Doctor Dearest

“What is it?” I ask tersely.

“I was just wondering, you know, man to man…” His voice drops as he scans the hall around us as if to ensure we won’t be overheard. “If you knew whether or not Dr. Martin is dating anyone?”

“Excuse me?”

My tone startles him. His eyes flare and he clears his throat before he continues. “I was just wondering because there’s this rumor going around that she’s not single anymore, which sucks cause I’ve had this little crush on her. I mean, we all think she’s hot, but no one has the balls—er, the confidence to do anything about it.”

I narrow my eyes. “Does this seem like an appropriate conversation to be having with an attending? Walk away and find something to do or I’ll make sure you’re on call every weekend for the next two months.”

“Right. Got it. Sorry.” He pivots, takes a half-step, falters, looks back at me over his shoulder. “Um, do you need me to…? Should I…”

I don’t wait for him to finish blabbering on like an idiot. I walk away first.

For the remainder of the day, he gives me a wide berth, going above and beyond to keep himself off my shit list.

My temper has had a short fuse all day. Natalie stayed away from the townhouse until late last night. We didn’t get the chance to continue our conversation, and today won’t prove any better.

In the late afternoon, I take a break to meet a colleague for coffee. Dr. Shannon Navarro is one of the preeminent surgeons working in burn research. We were in the same residency program, along with Noah, and even though she works at Baylor now, we still collaborate on research from time to time.

She’s in town for her lecture series. This evening, students, residents, and fellows at BHUMB will gather to hear her present her most recent findings on the benefits of growth factor on muscle regeneration in severely burned patients. It should be interesting. She’s emailed me bits and pieces of it, asking for feedback, and I think the students will learn a lot from what she has to say.

She looks the part of Serious Researcher when I find her sitting at a table outside Boston Beans. Her white blouse, black skirt, and tights pair nicely with her sleek dark hair. She’s sipping an espresso when she spots me and beams.

“Connor!” she says, shooting to her feet. “It’s so good to see you.”

She presses a kiss to my cheek, no doubt smearing some of her lipstick there. I slyly wipe it away as I take the seat across from her.

I like Shannon. She’s a little neurotic and Type A, but that’s what makes it so nice to team up with her on research. She never fails to notice the details.

“You look like you’re doing well,” she says, taking me in. I changed before I left the hospital. My scrubs have been replaced with slacks and a button-down.

“Thanks. So do you.”

She brushes away my compliment and launches into updates about her life at Baylor, where she’s been traveling, future research prospects. She carries the conversation easily because my mind is elsewhere, namely on Natalie. She wasn’t at the hospital today. I saw on the schedule that she’s on call this weekend, starting tonight, so she had the day off.

Shannon leans forward and squeezes my knee. “Connor, are you even listening to me?” she asks with a light laugh.

I’m not, in fact, because I’ve caught sight of a familiar figure backing out of the door of the coffee shop. Natalie. She’s enraptured by whatever Lindsey is telling her, oblivious to the fact that I’m sitting at a table nearby. She has a thermos in one hand and her hospital bag slung over her shoulder.

Lindsey turns, spots me, and grins. “Hey Connor.”

I watch as Natalie’s spine stiffens, and then she slowly turns to glance over her shoulder. Her eyes narrow as they trail down to find Shannon’s hand on my knee.

She has nothing to worry about. Shannon and I did sleep together once, a few years ago while we were at a conference. It was a harmless mistake. I’d had one too many drinks and she came on to me. We laughed about it in the morning and parted amicably, returning to our respective sides of the country.

Of course, Natalie doesn’t know that. She thinks what she sees is something it’s not. Even when Shannon takes her hand off my leg, Natalie’s scowl doesn’t ease.

“Natalie.” I nod in greeting. “Lindsey. Are you both headed to the hospital?”

They look like it. Natalie’s wearing black pants, ballet flats, and a pale blue blouse with a bow tied at the base of her neck. Her hair is down and her natural loose curls get tossed in the wind.

“We are, after we grab some dinner,” Lindsey volunteers. “Don’t want our stomachs grumbling during the lecture.”