The Temporary Roomie (It Happened in Nashville 2)

“Excuse me for worrying about you.”

Wait, huh?

“You were not genuinely worried about me.”

“I wasn’t?”

“No.” That absolutely can’t be it. I won’t allow it. “You were only worried that Lucy would kill you if something happened to me under your watch.”

He shrugs and fiddles with the zipper of his medical bag. “Hmm, I don’t think that’s it.”

“Yes, it is,” I say, my tone almost coaxing. Like I’m swinging a pocket watch on a chain in front of his eyes. You will believe me. “We’re mortal enemies.”

He looks up at me with an unreadable expression painted across his sharp features.

His mouth opens like he’s going to say something, but then he closes it and stands instead. He stares down at me, narrowing his blue eyes a fraction before turning around and heading for the front door.

“Where are you going?” I say to his back.

“To get your milkshake. Lie down on the couch and rest while I’m gone. I’ll move your boxes out of your room when I get back.” And with that, he shuts the front door behind him and leaves.

I blink several times, feeling that flush creep back up again.

Jessie is passed out asleep on the couch when I get back with her milkshake. I cross the room and quietly set the ice cream down on the coffee table in front of her then sink into the armchair. I let my head fall back against the cushion and slide my hands down my face, finally letting myself unwind for the first time today.

Work was exhausting. It is every day, but today was particularly hard. I had to break awful news to one of my patients, and she wept in my office. I let her have as much time as she needed in there because it’s really hard not being able to console my patients. Being a male in this profession, I can’t offer physical comfort in any way. I can give them a few comforting words, maybe squeeze their hand, but then I have to step out and let one of my nurses do the real consoling.

My heart is tender and a little broken, and because of that, when Lucy texted me worried about Jessie, I lost it. I floored it home. All I could think about was worst-case scenarios. She’s in her third trimester, so a sudden spike in blood pressure could mean preeclampsia, and although facial flushing is not normally a sign of high blood pressure, it can be. For some reason, I wasn’t willing to risk that uncertainty. I needed to know for sure that it wasn’t a spike, and the way I felt when her blood pressure read off as normal can only be described as immense relief.

But here’s the thing that’s tripping me up: I never lose my cool under pressure. In the office, if a nurse suspects preeclampsia or any other life-threatening disease, I never show it on my face. I follow the procedures in my head that get me from point A to point B until we figure out what’s going on. But, damn… The way I felt when I thought Jessie was in trouble—it was ridiculous. Absurd. Embarrassing. Definitely not professional. It was something I felt deep in my gut, or chest, or…I don’t know. I’m not really willing to dive into where the emotion came from yet. I’m just relieved she’s okay.

I hear Jessie take in a deep breath like she’s stirring from sleep. I sit up and find her green eyes squinting at me. She has a pillow mark slashed across her cheek that makes me smile.

“I must have fallen asleep,” she says, pushing up on her elbow then swinging her legs around so she can sit up. I watch—a little too closely—as she removes the messy bun from the top of her head and lets her hair fall to her shoulders. It’s kind of crinkly and wavy and wild, and I really like it like this. She stretches her back before gathering her hair again to retie it up into a neater bun. I have to bite my tongue against asking her to leave it down.

Her eyes fall to the Styrofoam cup and she looks up at me with something like gratitude. “You really did get a milkshake for me?” She says it like I’m a freaking hero. Like I just lifted a house off of her trapped body.

“Yeah. I told you I was going to.”

She picks it up and takes a tentative sip. “Yes, but I didn’t think you actually would. I expected you to come back with a bag of broccoli or something.”

Man, I should have done that.

“Not tonight.”

We fall into silence for a few moments while Jessie drinks her milkshake. Finally, she looks up, giving me a quizzical smile. “This is kind of weird.”

“What is?”

“You.” She nods toward me. “You’re being nice to me, and I feel like it’s a trap.”

I chuckle, realizing how ridiculous our relationship is that she has reason to believe I’d be up to something by being kind to her. “I could say the same. For once, you’re not aiming your flaming arrows at me. What’s that all about?” Is it just my imagination or did her flush creep back up? Don’t get out your blood pressure cuff.

She clears her throat lightly. “Too tired, I think. I’ll go back to making your life miserable tomorrow. Do you want to…watch some TV?”

Watch TV? With Jessie? That seems awfully friend-like to me, something we have definitely never been. Could it really be this easy? Can one health scare tip us over whatever it is that’s made us constantly fight and finally have a friendship? Do I want that? Yes.

Cooper’s annoying voice echoes in my mind, telling me I’ve got it bad for Jessie, and I mentally push him down a flight of stairs.