“Not at all,” Evie says.
“I don’t know. I think the whole ‘potential setup’ idea got in my head, and it’s making me see stuff that isn’t really happening. Like pregnant women craving pickles.”
“Or maybe you just met your future husband,” Evie says. “Stranger things have happened. What about after breakfast? Did you see him again?”
“We sat in the living room for like, three hours or something. But we didn’t talk. He was reading a book. I was studying. It was all very chill.”
“Hmm. That could still mean something. It’s better than just full on avoiding you.”
“Or it could mean absolutely nothing at all,” I say. “Which is the most likely thing. I’m only going to be here a week, so what does it matter anyway?”
“Hey—a lot can happen in a week. And you still might get a job in North Carolina. You have to stop talking like it won’t happen.”
A pinch of anxiety makes my chest tighten. The pediatric intensive care nurse residency program at the largest hospital in Charlotte is incredibly competitive. Most of my classmates already have jobs lined up, and I’ve gotten offers from a few other hospitals closer to home. But Ilovedmy interview in Charlotte, so I’ve been holding out, waiting for an offer I’m afraid, at this point, is never going to come.
It would be so perfect. Especially since it’s only a few hours away from Alec and Evie, and I would love to be closer to them with the baby on the way.
“Honestly, Evie, I feel like I would have heard by now if I got in.”
“Maybe not,” Evie says. “You haven’t even taken your NCLEX yet. Maybe you should reach out again. Just to let them know you’re still interested and available.” Evie stifles a yawn, but it still muffles her words, and that makesmeyawn.
I glance at my watch. It’s only eight thirty, but I feel like I could crash anyway. Nursing school may have permanently ruined my sleep schedule. “I already did,” I say. “But I’m not expecting much with the holidays so close.”
“Hospitals don’t get holidays,” Evie says. “I’m sure you’ll hear something soon.”
I appreciate her vote of confidence, but I’ve pretty much resigned myself to accepting my second—or even third—choice job. Assuming those are still available. If they aren’t, I might be the one who finally ruins the one-hundred-percent-job-placement statistic of my nursing program. Guaranteed work…unless you’re me, apparently.
Evie and I chat for a few more minutes, and she sends me a video of Juno talking about her dinner. She’s started calling cucumberscute numbers,and it’s legitimately the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.
“I miss her already,” I tell Evie before we say goodbye. “You’d better talk about me every day so she doesn’t forget me.”
“You know I will,” Evie says.
If I wasn’t so sure I wanted to work in the PICU, I might apply to work at the hospital in Harvest Hollow just so I could see Juno more frequently. But it’s a little too small to have pediatric intensive care, and I’m a little too certain that’s what I want my focus to be.
Maybetoocertain. At this point, I might not have a choice.
Six
I don’t seeNoah the next morning, though I do see traces of his presence in the kitchen. A full coffee pot. A washed frying pan drying on the counter. A box of apple Danishes with a note scribbled onto the back of the same notecard I used last night.
The soup was delicious. Leftovers are in the fridge. Also, I polished off the last of a loaf of bread. Hope that’s okay, and thanks for sharing. Help yourself to a Danish, but not all of them because I’m going to want one in the morning. - Noah
The note has a slight teasing quality to it that makes me grin, and the Danish is absolutely delicious. The act of kindness gives me courage because I need to decorating today, and I’m going to need Noah’s help to do it.
Olivia gave me two different options for acquiring a Christmas tree, but both require driving, either to the local Feed ’n Seed where trees are for sale, or all the way up to Thomson’sTree Farm where I can, if I feel so inclined, hike around the mountainside and pick out a tree to be cut fresh and delivered right to the farm.
With the current weather conditions and only a front-wheel drive rental car at my disposal, I’m not sure either is a viable option. Not unless Noah is willing to drive me in his giant Stonebrook Farm truck. Which means I need to go and find him.
With a second Danish in hand, I’m about to head upstairs to grab my coat when Noah steps out of his bedroom and into the kitchen.
His sudden entrance startles me, and I spin around, hand flying to my chest like the gesture will keep my heart from pounding its way out of my ribcage.
“Geez, you scared me,” I say.
“Sorry,” Noah says. “I wasn’t trying to.”
“It’s fine. I think I’m a little jittery after so much alone time.”
