Frank squints at me. “You look tense, Doc. You need a drink.”
“It’s ten in the morning.”
“All the best decisions are made before noon,” he counters.
Melissa snorts. There it is again.
I move toward the foot of the bed, flipping open his chart. “How are you feeling now?”
“Like I’ve been hit by a truck,” he says. “But a charming one.”
Melissa checks his IV with practiced ease. “Pain still a six?”
“Five,” he amends. “But only because you’re standing there.”
She rolls her eyes. “Flattery will not get you extra meds.”
“It might get me dessert,” he shoots back.
I glance at her. “Did dietary ever bring that tray you ordered?”
She shakes her head. “No, but I’ll follow up.”
Frank waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t bother. I’m saving room for something better.”
“Oh?” she asks. “And what would that be?”
He grins. “Whatever you’re sneaking me later.”
Melissa laughs outright this time. I catch myself smiling before I can stop it.
After we finish the exam, Melissa steps out to update the chart at the nurses’ station. I linger near her longer than necessary, making a show of reviewing labs I’ve already memorized.
Frank watches me with far too much interest.
“You know,” he says, “you’re not as subtle as you think.”
I don’t look up. “About what?”
“About her.”
I finally meet his gaze. He’s still smiling, but there’s a sharpness there now.
“She’s special,” he continues. “You don’t get nurses like that often. The kind who talk to you like you’re still a person.”
I close the chart. “I know.”
“Then don’t screw it up,” he says simply.
I leave before I can respond, before I admit the dangerous truth that I haven’t yet admitted to myself.
The nurses’ station is busier now. Phones ringing. Keyboards clicking. Controlled chaos. Melissa is standing at the counter, focused on the screen in front of her. Her hair has come loose from its neat bun, a few strands falling around her face.
I stop beside her. Not across from her, beside her.
She glances up, surprise flickering across her features before she schools it away. “Did you need something?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” I say lightly. “Frank’s convinced you’re smuggling him contraband.”
