How the hell do I always manage to find her without pants?
Not that I’m complaining. It just makes things harder . . . so to speak.
“You’ll break it before you figure it out.”
She brushes past me, wrapping me in mint and lavender.
I inhale deeply, completely unashamed.
“I’ve never met someone who smells so good first thing in the morning.”
“Oils before bed.” She lifts her wrist, giving me her pulse point. “They relax me after a long shift.”
Calm fills me. It’s so her—so sweet and soothing, like a sedative for my soul. It’s making me crazy, which is the only explanation for why my lips brush her wrist.
The kitchen seems to close in on all sides until Aspen drops her wrist, snapping me out of it.
She points to the coffee machine. “Want me to show you how to use it?” She glances up at me through her lashes as she guides my hand to the right button. Her fingers are cool against mine, steady where mine shake. “See? Not that complicated.”
“Doesn’t anyone just have a Mr. Coffee anymore?” My voice holds the rough edge of a long night and worrying about her.
Her attention lingers on me a moment too long, like she can see through my mask, but she doesn’t shy away.
My gaze drops to her mouth.
One move and I could close the gap. One move and I’d ruin everything—ruin her. Just like in my dream.
Stepping back a foot, I watch as she makes a concoction that rivals the fancy drinks drive-thrus serve, complete with caramel drizzle. As I do, I memorize the way she looks in this early light, in this kitchen—safe and happy.
Being here, with her, already feels more like home than any place I’ve been in years.
If I’m not careful, I’m going to make it harder on both of us when I leave. But knowing that and stopping it from happening are two different things.
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
ASPEN
My shift should’ve ended hours ago, but a transport call came in right before change of shift, and there wasn’t another flight nurse available.
At some point, I stopped tracking hours and started counting coffees and trauma pages instead. All I know is, my feet are filing a formal complaint with every step I take toward radiology.
Crystal’s case is hitting a little too close to home and being overtired isn’t doing me any favors.
On her way to work this morning, she saw a car barreling toward a stopped school bus. When she realized the driver wasn’t stopping, she put her own car in the way.
She ended up with broken ribs, a collapsed lung, and a fractured pelvis. But because of her, a bus full of kids are going home to their parents today in one piece.
She’s stable—it’ll take time but she’ll be okay.
And because of that, I could clock out anytime now.
Which means there’s absolutely no reason for me to be checking her labs one more time.
Only, this one is harder to look away from for . . . reasons.
Movement at the information desk catches my attention, slowing my steps.
