He laughs.“At least you’re honest about it this time.”
“I’ll be back,” I say, turning to leave, but I can feel his gaze lingering on me.I don’t dare look over my shoulder, not when I can still feel the heat of it on my back.If I turn around now, if our eyes meet, I’m not sure I’ll be able to play it cool.And I need to, so I focus on getting us coffee.
When I return, I notice the chairs have moved.Mine’s no longer tucked awkwardly at the side like a visitor.It’s now positioned right beside his behind his large desk, close enough that our arms might brush if we both lean back.
It makes something in my chest tighten.Like maybe he sees me as part of this now.
I set both mugs down, and he grins.“Well, that makes two things we agree on.”
I arch an eyebrow.“Coffee?”
“Same order.Same creamer.Same ratio.”His eyes twinkle.
I take a sip.“Yeah, except I’m not weird about it.You ever notice how all the other doctors drink theirs black, like they’re above dairy?”
He fake-gasps.“Sorry to disappoint you.My coffee may be basic, but I make up for it in my suits.”
I glance at his choice of suit: light gray with a subtle pale-yellow tie.The color shouldn’t work, but it does.It brings out his eyes.“Well, creamer seems to be working fine for you,” I blurt before I can stop myself.
His eyes flick to mine.A slow, knowing smile curves his lips.
I want to hide, embarrassed by openly saying that.This isn’t like the patio at the King’s house.This is the hospital, where the lines are drawn, eyes are everywhere, and consequences await.“I meant… the tailoring’s nice.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Before I can dig myself in deeper, the phone rings.He answers quickly, all business.“Yeah, okay.Send them in.”
He hangs up and turns to me.“You ready?I want you to take more of the lead.A few of the cases are straightforward.I’ll do the first one, just so you see the pacing and flow.Then the next one’s yours.I’ll take notes, ask questions when needed, but it’s your show.”
My heart leaps a little, but I nod.“Okay.”
And we do it.Patient after patient, one case at a time.We run late, of course, we always do, but that’s part of the job.If you’re running a clinic on schedule, you’re probably rushing people.And I refuse to make anyone feel like they didn’t matter.
Brant never interrupts me.He listens and watches.At first, I’m hyperaware of his presence, every note he takes, changes in his posture.But as the hours pass, something changes.His silence isn’t judgment.It’s trust.And the realization relaxes me.By the third patient, I’m not second-guessing myself anymore.I’m just working and doing it well.
By the time the last patient leaves, it’s well past five.I’m exhausted but energized at the same time, like I got a second wind.He rubs a hand over his face and down his jaw.
“You still good to work on the protocol committee?”
“Yeah, I’m down,” I say.“But maybe we need fuel.Coffee… or food.Or both.”
He stretches.“How about I order something in?I figure we’re going to be here a while.”
I hesitate for a beat.“I might just let my dad know.You know… that I’ll be late.”
I’m not sure why I say it, but I do.Maybe it’s a habit.Maybe it’s a way to let Brant know I’m not rushing home for anyone else.
Pulling out my phone, I type out a quick text.
Me:Don’t wait up.Working late.
At the same time, Brant says, “I’m ordering Chinese.What would you like?”
“Dim Sum,” I say.
“Bold choice.”He taps his order into the app.“I’m a noodle guy.”
I stand.“I’ll make us another coffee.You keep adding to the list of things we have in common.I might need caffeine to keep up.”
