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“There. Now you can call me anytime.”
Abigail’s eyes are wide as she looks down at her cell, and I swear I see them well up with tears.
“Abigail?” I take a step forward, but when she looks up, I stop. Because if I go to her, I’ll touch her, and that’s something I can’t allow myself to do. “I’m sorry about what I said in the cafeteria…about not being sure if we can be friends.”
She smiles tremulously and shrugs a shoulder. “It’s okay. I understand.”
“No, it’s not okay. I was just angry and a little bitter because I really like you. But if you’re up for it, I’d love for us to try to be friends.”
“I’d like that a lot.”
There isn’t much more to say, and I’m not really in the mood to talk, so I motion toward the bedroom. “I’m going to go grab the screw gun, and then I’ll put this coffee table together.”
I feel her eyes on me as I walk down the hall. When I enter the bedroom, I stand for several long seconds, take more than a few deep breaths, and then head back into the living room. Without looking in Abigail’s direction, I park my ass on the floor and go to work putting the legs on her coffee table.
“Drake?”
“Yeah?” I ask, pushing the final screw in.
“I really like you too,” she says softly.
My head snaps up, but rather than looking at me, Abigail is concentrating hard on organizing her cabinets. I know she can feel me watching her; it’s in the way her chest rises and falls just a little bit faster and the tremor in her hand. But not once does she stop and look my way. She stays focused on the task at hand, meticulously lining up all of the cups by size.
The tallest glasses in the back taper to the shortest in the front. None of them are stacked on top of each other, and I notice her spice cabinet—which is open—situated much the same way. When she moves to the plates, I can’t help but laugh.
She would have a heyday if she saw my kitchen.
Chapter 4
Abby
“Hey, thank you again for your help the other night,” I call.
It’s been three days since I’ve seen Drake, and I’m more than a little surprised when he bustles by me down the hospital hallway without stopping.
“Anytime.”
His brows are pulled tight, and the easygoing smile I’m used to seeing is absent.
“Is everything okay?”
He shakes his head and keeps walking. I have to take two steps for every one of his just to keep up.
“What’s wrong?”
“Two surgical techs called in sick. Darlene is in the bathroom throwing up, and I’ve got to be in surgery—” He looks at his watch. “—ten minutes ago, and I don’t have a scrub nurse.”
“I can help.”
That makes him stop.
“I worked as a scrub nurse at my last job. I’d be more than happy to step in if you can find someone to cover my assignment on the floor.”
“Done.” Drake leaves me in the hall and walks to the nurse’s station with purpose.
He stops in front of Cindy, the charge nurse. They exchange a few words, which I’m unable to hear, and then I see her nod and stand up.
When Drake walks back by, he says, “Go give report on your patients and meet me in the OR.”
