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Dark, long lashes fringed his eyes, giving them a surreal look that only added to his already handsome face. No doubt about it. Stone was easy to look at.
She opened her mouth, meaning to tell him something, anything, but not the truth.
The truth was something she kept private. Something she didn’t talk about with her co-workers because she needed to keep her life compartmentalized. At the hospital, she worked hard, was free to laugh with her co-workers and patients, to just feel normal and pretend life was grand.
She wouldn’t let home creep into work.
She couldn’t.
Not if any part of her was to survive.
Compartmentalization was her friend and kept her sane.
“Yeah,” Rosalyn added, her amused gaze bouncing back and forth between Stone and Carly.
Her co-worker was definitely having Cupid inclinations. In another lifetime, Carly would have welcomed her help, would have welcomed a man like Stone being interested. Welcomed and been over the moon. But that wasn’t where she was and probably wouldn’t be for years.
Lord, she hoped it would be years.
The alternative was unthinkable.
Stone’s gaze cut to the grinning nurse who was watching them with the eagerness of a movie-goer. All she needed was a seat and some popcorn.
“Rosalyn, would you mind getting a warm blanket for Room 207?” he asked. “That’s what I stepped out to do, but fortunately I ran into you lovely ladies.”
Carly was one hundred percent sure “fortunately” was not what she’d call him overhearing her and Rosalyn’s conversation.
Heat flooded Carly’s face and she glanced down at her tennis shoes, staring at the neon-green laces. Good work shoes were the one luxury she allowed herself. With the long hours she worked, good shoes mattered.
“Yes, sir.” Rosalyn grinned at him, and then winked at Carly. Chuckling, she took off toward where the blanket warmer was located. “Just you remember what I said, Carly Evans,” she called without turning around. “It would do you some good to think about that.”
Carly was pretty sure her cheeks were as red as her scrubs. Maybe more so as her scrubs were a little faded from too many washings.
When Rosalyn was out of earshot, Stone turned back to Carly. One side of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. “I didn’t intentionally listen in, but will admit that I’m intrigued by what I heard. You mind explaining?”
She minded. “How much did you hear?”
“Enough to know I want to hear more.”
Being careful not to spill Room 204’s medication from the cup, Carly put her hands on her hips. “Which tells me nothing.”
“How much could I have overheard?” His eyes twinkled.
Good grief, he’d heard everything. Was the fact that he was standing behind Carly why Rosalyn had mentioned him in the first place?
“Not a lot.” Carly decided to go for nonchalant. Nonchalant was good and meant she didn’t care what he’d overheard. He didn’t know her private thoughts, nor would he ever. “Rosalyn had a theory about you. I told her that her theory was pointless as I wasn’t interested in anything beyond friendship.”
“Which is where I asked why you weren’t interested.” His lips twitched, his eyes sparkled, and he was enjoying that he’d caught her having a conversation about him.
“Yes,” she said for lack of knowing what else to say, a little flustered by the fact Stone didn’t mind that Rosalyn had said he had the hots for Carly. Which meant what?
That he did have the hots for her?
He’d flirted, but he was such a good-natured person, talking with everyone, so she’d consoled herself that her talking back was harmless, that nothing would come of their shared conversations. He wouldn’t really be interested in her outside of having a little fun at the hospital.
He was a gorgeous doctor. She was just her. An overworked, over-stressed, financially stretched nurse doing all she could to provide care for her seriously ill mother.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he pointed out, his intent gaze warning she’d been fooling herself on thinking their conversations didn’t mean anything.
Her pulse drummed rapidly at her temple.
“I wasn’t having a discussion with you,” she reminded him, knowing she had to get her thoughts, her reaction to him, under control. Better to stay in denial than to acknowledge what she couldn’t have, what she couldn’t let herself have. “You weren’t a part of the conversation you interrupted.”
She wanted to be irritated with him, but how could anyone be upset with him when he had such an all-encompassing smile on his face? A smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, dug dimples into his cheeks, and made his eyes sparkle?
