The invitation is so fucking tempting. But I know myself well enough to recognize what would happen if I followed her into that plant-filled sanctuary again.
"If I come up, we won't make it to work," I tell her, keeping my voice deliberately light despite the heat behind the words. "Go. I'll be here."
She grins, a flash of understanding in her eyes before she slips out of the car with a promise to hurry.
Alone in the silence, I check my phone, scrolling through emails and texts that accumulated overnight. Arjun has sent three messages, each more suggestive than the last, clearly fishing for details about what happened in my office yesterday. I ignore them all, focusing instead on a message from Kim about Cheryl's latest lab results.
The numbers aren't good. We're missing something, some crucial piece of the puzzle that would make all these disparate symptoms make sense. The frustration sits heavy in my chest, a counterpoint to the lingering contentment from the morning.
My thoughts are interrupted by Mia's return, fresh-faced and dressed in clean scrubs, her hair now neatly braided. She slides into the passenger seat with a gust of cool air and the scent of something floral and clean.
"That was fast," I tell her as I pull away from the curb.
"I've perfected the three-minute shower and five-minute professional transformation." She buckles her seatbelt, adjusting the strap across her chest. "Essential skill for doctors who sometimes sleep through their alarms."
The drive to the hospital passes in a comfortable blend of conversation—discussions about patients, debates about treatment options, interspersed with more personal revelations. She tells me about her father teaching her to change a car'soil when she was twelve. I share a story about Bradley and me getting lost in the woods behind the ranch when we were kids.
It feels dangerously easy, this exchange of histories and thoughts. Dangerously natural.
As we approach the hospital, I deliberately take a longer route, circling around to the far side of the parking lot where staff rarely park this early. Away from the main entrance, away from curious eyes and gossiping coworkers.
"Hiding me already, Dr. Walker?" Mia asks, her tone teasing even as her eyes study my face.
I park in a spot partially obscured by a large oak, its branches casting dappled shadows across the windshield. Turning to her, I choose my words carefully.
"Being cautious," I correct. "For both our sakes."
Her expression softens with understanding. "Professional boundaries. I get it."
"This," I gesture between us. "Is too new to throw into the hospital rumor mill. I'd prefer to figure out what we are without an audience."
"And what are we?" The question is light, but her eyes are serious, searching mine for answers I'm not sure I have yet.
Instead of responding with words, I lean across the console and capture her mouth with mine. The kiss is slow, deliberate, a stark contrast to the heated exchanges of the night before. Cupping her face, my thumb strokes the soft skin of her cheek as our lips move together with growing familiarity.
When we part, her eyes remain closed for a moment, lashes fanning against her cheeks before they flutter open.
"That wasn't really an answer," she murmurs, but she's smiling.
"It's the best I've got right now," I admit, brushing my thumb across her lower lip. "But I'd like to figure it out. Together."
"Together sounds good."
The moment is shattered by the sudden, insistent beeping of my pager. I pull it from my belt and glance down at the screen. The four words there make my blood run cold.
"What is it?" Mia asks, immediately alert to the change in my demeanor.
I meet her gaze and force the words out. "Cheryl is coding."
Chapter 30
Mia
My feet hit the pavement at a dead sprint. Behind me, I hear Sebastian calling my name, but it's background noise beneath the roaring in my ears. The sliding doors of the emergency entrance can't part fast enough, and I nearly crash into them, my palms slapping against the glass as I squeeze through the opening gap.
"Dr. Phillips!" The security guard at the front desk half-rises from his chair, but I'm already past him, dodging between startled visitors and staff.
The elevator bank looms ahead, its indicators showing every car stuck on upper floors. I slam through the door to the stairwell, the metal clanging against the wall with enough force to chip paint.
