I smiled and texted back:Tell her he’s going to be fine and he’s complaining about Dr. Morrison’s bedside manner, so his spirits are good.
The response came quickly:That’s our Mr. Brennan.
I finished the paperwork and was about to head back to the station when I caught a familiar scent on the wind. Cedar smoke and autumn rain, distinctive even in the hospital parking lot’s usual mix of antiseptic and exhaust fumes.
I looked up and spotted her immediately. Sable Wynn, the emergency coordinator from this morning’s drill, was walking from the parking lot toward the hospital’s administrative entrance. She had her tablet tucked under one arm and her radio still clipped to her belt even though it was mid-afternoon and she should have been done with work hours ago.
But of course she wasn’t done. Women like Sable Wynn didn’t clock out at five. They kept going until the work was finished or they collapsed, whichever came first.
I recognized that instinct because I had the same one.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I was moving to intercept her path. “Coordinator Wynn. Didn’t expect to see you here.”
She looked up, startled, and I watched her expression shift through surprise, recognition, and then that careful neutrality she seemed to wear like armor. “Vance, right? Medical call?”
“Yeah, Silas Vance.” The fact that she’d remembered felt significant, even if it wasn’t in reality. “Hip fracture, elderly patient. You?”
“Following up on safety inspection reports.” She gestured toward the administrative wing with her tablet. “The county requires documentation on all public facilities, and the hospital keeps dragging their feet on submitting updated floor plans.”
“Thrilling work.”
“Someone has to do it.” But there was a hint of dry humor in her tone that suggested she knew exactly how boring it sounded.
We stood there for a moment in the kind of silence that should have been awkward but somehow wasn’t. Her scent was stronger up close, and I could feel my sensitivity picking up on the layers underneath the suppressants. Exhaustion, forone. Determination, for another. And underneath all of that, something sharp and wounded that made every protective instinct I had sit up and pay attention.
Which was dangerous for someone like me.
“That was good work this morning,” I said, because I needed to fill the silence with something that wasn’t me asking questions I had no right to ask. “The drill scenarios are getting more complex.”
“Emergency situations are complex. The training should match.”
“Most coordinators don’t see it that way. They go for simple, clean scenarios that look good on paper but don’t actually prepare anyone for reality.”
She tilted her head slightly, studying me with those dark amber eyes that seemed to see more than I wanted them to. “You sound like you’ve worked with a lot of coordinators.”
“Enough to know the difference between someone going through the motions and someone who actually cares about getting it right.” I paused, then added, “You care about getting it right.”
Something flickered in her expression, there and gone too fast to name. “That’s the job.”
“No, it’s not.” I echoed Mr. Brennan’s words from earlier, because they felt true in this context too. “Lots of people do that job without giving a damn about anything but checking boxes. You actually care.”
Her jaw tightened slightly, and I watched her defenses slam back into place. “I should get inside. The hospital administrator is expecting me.”
“Right. Of course.” I stepped back, giving her space. But before she could leave, I heard myself say, “There’s a coffee shop downtown. The Brew. Best coffee in Hollow Haven, and they have actual food, not just hospital cafeteria sadness. If you everneed a break from bureaucratic paperwork, I’m usually there around four on weekdays.”
She was very still, and I could see her trying to decide if that was a professional courtesy or something else. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you strike me as someone who doesn’t take enough breaks, and I’m someone who takes too many. Figured maybe we could balance each other out.” I kept my tone light, easy, the same way I did with everyone. But my sensitivity was screaming at me that this mattered more than I was letting on.
“I’m not looking for anything,” she said carefully.
“Neither am I,” I lied. “Just offering coffee and conversation to someone who understands what this job does to you. No pressure. No expectations.”
She studied me for a long moment, and I could practically see her weighing the risks against the benefits. Finally, she said, “I’ll think about it.”
“Fair enough.” I pulled out one of my cards, the professional ones with the ambulance service logo and my contact information. “If you change your mind.”
She took the card with careful fingers, making sure we didn’t touch in the process. “Thank you.”
