Page 24 of Paging Dr. Hart
I fidget under his scrutiny. “Do I smell coffee?”
“I brought it from home. It’s in the kitchen. I also have vanilla creamer so you can make those iced lattes you love.” He resumes his routine.
I scrunch my nose and tilt my head, puzzled. “Creamer? But you like your coffee black.” In the hospital cafeteria, Ethan never used cream or sugar. Once, I had asked him about it, and he had jokingly told me, “I like my coffee how I like my women, hot and strong.” I had laughed when he said it but couldn’t stop the blush that had risen to my cheeks.
Ethan’s eyes glow warm amber in the morning sunlight. “I do take my coffee black, butyoudon’t, so I bought creamer.”
Oh.
It’s such an unexpectedly thoughtful gesture that I’m tongue-tied, uncertain how to respond. When I enter the kitchen, I’m impressed by the elaborate coffee setup. I didn’t see it last night when we first looked around the apartment, so Ethan must have brought it to Cleveland. There’s a bag of imported coffee beans, a coffee grinder, and a large espresso machine that takes up most of the counter space.
Humming to myself, I make my coffee and add the creamer from the refrigerator. Pouring it over ice finishes the drink. I take a sip and close my eyes, savoring how the vanilla flavor bursts across my tongue. It’s sweet, caffeinated heaven.
Beverage in hand, I return to the living room. There’s an old throw pillow, squashed nearly flat, that I move out of the way so I can sit on the lumpy couch. I delicately balance the icy coffee on my thigh. Ethan continues his ritual while I struggle not to notice the sexy way his hair falls over one eye and how firm his butt looks when he bends over.
Jesus, his body is insane.
It occurs to me that there’s probably a whole slew of women who would pay good money to sit right here in my spot on this couch and ogle Ethan. How they would love to view the Hot Ethan Clark Show that I’m getting for free. I need tonotbe one of those women.
“Wow. Good coffee and morning entertainment.” I try to sound casual, but it’s a struggle. “Maybe living with you won’t be as bad as I thought.”
His smile is slow, like his tai chi. “I like living with you too, Tiffy.”
The statement lingers for a few minutes. I shift on the couch, not able to look at him because my heart just gave a weird spasm. There’s a new pressure in my chest, one that wasn’t there before. I place my hand over my sternum and rub it absently. Maybe I’m having a heart attack. Should I check my blood pressure? Get an EKG?
“Except for when you wake me up with your nightmares,” Ethan adds, snapping my attention back to him.
“What?” My whole body tenses.
He continues moving. “Last night. I heard you having a nightmare. I was just about to get up when you stopped. You must have gone back to sleep.”
I squeeze my eyes closed, embarrassed. “Sorry.”
When I open my eyes, I see Ethan is worried. There’s a tightening around his eyes and mouth. “Does that happen often? It sounded pretty bad.”
“Yeah. I have a lot of bad dreams. Always have,” I admit. “Why? What did I do?”
“Mostly, you thrashed around. You were kind of crying and whimpering.” He bends down to touch his toes, surprisingly limber for a man.
“Did I say anything? Talk in my sleep?”
Please, no. Please say I didn’t reveal anything.
“No…you didn’t really say anything.” He ends his tai chi and sits down on the couch next to me.
Good. That’s a relief. The more I think about it, the more I hate how Ethan heard me like that. So unguarded. I can’t think of any way to gag my dreaming self, though.Hopefully, it won’t happen again. I can never predict how bad the dreams will be. They seem to flare up when I’m in an unfamiliar place. It’s one reason I didn’t want to come to Cleveland.
To change the subject, I say, “We’d better get ready. Want the bathroom first so you can spend hours on your teeth?”
“You know I do.” He doesn’t give me a chance for second thoughts, shooting me a quick, lopsided grin and then heading straight to the bathroom.The shower makes a splatter sound as it’s turned on. I have a flashback to last night, Ethan in the doorway with his shirt off. Now he’s in there totally naked. Water running down those abs and then lower…
I pull away from that mental image and how breathless it makes me feel.
19
The apartment is a block from the hospital, close enough that we walk to work. In the light of day, I see that the neighborhood surrounding our apartment isn’t as bad as I first thought. The view is typical for Midwest suburbs, one- and two-story brick houses with tall chimneys and wide grassy front yards.
It’s fall, and the air is crisp but not yet cold. The leaves have turned, their colors red, brown, and yellow. They dangle, barely holding onto the tree branches, until they lose their grip and flutter to the ground. We walk through that carpet of fallen leaves, our footsteps stirring them as we pass.
