Chapter 9
By Saturday, the quiet between Lili and Miles had turned comfortable. She hadn’t received any more anonymous text messages, and she convinced herself the other one had been sent by mistake from someone with the wrong number.
In the mornings before patients arrived, she and Miles shared coffee in the break room. They kept the topics light and fun: pop culture, music, sports. Nothing weighty.
On Thursday, Lili started off the conversation. “Favorite movie?”
“Patch Adams.”
She groaned. “Predictable.”
He smiled. “Let me guess. Something tragically romantic. Casablanca?”
Lili made a buzzer sound. “So wrong. Die Hard.”
He burst out laughing. “Crush on Bruce Willis?”
She giggled. “Oh, no, Alan Rickman.”
“Aww, you go for the bad boys.”
She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for an English accent.”
“Are you now, Lassie?” he said, using the absolutely worst impression of a British accent she had ever heard.
“Please stop.” She covered her ears.
“Die Hard is not a Christmas movie.” His eyes twinkled. “For the record.”
“I never said it was, but it does take place at Christmas, so...”
He didn't swallow the bait. “Favorite food?”
“Lasagna.” She patted her belly and licked her lips.
“Me too.”
“Twinsies.”
“First car?”
“Toyota Prius.”
“Responsible choice. I had a 1964 Mustang. Muscle car. That bad boy enough for you?”
“Step aside, Alan Rickman.” She put a palm to her heart.
By the time Brenda unlocked the front door, they had run out of coffee but not conversation.
Later that day, a young mother came barreling in with a shrieking toddler. “He shoved a Lego up his nose.”
Miles crouched beside the boy, getting down to his level. “Red brick or blue?”
The kid hiccuped, tears streaking his face. “Wed.”
“Brave choice.” Miles's voice stayed even, soothing. “Can you show me which nostril?”
The boy pointed to his left side, still sniffling.
“Okay, buddy. We're going to get that out for you.” Miles glanced up at her. “Forceps?”
Lili was already moving, grabbing the instrument from the supply tray. She also brought a penlight and a small mirror.
Miles positioned the boy on the exam table while the mother hovered, wringing her hands. “I only looked away for two seconds—“
“It happens.” Lili guided the mother to a chair. “Kids are fast.”
She handed Miles the penlight first. He examined the nostril while Lili distracted the boy by making faces. The kid stopped crying, watching her with suspicious eyes as she crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue.
“I can see it.” Miles clicked his tongue. “It's not too far up.”
He took the forceps. Lili steadied the boy's head, keeping him occupied with quiet questions about what other Legos he had at home, whether he was building a spaceship or a castle.
The forceps clicked. Miles withdrew them.
The red Lego brick emerged intact.
The boy's eyes rounded huge. He reached for it. “Mine.”
“Oh no you don't.” His mother snatched it away. “No more Legos up noses. We talked about this.”
“This happened before?” Miles asked.
“Last month it was a pebble.” The mother appeared overwhelmed. “He's three. Everything goes up the nose.”
Lili cleaned the boy's face with a damp cloth while Miles checked the nostril for trauma.
“Keep a watch on him. If you notice any bleeding or difficulty breathing, bring him back. But he should be fine.” Miles handed the boy to his mom.
After they left, Lili disposed of the forceps in the sharps container. “How many things have you pulled out of kids' noses?”
“More than I can count. Last month it was a bead. Before that, a piece of popcorn.” He washed his hands at the sink. “What about you? The ER must have been full of that.”
“Adults mostly. You'd be surprised what people will do when they're drunk or bored.” She dried her hands. “Kids are more creative, though. At least it's usually innocent curiosity.”
“True.” He leaned against the counter. “You handled him like a peds nurse.”
“Distraction is half the battle.”
“Where'd you learn that?”
“My sister's kids. Emma used to scream during diaper changes until I figured out if I sang to her, she quieted down.”
Miles smiled. “What did you sing?”
“'Wheels on the Bus.' On repeat. For months.” She shuddered. “I still hear it in my nightmares.”
“The price of being Aunt Lili.” He chuckled.
“Worth it, though.”
Miles's expression softened. He opened his mouth like he might say something, then seemed to think better of it and went off to call in the next patient.
On Friday morning, Lili found Brenda in the hallway holding a cardboard box. Something inside mewed pitifully.
“Found it behind the dumpster.” Brenda shook her head. “Poor thing sounds half-starved.”
Miles appeared from his office. “What've we got?”
He opened the flaps. Inside, a tiny orange kitten blinked up at them, ribs visible through matted fur. It couldn't have been more than a few weeks old.
“Oh no. How long has it been out there?” Lili splayed a hand across her chest.
“No idea. Could've been dropped off overnight.” Brenda frowned. “People are terrible sometimes.”
“We're not a vet clinic,” Lili said, though her heart was breaking for the little thing.
“We're good people.” Miles was already moving toward the supply closet. “And good people don't let babies starve.”
He returned with a bottle of infant formula and an eyedropper. Lili watched him warm the formula under the hot faucet at the sink, testing the temperature on his wrist like he'd done it a hundred times.
“You've done this before?” She leaned in closer.
“Gee and I used to find strays all the time when I was a kid. We'd bottle-feed them until they were strong enough to adopt out.” He settled into a chair, cradling the kitten against his chest.
The kitten mewed weakly. Miles brought the eyedropper to its mouth. For a second, nothing happened. Then the tiny pink tongue darted out, lapping at the formula.
“There you go. That's it. Good job, buddy.”
Lili's chest tightened watching him. His big hands were so gentle, supporting the kitten's fragile body. He kept his voice soothing, encouraging it to drink more. The kitten's tiny paws kneaded against his palm.
This man. This gruff, awkward, wonderful man who fed orphaned kittens like it was the most wonderful thing in the world.
Miles stroked the kitten's head with one finger. “It's dehydrated.”
“Poor baby.” Lili stroked its fur.
The kitten finished the dropper. Miles set it down and prepared another, letting the kitten rest between feedings.
“I'll run him over to the Kringle Vet Klinic. They can check him out, and I'll adopt him. I've been hankering for a cat anyway,” Brenda said.
“You sure?” Miles asked.
“Are you kidding? Look at this face.” Brenda peered into the box at the now-sleeping kitten. “Earl's going to pretend to be annoyed, but he'll love him. He's always been soft about animals.”
“He'll need feeding every few hours for at least a week, and vet visits, vaccines, all of it.” Miles ticked the list off on his fingers.
“I know. I raised three kids. I can handle a kitten.” Brenda scooped him from Miles's hands, tucking him against her shoulder. The kitten barely stirred, exhausted.
She cooed, rocking him. “You're going to be spoiled rotten, yes you are. Uncle Earl's going to build you the fanciest cat tree in Texas.” Brenda sashayed down the hallway, still murmuring to the kitten.
“I guess it was love at first sight.” Miles toyed with his stethoscope.
“Seems to be going around.” Lili hadn't meant to say it out loud.
Miles turned to look at her, something unreadable in his expression. “Yeah, seems to be.”
Her face warmed. She busied herself cleaning up the formula supplies, acutely aware of him watching her.
* * *
It was Saturday, and they closed at noon. Miles went home, and Lili went to her apartment, feeling a little sad that he didn't ask if she wanted to do something.
Sitting around in the empty room all afternoon was unappealing, and Rose was busy, so she decided to do some Christmas shopping. She drove over to the town square and parked in the visitors' lot. The air smelled of pine and kettle corn.
The square was busy with weekend shoppers.
Local vendors had set up booths and kiosks selling handmade goods.
White lights were already lit even though it was barely afternoon, strung between lamp posts and wrapped around trees.
Christmas music played from somewhere, competing with the chatter of families and the calls of vendors.
She ended up circling the shops and kiosks, searching for the perfect Christmas gift for Miles. Wood-carved ornaments, knitted scarves, local honey. Everything felt either too personal or too impersonal. She wanted something that said I like you, but don't read into it.
Coffee mug, too lame. Pocket knife, too weird. Leather wallet, too expensive.
She picked up a leather-bound journal, then put it back. A nice pen set felt too formal. A “World's Okayest Doctor” mug seemed too jokey. Nothing felt right.
She was comparing two different scarves when movement caught her eye. She glanced up. A man's profile across the square. Dark hair. The way he stood—
Her breath caught.
David?
She pivoted, heart hammering. She shrank back as the man disappeared into the crowd. She darted around people trying to find him again, but he vanished like smoke, as if he'd never been there at all.
All in her mind.
Get it together. Stop jumping at shadows.
But her stomach soured. Would she ever quit being on guard?
She moved to the next booth, trying to shake off the moment. This was ridiculous. She was being paranoid. David was not here. He was in jail in Dallas until next June.
She forced herself to take deep breaths and focus on the items in front of her. Novelty items, T-shirts, funny signs. Then she saw it. Novelty T-shirt that said GO AWAY, I'M INTROVERTING.
Perfect. Grinning, she paid for the shirt, and as the vendor bagged it up, a voice behind her said, “Fancy seeing you here.”
She turned to see Miles beaming at her and holding a bag of his own.
“Supporting local artisans. Civic duty.”
“Uh-huh.” Gosh, he looked so handsome in jeans, a black T-shirt, and a bomber jacket.
Her heart did something complicated. He changed clothes, which meant he went home, then came back. To Christmas shop. Just like her.
“Wanna browse together?”
“Sure. Why not?”
They wandered the stalls. At a booth selling ornaments, she spotted a small wooden orange tabby cat with a red ribbon.
Miles bought it. “For Brenda and her new foundling.”
“She'll love it.”
“You think? It's not too cheesy?”
“It's perfect.”
Miles bought gifts for Nina and Ryan, Gee and his wife, Jean. Lili picked up handcrafted gifts for the kids, Tom and Rose.
She found wooden puzzles for Kevin and Emma, and a beautiful scarf for Rose. Miles helped her pick out a book about vintage tractors for Tom, who apparently collected them.
“How did you know that?” she asked.
“He talks about them whenever he comes into the office. I've heard more about John Deere models than I ever wanted to know.”
They laughed, moving through the crowd together. It felt natural. Easy. Like they'd been doing this for years instead of weeks.
The light faded early, the sky turning golden. The vendors started packing up as the crowd thinned.
“I should probably head out,” Miles turned to face her.
“Yeah. Me too.”
They stared at each other. Neither of them moved. The Christmas lights overhead started twinkling as the sky darkened.
“Listen,” they said in unison.
“You go first.” He inclined his head.
“No, you.”
Miles took a deep breath. “I've decided not to stay open on Sunday mornings anymore. Even if it is flu season. I need stronger boundaries, and you need a day off.”
“That's wonderful news. I'm proud of you.”
“Instead, I'm going to church. I've missed a lot of services being open on Sunday. They're having a Christmas cantata. Would you like to come with me?”
“Imagine that. I was about to ask you the same thing. Rose's daughter Audra is singing in the cantata tomorrow.”
“No kidding? You're Episcopalian too?”
“I haven't been much of anything in a while.” She thought about how her faith lapsed in the wake of David and their divorce. “But yes, I was raised Episcopalian.”
“So you'll be there?”
“I'll be there.”
“I'll save you a seat.” He winked and walked away to his car.
She watched him go, clutching her shopping bag, feeling something warm unfold in her chest. Tomorrow. Church. Together.
She was in so much trouble.