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She nods and picks a carrot shaving off her sandwich and drops it into her mouth. I watch her eat it—in the least weird way possible. I mean, it’s weird to watch someone eat. But there is something about the way . . . you know what? Never mind. It’s probably just weird.
I take another bite, and Sage explains about the sandwich.
“When I was a student here, one of my roommates was a scholarship kid, and she worked in the kitchen at the Caf. Val teaches her crew how to cook, like really cook. Not just work the fry machine and mix shakes. And this was one of the things she taught. My roommate brought one home and I devoured it.”
“I believe you,” I say, trying to maintain manners as I devour my own.
“When I got your text, I called Val and asked her if she could work her magic.”
I nod and swallow. “I’m very glad you did. This is delicious. Thank you.”
Sage’s face lights up. “You’re welcome. I’m so glad you’re happy with it.”
“I want to save some for later,” I say.
I make sure the sandwich is wrapped before I set it down beside my leg. I lean a bit closer to Sage. “And just so you know, I am very easy to please. And every part of this lunch date is making me happy.”
And that’s when my phone buzzes.
I know. Rules. Civility. Politeness. I should ignore a text when I’m on a date. But there are other rules. Like the old Hippocratic Oath.
“I would never usually check my phone when I’m on a date,” I tell her.
She shakes her head. “Oh, no. You’re on call, right? Of course you should check it.”
I check the phone.
A text from Kimberly.‘Sorry. Stitches needed. Come back now. I’m applying pressure.’
I look from the phone screen to Sage’s face. She’s disappointed. I never want to disappoint anyone, and really, really not Sage. But I can’t be sorry that she looks like she wants me to stay.
I text a thumbs-up to let Kimberly know I’m coming and pick up the sandwich. “I would very much like to pretend I don’t know what that message said, but it looks like I have to get back to the clinic right now. My nurse is applying pressure.”
“Pressure on you?” she asks, smiling.
“Probably, but also literally. To a bleeding kid. Sorry. That’s gross to talk about while you’re eating. Anyway, I hate to go, but I have to. Can we have a do-over?”
I haven’t fit so many words into such a short time in a while. I guess I want to tell her everything so she knows there’s nothing to worry about. And that I’d much rather stay.
Sage nods and watches me stand up from the grass. “You’ve got leaves on your pants,” she says.
I brush off and she keeps watching me. When I reach my hand out to help her up, she shakes her head. “I’m going to stay here and enjoy my lunch, even without the date.”
What is this disappointment I feel? Did I think she’d follow me back to the clinic? Sit in the waiting room while I give a student stitches? That’s crazy. Of course not.
But I wanted to take her hand. I wanted to feel her fingers in mine.
Oh, I’m in so much trouble. I feel my grin spreading. This is the kind of trouble I have been looking forward to for a long, long time.
“Thank you for the amazing sandwich. I can’t wait to do this again.”
“Again? A five-minute date?” she asks.
Is she teasing? Is she doing some passive-aggressive complaining?
I check my watch. “It’s been at least fifteen,” I say. “Time just seems to fly when you’re with me, that’s all.”
“Oh, is that what happened?” she says, then takes another bite of her sandwich. Did she do that so she can’t answer another question?
