Page 39 of Paging Dr. Hart
Over this last month, Ethan has protected me from loneliness. And during those nights that I slept next to him, the ones we never speak of, he’s protected me from the sharp teeth of my nightmares.
This reminds me of another time Ethan protected me. Something I’ve been wanting to ask about for a long time. “You know when you were interviewing?”
He blinks, confused at my sudden change of topic. “Yeah. I remember everything about that day.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about Patrick. Melanie said he called me an ice queen, and you defended me. Why’d you do that? I can take care of myself.”
Stepping closer, invading my personal space, Ethan looks serious. His voice drops low and husky. “I know you can, Tiffy. You’re a savage when you want to be. You’re mistaken. I wasn’t defending you. I was merely correcting Patrick.”
He picks up a single lock of hair from my shoulder. It blazes scarlet in the late morning light. Running it through his fingers, Ethan bends his head so I’m staring straight into his smoky eyes.
He says softly, “You’re no ice queen. You’re pure fire.”
With that, he drops my hair and leans in close, bringing his face right up to mine. His breath ghosts over my mouth. His amber eyes are all I can see. My lungs, my heart, my entire body freezes as his lips hover over mine.Is he going to kiss me?Is this really happening?
At the last possible second, he veers to the side and places a feather-light kiss on my cheek. Then he stands and walks away, calling over his shoulder as he goes, “See you back in Columbus. Drive safely in that death trap you call a car.”
He leaves me there in the parking lot.
Speechless.
33
On the drive home, I think about the text messages I’ve been receiving. They must be from either Rafe or Shelly. But which one? And why? Are they warning me? Or threatening me? Either way, I can’t let whoever it is interfere with my current life. My fists curl as I think about how hard I’ve worked to gain some security. Finally, I have a good job. I live in a safe place. For so long, those were my only goals.
But now, after living with Ethan, it occurs to me there are other things to wish for. Companionship, friendship, and maybe, someday…love? When I mentally replay the past month, reviewing and analyzing our conversations, it’s easy to recall the husky warmth of Ethan’s laugh, the sensation of my head on his shoulder, the weight of his muscular arm over my body.
Like living with you too, Sleeping Beauty, vanilla creamer, pure fire.What does it all mean? Is it possible Ethan likes me? Maybe even has romantic feelings for me? The way he pressed that kiss to my cheek. I can still feel the sensation of his lips, a phantom caress that lingers like silk on my skin. And what about the way he held me at night? As if I were something precious. Or was he playing with me? Trapped in an apartment for four weeks with no better way to amuse himself?
My mind goes back and forth, speculating.
The inevitable next question is, what do I feel for him? I evaluate how my body responded to his touch, the want and longing. For years, I’ve kept everyone away. Avoided entanglement, never trusting another person enough to risk getting hurt. With Ethan, I felt safe and comfortable. I think of us laughing together over some movie I forced him to watch. The way his eyes danced and how charming his lopsided smile was.
Mr. Chen used to talk about his dead wife with such respect and love thatit made my heart ache. Certainly, there had to be men like Mr. Chen who could be trusted. Was Ethan one of them?
By the time I arrive home, I’m convinced that a future with Ethan is a possibility. One worth pursuing. I’ll wait and see how he is now that we are back in Columbus, but I’m hopeful for the first time in a long time.
Ethan doesn’t contact me.
Not that Saturday or Sunday. That’s okay. It’s the weekend, I reassure myself. He’s probably tired after working so hard in Cleveland.
He doesn’t call on Monday or Tuesday. That’s okay. He’s working at one of our other hospitals across town all week, so I didn’t expect to see him.
When I still haven’t heard from him by Wednesday, I’m so angry I want to set the world ablaze. Ethan said I was pure fire. Well, I’ll show him that he was right.
He finally calls on Thursday. Twice. I don’t pick up.
Not going to give him the satisfaction of a response. The silent treatment might be juvenile, but I don’t care.
On Friday, Ethan sends a text.
Tiffy, everything OK?
No way am I going to tell him. How embarrassing would that be?I thought for a second you liked me and I liked you back, but then I realized I’m a fool.What am I? In middle school? No, thank you. Better to cut off this friendship or whatever it was now. That way, there can be no more confusion.
No more hurt feelings.
Sinderella
