1
SAGE
“Pip pip, cheerio,”I cry out as I lift the glass of Guinness my coworker just handed me. I take a sip and grimace. “Oh shit, that’s terrible. Nope, not doing that.” I hand it back to him with a shake of my head.
“I give you a month in Birmingham and you’ll be chugging the stuff,” he says, drinking deeply from the glass.
“Not a chance,” I fire back, picking up my raspberry margarita and taking a long drink to wash the taste of Guinness from my mouth.
A tiny bar in Manitoba wouldn’t be my first choice of location to celebrate finally securing the nursing contract of my dreams, but beggars can’t be choosers. And they do make a good raspberry margarita.
Besides, when the email came in, my shriek was so loud, there was no chance of hiding the news from my current colleagues.
When I told them my next post would be one I’d waited years to get, they insisted we go out for a drinkafter our shift. And now, here we are, raising a glass to the fact that in two months I get to go and explore the country I’ve dreamed about for as long as I can remember. It’s not the way I planned, but that’s not surprising.
Plans are for suckers.
Or emotional masochists.
Not everyone is celebrating my news, however. Marisol, another one of the nurses I work with at the local hospital, pouts as she leans across the table, her dark brown curls falling over her shoulder. “Are you sure we can’t convince you to stay here instead of going to England? You know they’d offer you another contract here when this one’s up, then we wouldn’t have to break in another newbie.”
I hold up a finger as my phone vibrates in my back pocket. “Hold that thought.”
Fishing my phone out, I see my best friend Fiona, who lives out on the West Coast of Canada, has finally responded to my earlier text. She alone knows exactly how much England means to me.
Fiona: OMFG YES GIRL! I’m so happy for you, babe! But also super bummed that now there’s gonna be a whole ocean between us not just a few provinces.
SAGE: I know Listen, we’ll talk soon, just at a bar celebrating with some work friends.
Fiona: Have a drink for me!
Pocketing my phone again, I turn back to Marisol. “Okay. First of all, I amnota newbie. I’ve been nursing longer than you have.” She ducks her head with a smile of acknowledgment, and I lift another finger. “Second of all, haven’t you heard of overstaying your welcome? You think you like working with me now, but another six months could change that. Which is why I love travel nursing. I get to see the country, meet tons of cool people, and most importantly, leave them wanting more.” I finish with a flourish, bowing slightly as my coworkers all laugh.
“One of these days, you’re going to get tired of being a nomad, Sage,” Marisol says, her hand landing on my arm. “Come back here when that happens.”
I don’t have the heart to tell her that middle-of-nowhere Manitoba is not where I’d settle, if I ever decide to. Instead, I just flash her a smile and give her my standard answer. “It’s definitely on the list of options for when I want to settle down.”
That list doesn’t actually exist, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“But first, England awaits.” I give my hips a shimmy, unable to contain my excitement at finally being able to say that.
Marisol called me a nomad, but I prefer free spirit. Or independent world traveler, except I’ve never actually left North America. I’m the girl with no home, no ties, and no commitments, except to myself and whichever hospital employs me at any given moment.
And I like it that way. Besides, don’t the wise ones say “Home is not a place, it’s a feeling”? Or something like that.
One of the other nurses says something that has everyone in our group laughing, and I tip my head back and join in, even though I don’t know what they said. I might not be a permanent fixture here, but it’s been a good experience. They’re a great group of people, hard working, friendly, and fun. If I wasn’t, well, me, maybe I would stay for a second contract when this one runs out in March.
Nah, not with England finally in sight.
My hand lifts to my left shoulder, where a tattoo of a purple-blue arctic lupine rests. Losing my mother just about broke me, and the tattoo of her favourite wildflower might have been an impulsive, grief-fueled decision six years ago, but I don’t regret it. This way she’ll be with me in England, just like she was meant to be.
“Ooh, hot guy, ten o’clock. And I think he’s checking you out!” Marisol nudges me.
As casually as I can, I turn my head to glance over my shoulder in the direction Marisol was looking. I scan the people standing between me and the bar, then my gaze snaps back to a trio of men. Two of them are holding hands, so I know it can’t be either of them. The third, well, Marisol’s initial reaction was an understatement.
He’s not overly tall, but he’s definitely taller than me, and I stand just shy of five feet, nine inches. Strong, muscular arms are trapped under a tight T-shirt. It’s impossible to tell his hair colour in the dim light of the bar, but it’s dark, messy, and looks in need of a trim. Buthis face is the showstopper. A strong jawline with an easy smile that makes his eyes crinkle slightly at the sides. He’s delicious. And something about him, I have no idea what, has me almost certain he’s a good guy. The kind a woman can trust, even if it’s just with a one-night stand.
Which is all I’m looking for. I wonder if he’s down for some fun tonight. Might as wellreallycelebrate getting the England contract.
