14. TESSA
TESSA
“You kicked him out?” Scarlett raised her brows, lounging in the corner chair she’d claimed as her territory.
The leather squeaked as she shifted, watching me pick at the dinner she’d brought.
My favorite Caesar salad from Giovanni’s, the one with extra crispy croutons that usually had me fighting for every bite.
The sun was starting its leisurely descent in the sky, painting orange stripes across my hospital bed.
“When you put it that way, I feel like an even bigger bitch than I already feel.” The plastic fork scraped against the container.
“Oh, please, you have every right to be upset.” Scarlett’s bangles clinked as she gestured emphatically.
“Upset, yes. But I didn’t handle myself as well as I wanted. I’d always envisioned having a calm conversation about what happened, not some emotional blowout.”
I pushed the lettuce around the black plastic container to make it look like I was eating. At least my clients had been cool about rescheduling our appointment today.
Focus on the positive, Tessa.
“How long ago did he leave?” Scarlett checked her rose-gold watch.
“Five hours.” Five hours of replaying it all in my mind, wishing it had gone different. Five hours of anger receding away like a wave and regret taking its place. Five hours of staring at the same spot on the wall where he’d stood.
“You’re being too hard on yourself.” Scarlett waved her hand, her purple nail polish catching the fading light. “If you ask me, he deserved a verbal beatdown.”
Maybe. Maybe not.
“I feel like I just ruined any shot of us being friends.” Great. Another lump in my throat. “I still care about him.” Greatly. “He’s … family and always will be.” The admission hung in the air.
“Families fight. I’m sure it will be fine.”
I pushed my uneaten salad away, the wheels of the hospital tray squeaking in protest.
It felt like anything but fine. What if that was the last time I’d ever see Blake? If our relationship was going to end completely, I wanted it to have gone differently.
“I doubt he’ll ever speak to me again.” The words choked out in absolute despair. A complete contradiction to the nurse’s bubbly smile as she practically bounced into the room, her white sneakers squeaking against the floor, clearly unaware of the depressing atmosphere she’d entered.
“Someone sent you a gift.” The short nurse with spiky black hair carried a silver gift bag, the tissue paper rustling with each step.
I eyed Scarlett, who held up her palms defensively.
“My gift was the salad and the amazing company.”
The bag was cool to my touch, the metallic paper crinkling under my fingers.
Inside was a black coffee mug with white letters that read, I Came to the Hospital and All I Got Was This Lousy Mug . Stuffed inside the mug was a single serving of powdered hot chocolate and nestled in the tissue paper was a note.
Tessa,
You used to love hot chocolate before bed, extra whipped cream with just a dash of cinnamon sprinkled on top. “Life’s little luxuries,” you’d say, curled up with one of your romance novels.
I hope this makes your hospital stay a little more bearable tonight.
For the record, I NEVER stopped thinking about you.
In fact, I had to stop myself from calling you every single day for the last 687 days.
You deserved better than my silence. After a thorough self-examination, I’ve diagnosed myself with Acute Chronic Jerkitis.
Recommended treatment plan: Extensive groveling, followed by a lifetime of making it up to you.
Blake
P.S. Ask the nurse for hot water. I remember how you like it scalding hot.
P.P.S. The chocolate is from that fancy place on Michigan Avenue you used to drag me to.
I smiled, a warmth spreading throughout my body that had nothing to do with hospital temperatures or IV fluids. Blake was a very busy doctor, and even if he’d had a break in patients or his shift had ended, he’d taken the time to get me this.
“I don’t mean this to sound rude,” Scarlett started, her eyes narrowing at the nurse. “But why are you grinning like that?”
“I’ve just never seen Dr. Morrison smile before.”
So, she knew it was him that gave the gift.
“Every nurse and female doctor in this building would donate a kidney to get him to smile at them like he did with you.” She smirked.
I blushed. “Well, I’m an old friend.”
She patted my leg. “Honey, I don’t know who you are, but I’ve worked with Dr. Morrison for years, and I’ve never seen him like that with anyone. I don’t know who you are to him, but old friend doesn’t sound like it cuts it.”
Then, like some cosmic timing I couldn’t have scripted better, Blake edged into the room, his arms hanging uncertain at his sides. The sunlight caught his dark hair, turning the edges almost golden, and for the first time today, his doctor mask was completely gone. In its place was just … Blake.
My Blake, his voice all deep and dramatic as he said, “Can we talk?”