as an emergency room nurse for as long as I’ve been here. I suspect she’s probably my age, yet her attempts to look younger do the opposite, in my opinion.
“Hi. Sharon. How are you?” I try to smile in her direction, but it’s not genuine. While she’s been nothing but professional when I’ve worked alongside her, I’ve always had the impression she’s holding the door open for more on the chance the right person might venture through it. I don’t want to give here any indication that person could be me.
I’m not ignorant of theGrey’s Anatomytypes of relationships that often occur here. I’ve worked too hard to build a solid reputation to allow that to go up in smoke with an office tryst. Yet, news travels the halls of this hospital like wind to a brush fire. More than a few physicians have gone conspicuously absent due to a rumored affair, only to turn up later at a sister hospital. There’s no hard and fast rule about nonfraternization at St. Luke’s unless it’s with a direct superior. But it’s just not wise to mix business with pleasure.
“Good morning, Dr. Weston,” a bright-eyed twenty-something nurse greets from down the hall. Work environment or not, I’d never consider dating someone in their twenties. Hell, my oldest daughter is twenty. Any woman I’m sleeping with needs to be closer to my age than hers.
“Good morning,” I reply, ensuring I don’t make eye contact with her. But in my determination to avoid her, my eyes land on a familiar blonde-haired, blue-eyed pharmacist instead. I don’t get it. I go nearly a decade without laying eyes on her. And now she’s everywhere.
Shifting in my seat, I take her in. She’s wearing a long emerald green dress under her starched white lab coat. Her hair is down with a bit more curl today than the last few times I’ve seen her. The doctor and nurse she’s speaking with seem to be having a good-humored conversation, as she frequently tilts her head back in laughter.
The sight of her is mesmerizing. That smile is glorious. I drag my tongue along my lower lip, imagining it’s the tempting column of her throat.
Get a grip, Broadie. You need to get laid.
Yet, as much as I try to concentrate on anything else, I can’t help picturing her sitting across from me, drinking a glass of wine, and sharing humorous tales of our patient encounters through the years. I have no idea why I think she’d be so engaging to share an evening with. She’s barely given me the time of day.
“Hi, Dr. Weston.”
My eyes nearly roll back in my head. I appreciate the friendly nature of these women but for shit’s sake. I stand from the computer stations I’ve been occupying to find Kat staring at me with a puzzling expression. “Oh, Kat. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was you.”
“That’s okay. You seemed preoccupied,” she replies with a mischievous grin, tapping her index finger against her jaw as if she’s the holder of some fascinating intel. “Do you have a patient down here?”
“No,” I answer with a bit of trepidation. “We have a new surgeon joining the practice. I was going to ask Dr. Wilson if I could introduce him to your group at the quarterly meeting.”
“Oh.” Kat drops her hands down by her sides, appearing perplexed. “Is he single?” There’s a glint in her eye I find odd. I’ve known Katarina for years. First, as the granddaughter of a lovely patient of mine. Then, later, she joined the ER staff as a physician assistant. She’s a hard worker, and while she has an easygoing personality, she’s always been professional. So, I find this line of questioning quite peculiar.
