Page 29 of The Exception

Trav finally got the chair to stay upright and was standing straight as a board with his arms behind his back like he was waiting to be reamed out. “It was my idea, Nurse Pope. I broke the rules and it won’t happen again.”

“At ease, soldier. Ice cream is way better than apple cobbler.”

His eyes shot over to meet hers and the WTF was something else he couldn’t keep out of his expression. She turned her attention back to Frank because maybe she had a little bit of WTF for herself for letting him slide.

“Intern Travis is going to get you ready to go to group, and I expect a good report today. No sitting in the corner not participating or I’ll have to make sure ice cream gets harder to… tactically acquire.”

As Frank’s lips curved into something resembling a smile, Sonya’s heart squeezed. She’d only seen him smile a handful of times since he’d been admitted and most of them hadn’t been genuine. This one was, though, and it lit up his amber eyes and made him look a decade younger. This was what they were trying to do for him. This is what he was here trying to get back to for his wife and daughters.

If shooting the shit over ice cream made that happen, she couldn’t be mad about it.

“I’ll do my best, Nurse Sonya,” he agreed.

She gave Frank’s arm a supportive pat and looked back to Trav who still seemed a little stunned that he wasn’t in trouble.

“Group starts in ten minutes. Get rid of the ice cream evidence, escort our patient downstairs, and meet me at the nurse’s station when you’re done.”

Trav nodded. “Will do.”

She said goodbye to Frank and stepped out of the room, but not before she heard Frank say, “If she could make you do push ups, you’d be grabbing some real estate right about now.”

An amused chuckle tumbled out of Trav before he replied, “If she could, you’d be right there with me.”

* * *

Having to look for Trav had been a blessing in disguise because the time Sonya spent in the room with Frank turned out to be the only thing resembling a break until late in the afternoon. She’d hit the cafeteria just before it closed and grabbed the only salad they had left, but now that she was back in the break room, she realized that the salad was a bait and switch; green on top but brown and wilted underneath. Unfortunately, she didn’t have time to go out and she was too hungry to remember if she had a protein bar hidden in her desk.

She blinked out of her misery when Trav flopped into the chair across from her. They’d been sharing a table for lunch recently, but usually they’d eat in silence as she read the news on her phone and he scrolled through his. They’d occasionally talk about their morning or what was on tap for the afternoon, but mostly they shared a comfortable silence that she appreciated. She wondered what had made him stop sitting with the gaggle of nurses who’d flocked around him that first week, but she didn’t ask. She also didn’t miss the disappointed looks on their faces every time he walked past their table to join hers.

“Is that what you’re eating for lunch? Again?” he asked.

What did he mean byagain? Sure, she ate a lot of salads but she’d sometimes go wild and have a sandwich, so there was no predictability for him to latch on to.

Who was she kidding? Predictable, thy name is Sonya.

“Yeah, so?” Okay, so that could have come out slightly less bitchy but Rome wasn’t built in a day.

Unfazed, he continued inspecting her lunch. “It’s just that you’ve gotten a salad for lunch every day this week,” he observed.

“A salad is a healthy, perfectly balanced meal. It gives me protein from the chicken breast, carbs from the veggies, and some healthy fat from my olive oil vinaigrette.”

She sounded like a public service announcement, and even though the smile tugging at his lips said that he thought so too, he didn’t call her out on it.

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with a salad unless it looks as sad as that one. The lettuce is wilted and turning brown, the croutons look stale, there are only two cucumber slices, the thinnest slice of tomato I’ve ever seen, and are you sure that’s chicken? It looks like tofu.”

“What’s wrong with tofu?”

“Nothing. Unless you're expecting it to be chicken. You’ve gotta admit that your salad looks like it was made by the Swedish chef.

Picturing the muppet making her salad drew a giggle out of her, but it turned into a groan when she accepted that he was right.

Annoyed, she dropped her fork in the bowl and pushed it away from her.

“It was the last salad and they were out of sandwiches too. Nothing else looked appealing.”

“I get it. Any cafeteria food reminds me of military food,” he admitted. “And now you know why I bring my lunch every day.”

She glanced over at the steaming bowl of whatever he was about to dig into. It looked like leftovers from his dinner the night before, and she had to give him credit for putting it into an actual food storage container instead of keeping it in the styrofoam from the restaurant.

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