Page 68 of Ten Day Affair
I wince. “Your life should be a Netflix series.”
“You’re telling me. I’ll call you later. And I wanteverydetail. Especially the countertop.”
She hangs up before I can say goodbye.
My phone buzzes again immediately. A bubble appears with a text from Cole.
Can I see you after work?
My stomach flips while my thumb hovers over the screen.
Shit.This is real.
Holy shit.
I have no idea what to say back, so I do the only thing that makes sense. I toss my phone on the desk like it might explode.
Then I stare at it, waiting for smoke.
I don't even remember sayingyes to dinner, but here I am. Now, here I am, on Cole’s back deck with my hair still damp from a rushed post-shift shower.
I brought sushi, like that makes it casual. Like it cancels out the fact that my stomach’s been fluttering like a goddamn high schooler’s since I saw his name light up my phone.
He passes me a glass of wine and sinks into the chair beside me. It's one of those wide Adirondacks angled just enough that we’re half-facing each other. Close, but not touching.
“Heard there was a big wreck on 95. We were just getting out of a meeting when I heard all the hubbub. Were you working on them?”
I sip. “No, I didn't get to scrub in today, I was working pre-op. Kip, my good friend who is a fourth-year resident, was on two of the cases. It was bad."
"Geez. I'm not sure I'd be cut out for ER work."
"Me, either. The most exciting thing I had was the woman who tried to sneak a dog into pre-op.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Did it have credentials?”
“Emotional support, allegedly. But she didn’t appreciate being asked to kennel her cockapoo before surgery.”
I pull the light blanket tighter that Cole gave me when he saw me shivering. The air is warm, but the strong breeze is a little nippy tonight.
“Hospital policies are heartless,” he says, deadpan.
I laugh quietly. “You joke, but I’ve been writing memos all week trying to soften the edges of what’s coming. I've been putting together patient testimonials in preparation for the vote.”
I don’t finish the sentence. He knows what I mean.
Cole leans back, watching the tide creep in. “You still think you can sway the vote?”
“I have to try.” I turn toward him more fully.
He clears his throat.
“There’s this assumption that hospitals need to run like corporations. But when you gut the heart of a place, what’s left? Efficiency doesn’t comfort a family in the ICU.”
His jaw shifts slightly. That tic I caught once before when I mentioned all this political and financial garbage swirling beneath the surface. He masks it quickly, lifts his glass. But his voice stays even.
“I wouldn’t be so sure it’s worth the fight.”
That catches me off guard. I blink at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
