Page 25 of Anatomy of a Meet Cute
“I’m not scared. I’m just tryna figure out exactly how to suggest he involve himself.”
“Right. And that is different from scared how?” Duke asked, humor softening the edges of his accusation as Sam stood up.
“It’s different because I’m going over there right now. Happy?” Sam said, throwing her arms wide and sauntering backward. The slow walk gave her a chance to glower at Duke and had the added benefit of offering her a moment to steel her nerves. Not that they needed steeling. Maybe just a little reinforcement.
Duke smirked and slammed the ball into the ground a few more times before turning toward the basket to attempt a jump shot—which he missed, much to Sam’s personal enjoyment.
Dropping her arms, Sam turned around and forced herself to slow-jog toward Grant’s end of the court, where he was going through his meticulous midrange-jumper routine. Sam watched as his calf muscles flexed with the effort of lifting himself off the ground. It was the only part of him that even looked like he was working. The rest of his shot was the same graceful movement she had observed before. Watching him was almost like watching a dancer. A very good-looking dancer ... who was also a colleague.
Grant’s back was to her, giving her a moment to compose herself. This didn’t have to feel like she was waxing her eyebrows with duct tape. She could just say,Hey, Grant. Remember that program we talked about—yes, the one you told me not to bother with ...
Okay, no. If she was going to be petty, this partnership wouldn’t work. Sam flinched as a teammate noticed her hovering and nodded in her general vicinity, redirecting Grant’s focus from the basket to whoever was lurking just over his shoulder. When he turned to face her, hisexpression shifted from laser intense to something softer. Passing the ball off to his teammate, he jogged the few feet between them.
“Hey. What’s up?”
“Hi,” Sam said, suddenly wishing that she had spent less time dragging her feet and more time preparing for this conversation. After all, he was smiling that smile. The one that felt like the sun warming her up after too much time in an air-conditioned building. She wished she could say that she had gotten used to it, but as Grant stood there waiting for her to say anything, she knew she still had work to do in that department. “Got a minute?”
Grant glanced up at the clock above the gym door and smirked. “I have four minutes, in fact.”
The joke was so corny it cut through the awkwardness she was feeling, forcing a snort-laugh out of her. That smile might be a magnet, but his jokes were a repelling force. “I’m not giving you credit for that joke.”
“Okay, but you laughed at it.”
“I laughed because it was bad.”
“No takebacks. I need to be able to tell my mom someone other than her thinks I’m funny.”
“I’ll let you have it.” This time Sam did laugh against her better judgment. Whatever, she needed to butter him up anyway. “But only because your mother deserves happiness.”
“Thank you.” Grant nodded. “So what can I help you with? Please tell me you aren’t thinking of leaving medicine.”
“What? God, no. I just got here. Why would you think that?”
“Let’s just say it would be in keeping with the theme of new hires after a few months of long shifts.” Grant shook his head.
“Good news. I’m not quitting. Just the opposite, in fact.” Sam watched as Grant wrapped the hem of his jersey around his hand, making an informal armrest for himself. “So remember when Dr.Franklin said that I could start a birthing program if I could find funding and a senior adviser to take on the institutional risk?”
“Not really.” Grant’s smile tightened, echoing the suspicion in his eyes.
“Well, I managed to find myself some funding. Now, I just need a senior adviser, since I’m still in my first year of training to run my own research program.” Sam drew out the last sentence. A small part of her hoped that he would leap up and volunteer for the position. Instead, he looked like he was about two seconds away from forfeiting the game and running for the door. Forcing herself not to pull at the hem of her shirt, she finished her ask. “Anyhoo ... I thought about it, and you seem like the best-qualified person for the job. So what do you say?”
Grant’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “That is a big ask. What did you envision this adviser doing for the program?”
“Honestly, Dr.Franklin told me I had to have one since I’m in training to run a program and not, you know, actually running one yet.” Sam shrugged. The corners of Grant’s mouth turned southward. Sam checked herself. No matter how she felt, her goal was not to scare off the only viable adviser she could think of. “I sort of envisioned me and the doulas just coming up with a model to test and you as our figurehead in meetings or if we get into trouble. I mean, you’d have to participate in some meetings too. I think. I’ve never set up a research program before. But I figure that’s what I’m at SF Central to learn.”
“And you think I have time to teach you because ...” Grant let the end of his question fall off.
Sam looked around the gym, searching for so much as a hint for how to answer him. He seemed to expect her to approach this request in a different manner. As if he were operating under some sort of code that only people who had attained perfection knew. That he expected this from Sam, who had a hole in the armpit of her sweatshirt clearly indicating that she had not reached that level of personal excellence, was almost unreasonable. In fact, it irked her. If she had her druthers, she wouldn’t have to ask for anyone’s help, let alone someone who had apparently attained some state of faultless existence.
Sam waited one more beat for some magical, flawless explanation for why she wanted him to help to pop into her brain other than the truth. When it didn’t come, she broke down and said, “Candidly, you were the only senior adviser I could think of who wasn’t likely to shoot the idea down on sight.”
“Flattering,” Grant deadpanned.
Sam floundered. “Well, if we are going to be partners, I figure it is good to reinforce honesty in our relationship.”
Grant didn’t look nearly so amused. “It’s just that I have limited time. If you drop the ball on something, the burden ultimately falls on your senior adviser.”
“You mentioned the workload thing before. I know it’s a lot of work, but I managed to find funding, so obviously, this idea is viable. Why do you think I’m going to fail?” Sam’s spine stiffened. She wasn’t totally oblivious to the fact that she had limited time, but clearly Anjo believed she could manage it, so why couldn’t Grant? She’d find a way not to let him and her patients down even if it meant giving up sleep—andHousewives.
