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“She has a pulmonary embolism?” Lance asked.
“He called you, too?”
“No, I just figured that was the case after listening to her last night and the things you said.”
“That doesn’t explain the blood she spat up. She shouldn’t have spat up blood with a clot in her lungs. That doesn’t make sense.”
“You’re right. Makes me wonder what else is going on. Did they get the sputum culture sent off?”
“Yes, with her first morning cough-up. Her pulmonologist is supposed to see her this morning. Her cardiologist, too.”
“That’s good.”
Suddenly, McKenzie felt uncomfortable standing in Lance’s doorway. What had she been thinking when she’d sought him out to tell him of Edith’s test results?
Obviously, she hadn’t been thinking.
She could have texted him Edith’s results.
She’d just given in to the immediate desire to tell him, to see him, to share her anxiety over the woman’s diagnosis. She really liked Edith and had witnessed Lance’s affection for her, too.
“Um, well, I thought you’d want to know. I’ll let you get back to work,” she said, taking a step backward and feeling more and more awkward by the moment.
“Thank you, McKenzie.”
Awkward.
“You’re welcome.” She turned, determined to get out of Dodge as quickly as possible.
“McKenzie?”
Heart pounding in her throat, she slowly turned back toward him. “Yes?”
His gaze met hers and he asked, “Dinner tonight if I don’t see you before then?”
Relief washed over her.
“If you do see me before, what then? Do I not get dinner? Just dessert or something?”
He grinned. “You do keep me on my toes.”
Since he was sitting down, she didn’t comment, just waited on him to elaborate.
“Regardless of when we next see each other, I’d like to take you to dinner tonight, McKenzie. As you well know, I’m also good for dessert.”
“Sounds like a plan,” she answered, wondering why she felt so relieved that he’d asked, that they had plans to see each other after work hours. He’d been asking her for weeks and she’d been saying no. Now that she was willing to say yes, had she thought he wasn’t going to ask?
“Great.” His smile was bigger now, his dimples deeper. “We can discuss what we’re going to wear for the Christmas parade. I’m thinking you should be a sexy elf.”
“A sexy elf, hmm?” she mused, trying to visualize what he was picturing in his mind. He’d make a much sexier Santa’s helper than she would. Maybe he should do the sexy-elf thing. “I haven’t agreed to be in the Christmas parade,” she reminded him.
“It’ll be fun. The mayor’s float is based on a children’s story about a grumpy fellow who hates Christmas until a little girl shows him the true meaning of the holidays. It’s a perfect float theme.”
“I get to do weird things to my hair and wear ear and nose extensions that make me look elfish for real?” she asked with false brightness.
“You do. Don’t forget the bright clothes.”
She narrowed her gaze suspiciously. “And you’re going to do the same?”
