“Payback is coming,” I warn, lunging at him and sending a wave of water into his face.
Seconds later, we’re both breathless, drenched and ridiculous, as we laugh and splash each other like kids. I’m about to send another wave over him when he calls for a truce.
“Is this a ruse?” I ask, eyeing him suspiciously.
“I swear it’s not.” He wades through the water to me, his eyes never leaving mine. When he tucks a strand of wet hair behind my ear, his hand lingers there, his thumb brushing softly against my cheek. Then, his lips meet mine—and just like that, I forget all about my carefully laid-out plan for revenge and melt into his steady arms.
It’s barely past six p.m., and I already feel like I’ve lived five days in one.
Peeling off my surgical cap, I drop the chart I’m holding onto the nurses’ station with a sigh. My scrubs are sticking to me in all the worst places, my hair is a mess of sweat and static, and I’m fairly certain I haven’t eaten since I scarfed down that granola bar at around six in the morning.
But at least the patient is stable. He needed an emergency splenectomy after a nasty car crash—torn vessels, litres of blood loss, the works. But we got him back from the brink. That’s what matters.
I lean against the counter, trying to remember whether I’ve had water today, when something shifts in the corner of my eye.
I turn instinctively toward the waiting room, and my heart stutters. Archie is sitting in one of the plastic chairs by the vending machine.
I speed-walk in his direction, my stomach clenching as I try not to imagine the worst.
“What are you doing here? Are you okay?” I blurt out as I reach him, breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my heart.
His head lifts,and his face softens the second he sees me.
“Hey,” he says, standing up. “There you are.”
I scan his body, but I don’t see any signs of injury. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” he quickly replies. “One of your colleagues said I could wait here for you. I come bearing food, that’s all,” He gestures to the two brown paper bags on the chair next to him, and as he lifts them, the smell hits me—something greasy, glorious, and unmistakably indulgent. My stomach growls so loudly I almost wince.
“I know you don’t always have time to eat,” he adds. “And I wanted to make sure you had something in your stomach. Brought your favourite combo: burger from Shake Shack and chips from Five Guys.”
I stare at him, then at the bags, then back at him. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah.” He scratches the back of his head. “Have you already eaten? ’Cause I c—”
“No, I haven’t,” I say, my arms dropping. “Thanks. That’s very kind of you.”
“My pleasure.” He grins. “Anyway, I won’t bother you much longer. Just make sure you spare five minutes to eat it, yeah?”
He hands me the bags, then turns to walk away.
“Wait,” I say, clutching the bags just a little too hard. “I actually can take a break now. Eat with me?”
He turns around, the shadow of a smile on his face. “You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then lead the way, Doctor Lennox,” he says with a sheepish grin.
Taking my dinner break with Archie is a lot more entertaining than eating by myself or with my exhausted colleagues. He makes me laugh between bites, tells me absurd locker room stories, and somehow manages to make this short respitefeellike a real break.
We’re finishing the last of the chips when my phone buzzes. I glance at the screen, and a groan escapes me.
“Shoot. I totally forgot I was supposed to go see my mum during my break.”
Archie’s brows lift. “Wait, your mum’s here? I thought the procedure was outpatient?”
“It was supposed to be,” I say, brushing my oily fingers off on a napkin. “But the doctor wasn’t happy with how the flap was perfusing—probably an early sign of venous congestion—so he decided to keep her overnight for monitoring. Just to be safe.”
