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“No. I can’t go back to the townhouse yet.”
She tilts her head, studying me. “Why not?”
I grip my drink, trying to decide if I want to go down this road with Lindsey or not. She’ll find out soon enough. There’s no reason to keep it a secret.
“Because Connor moved in.”
Her jaw drops. “Connor as in Dr. Easton?”
“Yes.”
“As in Noah’s best friend?”
“Uh-huh.”
“As in the guy who makes up one half of the sexiest doctor duo in Boston?”
I wrinkle my nose, knowing what she’s referring to. I’ve heard enough women in the hospital talking about Noah that way. “Ew. That’s my brother, by the way.”
“Fine. Forget Noah—Connor is seriously, ridiculously hot.”
I groan. “Yes, okay? Yes. And now he’s living with me. Kind of. I mean, he’ll be in the main house and I’ll be in the guest house.”
Her brows rise in shock. “Wow. That’s…”
“It’s nothing.”
She assesses me coolly, testing me with her next question. “If it’s nothing, why can’t you go home?”
“Because like you just said…he’s really good-looking.”
“Yeah? So what? So are you.”
“I just mean…with Noah leaving this week…”
“Ah, now we’re getting to the truth.” A cunning smile paints her angelic features in a new, devilish light. “You’re worried something is going to happen between you two.”
My eyes widen in alarm. My hands flail. “No! Of course not. Connor doesn’t—he wouldn’t…I’m not…”
I can’t form a coherent sentence.
“Natalie,” she starts, her tone leaving no room for bullshit. “You’ve been stuck inside that hospital for too long. You’ve forgotten what it’s like in the real world. Men want you. We need a real night out so you can remember that.”
“I’m going out with the other surgery residents on Tuesday for a last hurrah. Want to come with?”
She shakes her head. “Hard pass. They’re all taken.”
“True.”
“That’s another one of your problems, by the way—you only hang out with guys who are already married or in serious relationships or gay. They don’t hit on you because they’re decent, but believe me, they want to.”
My face contorts in disgust. After five years of working with Richard, Luke, and Andreas, I don’t want to think about them like that.
She laughs and polishes off the rest of her drink. “Sounds like you’re in for a tough time. Believe me, I’d swap places with you if I could.”
“Lindsey.”
I can’t pursue this line of thinking. I’ve spent years purposefully avoiding this guaranteed route to heartache. If I let myself start hoping, if I open that door and start to believe something could potentially happen between us…
No. Absolutely not.
I take another sip of my drink and stand, killing the conversation.
When I get back to the townhouse, I slip through the main space as quiet as a mouse, relieved to find I’m the only one home. That relief dwindles quickly as I consider the fact that if Connor isn’t here, that means he’s out, maybe meeting another woman…maybe preparing to bring her back here. I scramble to the guest house, lock the door behind me, and immediately start getting ready for bed, trying to outrun that terrible scenario before it takes hold of me.In the morning, relief hits me like a ten-pound weight. I get to go back to work today. I toss off my covers and scramble up and out of bed. I am the peppiest version of myself out on the city streets. I fight the urge to wave at every person I pass, knowing it won’t go over well this early. The sun isn’t even up yet. I resist the urge to leap into the air and tap my heels together like a leprechaun because I know it would only hurt my knee. I do say good morning to a newspaper salesman and I hold the door open for a woman heading out of my favorite indie coffee shop, Boston Beans. It’s right across from the hospital, and when time permits, I like to stop in and get a drink before I start my shift.
Baristas understand the plight of surgeons. We’re both up before dawn, grinding away. Today, I’m here at 4:45 AM, and it’s on purpose. Even though I’ve worked with the staff inside the BICU a lot over the last five years, they’ve only known me as a resident, one who has fumbled at times and made more errors than I can count. Now, as a fellow, I want to start fresh with them. I want to be revered for all the knowledge I’ve amassed, but since that won’t happen, I’m instead going to ply everyone into loving me with a box of delicious baked goods and a carafe of Boston Beans’ hazelnut brew.
My favorite barista—also the owner of the coffee shop—is manning the cash register. Gina wears a ring on every finger and a vibrant scarf over her knotted dreadlocks. Her smile is infectious and I’ve never, not once, seen her in a bad mood.
