I’m dying to ask more, but the door swings open and Fitz returns with the water. The nurse resumes her coughing and gratefully chugs down the glass. “Thanks, you saved the day. Thedoctor will be in shortly.” Then she takes her iPad and shuts the door.
“What was that about?” Fitz asks as soon as the door closes.
I wave my hand, dismissing the question as though I’m the innocent party here. “I don’t know why they have to go overboard with my medical history for a hurt ankle. There are privacy laws, you know.”
“Lawyers.” He rolls his eyes.
“Isn’t there somewhere else you need to be, firefighter? Surely there’s a cat in a tree that needs rescuing.”
“More fun to rescue a lady from the dirt pile.”
“I'm not taking my clothes off in front of you, in case that's why you stuck around.”
“Oh, Duchess, I don't need to escort you to a doctor's office to get you to do that, remember?”
“That was a one-night thing.”
“I recall.”
“Good, I'm glad your memory works.”
“Honey, it does. And I’m not going to lie. You’re the best memory I’ve had in a long time, but I know what one-and-done means.”
I don’t want to like this man. It will be so much easier to tell him I’m pregnant, let him know I have no expectations of him, and go on my merry way. But despite myself, I do like him, that gruff exterior and reluctant inner kindness.
The door swings open, and a doctor comes in. He shakes Fitz's hand. Then he turns to me. “I'm Dr. Cassidy. I hear we have an injury.”
Fitz starts talking before I can open my mouth. “She took a fall, likely sprained her ankle. I figured you should take a look, but my advice was for her to stay off it for a few days.”
Dr. Cassidy laughs. “Because you know everything. Right, Fitz?”
Fitz nods. “Sure as shit. How many times did we sprain our ankles as kids playing basketball?”
“More times than I can count, but I’m glad you had the good sense to bring her here for an x-ray.”
He points at the stool, and Fitz relinquishes it so the doctor can roll over to me. He puts my foot on top of his thigh and palpates my shin and ankle, asking me what hurts and what doesn't. I yelp and nod and explain where it hurts.
“I wish I could say it was something as sporty as basketball, but I was climbing up a
sandy hill and I slid.”
“Because she was wearing stilettos.” Fitz points accusingly.
“Very sensible pumps.”
“Nothing sensible about climbing a mound of dirt and weeds in pumps.”
I let out an exasperated sigh and try to ignore him. “I think I hit a tree root or stepped in a hole and lost my balance. My ankle twisted, and I slid down the hill.”
The doctor rolls away and makes some notes on his own iPad. “I'm going to take a quick x-ray, but I'm betting it's just a bad sprain. You'll want to wrap it, ice it, elevate it, and take some anti-inflammatories for the pain and swelling.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Fitz says, extending his hand again.
“No worries. I know you'll make it up to me.”
“The Holloway is doing a tasting menu next month, and I’ll put your name down for dinner with Betsy any time you want. Bring friends if you want.”
“Not gonna say no.”
