I have never been so disappointed that my ethical and moral duty requires me to ignore the glorious sight of Noah’s torso and focus on the crisis at hand.
“Hi,” I manage to say, my voice a little too breathless. “Are you busy?”
“Not at all. Is everything okay?” He still has a towel in his hand, and he uses it to reach up and dry off his hair.
“I don’t think so, actually. I’m pretty sure there’s a little girl on the living room couch who has appendicitis.”
He frowns, tossing his towel onto the bed. “How sure is pretty sure?” He turns and walks to his dresser where he riffles through a drawer and pulls out a t-shirt, tugging it over his head.
“She has a fever. Hasn’t eaten anything since she got here but has intense pain on the lower right side of her abdomen. I know I could just send them to the hospital, but I’m pretty sure that would end the party, so I wanted to see if you would examine her first. Just to make sure.”
He nods. “It’s fine. You were right to come get me.” He quickly retrieves a duffel bag from under his bed and pulls out a stethoscope, filling me with an immediate sense of relief that he’s willing to help. “Let’s go,” he says, and then we’re off.
When we make it back to the living room, Joe has Sabrina in his lap, and a woman I assume is his wife has joined him, the worry on her face a mirror of her husband’s.
“She’s not okay, is she?” Joe asks as I approach.
Instead of answering, I step to the side and motion to Noah. “Joe, this is my friend, Noah, and he’s a doctor. I think you should let him take a look at Sabrina, okay?”
Joe quickly agrees, and Noah makes quick work of examining the little girl. Most of the family has abandoned the dining room, instead hovering around the edges of the room as they watch Noah work.
Just like yesterday when he was taking care of me, his movements are quick and sure, his voice steady. He explains to Sabrina and her dad exactly what he’s doing as he palpates her abdomen, then uses his stethoscope to listen for bowel sounds. I’ll never claim that I don’t appreciate toned abdominal muscles or defined biceps. It’s nice that Noah has those. But I wouldargue that at the end of the day, I’m most attracted to competence. To skill. Seeing Noah do something he has trained years to do is incredibly sexy.
When he finishes his exam, he glances at me and nods.
It feels good to be right, but I hate what this means for Sabrina. Because she’s going to wake up on Christmas morning in a hospital bed.
Noah helps Sabrina into her dad’s arms, then walks with them to the front door. At this point, they can drive down to the hospital faster than an ambulance could make it here, then make the same journey back down the mountain, but Noah promises to call ahead and make sure the hospital is ready for them.
In a matter of minutes, the rest of the Petersons are all preparing to go, gathering coats and bags and the Christmas presents they exchanged before dinner. I can’t truly blame them. It would feel strange to keep the party going, but as I overhear everyone talking, it sounds more like they’re simply relocating—taking the party to the hospital so they can all stay abreast of Sabrina’s well-being.
As soon as I hear this is the plan, I help the catering staff pack up the triple chocolate cheesecake the family was supposed to have for dessert.
I’m in the kitchen, elbow deep in to-go containers, when I see Noah step out of his room, his boots and coat on, and move toward the back door. I frown as I take in the sight of him. Something seems off. There’s tension in his shoulders and through his jaw, and his brow is furrowed.
“Noah,” I call, but he doesn’t stop or even glance in my direction. I watch as he opens the door and disappears into the darkness, closing it behind him with a resoundingthud.
The kitchen is noisy, so it’s possible he just didn’t hear me call out to him.
Then again, it’s not lost on me that Noah came to Stonebrook Farm to getawayfrom practicing medicine, and now, two days in a row, he’s been asked to do just that. He didn’t hesitate to help Sabrina—he wouldn’t. Just like he didn’t hesitate to help me. But during our conversation last night, I didn’t get the impression that Noah has done much processing. With the end of his six weeks looming, and now, back-to-back evenings where he’s been required to bethe doctor he isn’t sure he wants to be—it would make sense if he’s upset. Or at least feeling really overwhelmed.
“Okay, that’s the last of it,” Kendra says. Stonebrook’s catering manager has been standing beside me, slicing cheesecake, then shifting it over to me to place in individually portioned containers. But that was the last slice, which means we’re done. She takes the remaining containers and adds them to a bag at her feet.
“Perfect. Thank you,” I say. “I’ll walk these out front.”
“Take these too,” Kendra says, retrieving a covered tray of Christmas cookies. “Tell them we put plastic silverware in the bag.”
It takes another ten minutes to get the last of the Petersons out the door. There are missing coats and a missing wallet and a little boy who somehow managed to lose only one of his socks.
Through every eternally long moment, all I can think about is Noah. Is he okay? Is he upset? Does he need me?
Finally,finally,we get everyone sorted, and I send them out the door with cheesecake, cookies, and the most cheerful Merry Christmas I can manage.
It sounded a little deflated, if I’m being honest, but I doubt anyone else noticed.
Once the farmhouse door is closed behind the Petersons, my first impulse is to race upstairs and change my shoes so I can go after Noah. But now that I have the actual opportunity to do so, I’m not sure it’s the right call.
If he left, he must have felt a need for some alone time. I want Noah towantto talk to me, but I don’t want to force him if he isn’t ready. He made a point of mentioning that he appreciates the way I don’t fill the silence and give him time to find his words.
