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“Then I guess it’s my lucky day. I love meeting new people. Especially those who like my films,” she added with a wink. The boy blushed. She flickered a look at Asher to find him smiling at her. She walked over and took one of the sock puppets from him. Sliding it over her hand, she faced the room. “Why don’t you all introduce yourselves,” she said. “Then once we know one another a little better, we can see what kind of proper play we might put on here.”
“I don’t know how you do it,” Ellie said two hours later as she and Asher drove home. “No, scratch that. The kids are amazing. I know how you do it. They make it worth it. But still…”
She smiled, remembering the crazy play they’d concocted. It grew so elaborate that they’d enlisted two of the nurses. Everyone had been happy to participate. She suspected that any reason, any chance, to laugh wasn’t taken for granted.
“They do,” Asher said. “Most of my family was concerned when I told them that I wanted to specialize in pediatric oncology. But you can see why I did. It’s not easy. Some days it’s gutting. But then nights like this? That’s the kind of stuff that makes a life. The kind of stuff that reminds me what a privilege it is tolive.”
“You love it, don’t you?”
He hesitated. Then, in the dark of the cab, lit only by the streetlights lining Main Street, she saw him nod. “Yeah,” he said, his voice tired. No, not tired. Filled with something she thought might be regret. “Yeah, I do.”
She studied his profile as he focused on navigating the Friday night traffic in Mystery Lake. “You miss it,” she said. Not a question. She already knew he did.
Again, he didn’t respond right away. “If I can help improve how we run the hospital, even a little bit, then we have a better chance of helping more kids. More people.”
She knew an evasive response when she heard one. “That may be true, but you still miss it. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
They passed a streetlight and in the quick flash of light, she saw his jaw tighten. She considered calling back her statement. Or changing the subject. But she suspected no one else had ever talked to him about this. That everyone assumed he’d be happy to leave the pediatric cancer practice behind to take the CMO position.
“You do,” she insisted. For some reason, it felt important to get him to acknowledge he missed his practice. She didn’t know why, only that she shouldn’t let it drop.
After a beat, he huffed out a breath. “Yeah, I do miss it.” He paused then added, “A lot.”
“But?”
He made a face visible in the shadows. “But I made a commitment to this position. For a minimum of two years. And there’s so much opportunity to make the kind of changes that could affect so many lives. Not just the patients, but the staff, too.”
“But?” she pressed again.
“But I…I’m not sure I’m cut out for administrative work,” he said on an exhale. “I’m capable of it, but…I don’t care for it.”
She’d have to be deaf to miss the conflict in his voice. “But you think that because people put their faith in you and because you’re good at it, that you should take the opportunity and be grateful for it.”
He winced. “Yeah, something like that.”
Empathy flooded through her. Like her, Asher was, and should be, grateful for the life he’d built, the opportunities he had, and the people who played a role in his success. But he didn’t yet recognize that when manipulated or misunderstood, the concept of gratitude could be warped and twisted into a weapon. A weapon wielded against oneself—in the form of guilt—more often than one wielded by others. In his case, he’d convinced himself that he owed it to the people who’d put their faith in him to take the job. And that if he didn’t like his new high-powered position, then he was ungrateful for the opportunity. Maybe even a jerk.
But gratitude, true gratitude, wasn’t about guilt or owing anyone anything. It was about being appreciative. It allowed him to be both honored by the opportunityandknow it wasn’t the right one for him. Not an easy place to be, she knew, but a place she bet he’d come to sooner rather than later. She’d pushed enough for one night, though, so rather than dig deeper into his decisions, she changed the subject.
“What about a stop at the Boom for dinner?” she said. He shot her a quick glance. She grinned. “I’m starving and could use a burger. They really do have the best. And they have that beer I like that you can only get on tap locally.” He didn’t say anything, and she could tell he was on the fence. She reached over and poked him in the side. He kept his right hand on the steering wheel, but his left hand shot around his waist and grabbed hers as he jerked out of reach. She snorted at his dramatic reaction. Who knew Asher Warwick was ticklish?
“Fine,” he said through a laugh. “The Boom it is. Message Sofia and she’ll send out a group text. Let’s see if any of the Warwick clan wants to join us for a not-so-raucous Friday night on the town.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Ellie, you’ve been staring out the window for over an hour. What’s wrong?” Asher asked,setting down his Sunday crossword. A fire crackled and danced in the fireplace, warming his outstretched feet, while his coffee mug warmed his hand. Having Ellie in his home made his favorite way to start a day even better. Only she didn’t seem as happy with the quiet peace as he.
With her back to him, he gave himself free rein to drink her in. She had her hair pulled up into something that looked half ponytail, half bun. A thick wool turtleneck sweater hid her elegant neck and collarbone. But, being cropped, it gave him a view of her spectacular behind. A behind clad only in a pair of thin leggings that allowed him to trace every curve and line from her hips to her toes. Yes, her toes. All ten of them. Because she also wore a pair of those socks that looked like gloves for feet. He’d always thought those things were weird. And maybe even a little creepy. But on her, they looked ridiculously adorable.
“Ellie?” he repeated. A spike of worry shot through him at her silence. Could she be heading into another one of her episodes?
Finally, she let out a long sigh and faced him. With her arms crossed and her shoulders tight, it dawned on him that she might be trying to tell him she was moving out.
“Whatever it is, you can tell me, El,” he said. Even if he didn’t want to hear it.
Her lips pressed together. Then in a heartbeat, her shoulders slumped. Shuffling to the couch, she flopped down in the corner opposite him and grabbed a pillow, hugging it tight against her chest.
“I have to go to LA tomorrow and I’m dreading it,” she said.
