The woman ahead of us turns around. She's got white hair, which is pulled back in a bun, and a kind face. She looks like a grandma, the kind who probably makes pies from scratch every weekend.
Beaming at us, she goes on to comment, “I must say, you two make a beautiful couple. And you, my dear, are just glowing. That little one is going to be so lucky to have parents like you.”
“Oh, we're not—” I start to say.
But at the exact same time, Brady replies, “Thank you, that's really kind of you to say.”
I blink as the old woman smiles again and turns back to the cashier who's ringing up her groceries.
I glance at Brady, but he's still focused on unloading our items and not looking at me. Leaning in close, I drop my voice to a whisper.
“You didn’t correct her.”
Brady doesn't meet my gaze as he lifts the last few items onto the belt.
“Didn’t feel like a mistake.”
My throat tightens.
“But it was, Brady,” I say quietly so no one else can overhear. “We're not a couple.”
I expect to see him flinch, but he just stands there, calm and steady. Maybe my words hurt me more than they hurt him.
“But you are beautiful, and glowing, and this baby is going to be so lucky to have a mom like you. None of that was a mistake. The other part?” He shrugs. “Correctingher would've only made her feel uncomfortable. I didn't see the point in doing that.”
We're both quiet as we go through the checkout, Brady paying for the groceries despite me trying to pass him my credit card. We don't say a word to each other all the way back to the car or while we load the bags of groceries into the back. As I lift one of the bags out of the cart, my gaze catches on a package sitting near the top, and my heart skips a beat. It's the mango slices I picked up in the produce section.
“Seemed like you wanted them,” he says casually before closing the trunk and walking around to the driver’s door. Looking at me over the top of the car, he winks.
“Some might even call it a craving, but what do I know?”
20
SAGE
Some daysI wonder why the hell I decided to go into nursing. Days when the smell of blood and sickness seems permanently etched into my nostrils. When I don’t get a single break that lasts more than five minutes before the next person comes in, desperately needing care. Days when the hospital is so short-staffed, everyone is doing the jobs of five people and there’s no time to process the heavy shit we deal with before something worse comes rolling through the doors.
Today was one of those days.
Exhaustion drags at me as I finally reach the door to Brady’s apartment. My stomach is growling, the protein bar I scarfed down while charting hours ago long since gone.
I should’ve asked him to pick me up from work. I know he would’ve said yes without a second thought, and I have only my stubborn self to blame for the fact that I had to ride the bus and then walk the rest of the way when I was already dead on my feet and starving.
I push the door open and am struck by the warmth, and the absolutely incredible aroma of something delicious. Garlic, spices, and…
“Is that homemade bread?” I blurt out as I step into the apartment in time to see Brady, wearing oven mitts and a black apron, pull something out from the oven.
He looks up at me with a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yep. I made some roasted vegetable and lentil soup and bread. I dunno, it felt like a cozy dinner kind of day.”
“Oh my God, that sounds amazing,” I groan, kicking off my shoes just as my stomach lets out an inhumanly loud noise.
“Well, that’s embarrassing.” I grimace, but Brady just turns and opens a cupboard, taking something down and tossing it to me. It’s a miracle I get my hand up in time to catch it, given how tired I am.
“Hey, careful, not all of us are baseball players,” I protest before looking down at the packet of trail mix he’s tossed me. “Wait. When did we get this?”
“I hit the store earlier to get a few things for dinner and grabbed them,” he says casually. “If you don’t want that, I’ve also got the dried mango you like, or there’s some more coconut yogurt in the fridge.”
My throat feels oddly tight. Those are the three snacks I can’t seem to get enough of right now. “How did you…”
