Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 21955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 110(@200wpm)___ 88(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 110(@200wpm)___ 88(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
Still. He had ears, he could listen. We’d had coffee a couple of times and it wasn’t horrible. It was awkward, yeah, but once we’d been talking a few minutes, the awkwardness went away, and it was kind of like it was before the accident. And he kept asking for more—dinner, movie, fly to New York and see a play. I always said no—I knew that I didn’t want to start trusting him and get my heart broken. Again. But just this once wouldn’t hurt, right?
So I called him.
He answered right away, and it was the strangest thing, just the warm sound of his voice saying, “Hi Julia” got me all choked up again.
“Nick, I need you,” I said. I didn’t mean to say it that way—it just came out.
“What’s wrong?” Instantly his voice was serious, take-charge. “Are you okay?”
“I had…. I had a really bad day at the hospital.”
“Oh. Where are you?”
“I’m at home.”
“Okay, sit tight, Jule. I’ll be right there.”
I washed my face and changed clothes. Less than ten minutes later, his car pulled up out front.
When I opened the door, the first thing he did was to fold me up in a big warm hug. I wasn’t expecting it, but I didn’t freeze up like the last time he’d hugged me here. It wasn’t a sexy hug, or anything like that. Just a long, comforting one. I didn’t know how to feel about it. I didn’t want to let him get too close. His scent, some clean-smelling cologne and that sunshine smell, was almost intoxicating, though. Just friends, I reminded myself.
I led him to the kitchen, which was where everybody sat to talk in this house.
He said, “Can I make you some tea? Do you still drink that woo-woo herbal stuff you used to like?” He rummaged in a cabinet for a second. “Yep, here it is.” He started to heat water and got two cups out.
“You still remember where everything is?” I said.
“Yeah. Your mom’s still as organized as ever.”
When we were seated at the table with the fragrant mugs in front of us, he said, “So what happened today?”
“I was working surgical,” I said, and I felt my voice tightening up. “They brought a girl in through the ER who’d been in a car accident. Just a 13-year-old girl, Nick. Her injuries weren’t exactly like mine, but pretty close, with a crushed pelvis and broken legs.”
Nick pressed his lips together before saying, “Were you in the OR where they were working on her?”
“Yeah,” I said. “They operated for four hours. I was there the whole time. She’s in critical condition now, in the ICU. Just like I was. I was a basket case today. Once she was in recovery, I went to the ladies’ room and just cried and cried. Thank god my shift was over, because all I wanted was to come home.”
“So, you cried after?”
I nodded.
“But how about during? While she was on the table? How did you feel then?”
I took a sip of tea. “I don’t know. I just was focused on working. I was upset. But I still just did my job.”
He smiled, kind of a sad smile, but still a smile. “That’s great though, Jule. Nobody would blame you for falling apart in a situation like that. But you didn’t. You did the job.” He stroked my fingers with his thumb. I looked down. Somehow, he’d taken my hand while I was talking and I hadn’t registered the fact.
I left my hand in his, because, I told myself, it would be rude to pull it back right then.
Nick said, “Are you proud of yourself? Cause I’m really proud of you.”
“Well, yeah! Yeah, I kind of am.”
He looked at the time on his phone, and I said, “Oh, sorry. Do you have to be somewhere?”
“No, not at all. I was just thinking, it’s really early for dinner, but I bet you didn’t have lunch, did you?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Are you hungry? Because I would love a pizza right now,” he said.
“Oh man. That sounds incredible.”
“Let’s go, then. Is Darshu’s still the best?” One strange thing about Greenwood was that the best pizza place in town was owned by a guy from India. “My treat,” he said, and grinned.
“It better be your treat, Mr. Billionaire.”
“Ugh, you know I hate that word!”
So we went for pizza. Apparently there’s no law against billionaires eating dripping melted cheese with the rest of us peasants. I got choked up a few times, thinking of my patient, but Nick would just listen and hold my hand. And then make me laugh a little bit. It was kind of bittersweet, though. I kept thinking that if it hadn’t been for the accident, my whole life could have been like this. Hanging out with Nick, going for pizza, laughing with him. Getting to spend every day with him. Of course, you can’t go back, and it was probably better that I found out when I did that I couldn’t count on him. How do you trust a guy who leaves town when you need him most? But still. Don’t you hate your might-have-beens?