“Thank you, Sage.” Their eyes met. His were tired and red-rimmed, but alight. Sage felt their triumph, and her stomach fluttered.
“McGreeley, close, please? Sage, begin bringing the patient out of sedation?”
“Yes, doctor,” they both said.
McGreeley and his full-bodied perfume—which was clearly against hospital regulations anywhere but Mendon—stepped forward and sutured the incisions.
Sage adjusted all the levels of nitrous to begin bringing Babbage back to consciousness. As for Jasher’s word flawless—wow. She’d seen perfection, live in action, tonight. Jasher was incredible. It made her stomach flutter, almost as much as memories of that long-ago kissing booth incident.
No, actually. More. Lots more. Witnessing such surgical precision was like seeing a Russian ballet. What could be hotter than competence at that level?
She was in love.
With his skill. Yes! His skill.
She’d thought he was incredible in the operating room when it was a simple appendectomy, but now she’d seen Dr. Hotchkiss perform a complex metacarpal repair—something that could make or break another man’s whole future career. And Jasher had handled it like a consummate professional, as if he’d been doing these operations multiple times a day for a decade.
He was gifted. No question. And Sage would get to be at his side for every operation needing pain management for the next however-many weeks until Babbage returned to work.
Seriously, these Mendon people didn’t know what kind of prodigiously skilled orthopedic surgeon they were rejecting if they and their sneers forced Jasher Hotchkiss out of town.
Sage somehow had to convince him to stay. No matter what it took.
Well, I have five dates lined up with him. I’ll use them the best way I know how.
But at the same time, she’d have to keep a wide berth—because if she got too close, she’d put not just her heart in danger, but also his prodigious abilities.
Curse her terrible curse!