Chapter 17 #2
When they arrived at the regional hospital, they powered down as Mike went to meet the transferring nurses.
She honored a light flutter of anxiety in her stomach as she thought about landing at Aetheridge Children’s Hospital and walking into the Integrated Health department to surprise Grier.
It was probably best to gauge whether Grier would even be available; she didn’t want to surprise her unless it would be a welcome surprise.
She grabbed her phone to start a slightly sneaky line of questioning—only to realize she had a new message from Grier. Quickly remembering the last one she’d sent, she unlocked her phone with a burst of anticipation. She wasn’t expecting the answer, let alone the novel that explained it.
GRIER—10:55 a.m.
Hands. No other body part offers as much
insight, or as much emotion. They are what
we use to explore ourselves, tentatively as
well as insatiably. They tell a story of
someone’s past, of their scars and their
victories. They have a power to both hurt and
heal. They can entwine with another’s to offer
support, love, and a simple presence. And
they can hold you in place during the sultriest
of power dynamics. In the best of
circumstances, hands can explore, they can
tease, they can soothe, and they can pleasure.
But the knowledge that they’re capable of
harm—of being a moment’s indiscretion
away from inflicting pain— demands a sense
of respect and trust between friends, and even
more so between lovers. Some hands can
address physical pain, working the body to
provide comfort. Some hands are artistic,
providing the world with new beauty in the
form of paint, clay, jewelry, etc. Some are
musical, deftly strumming cords or fingering
keys. Some are rough and calloused, used to
work wood or stone into useful or artistic
pieces. Hands give us information about their
owner—and they search for information in
every interaction they have.
Tobin was dumbfounded. Her mind was utterly blank, trying to absorb Grier’s text and comprehend everything she’d written.
The words swirled in front of her like a hurricane, coming in and out of view.
There was no way she could formulate a response even half as intuitive or heartfelt as the one Grier had just delivered.
How could she respond without making herself look like an utter fool?
She winced as she saw the animated ellipses appear on her screen. Grier was still on the line.
GRIER—11:01 a.m.
You?
Tobin laughed out loud, dispelling anxiety. She was genuinely in awe that Grier could be so interested in what was probably a predictable response. How in the hell was she supposed to follow that?
TOBIN—11:03 a.m.
I think I first need to thank you, because
your answer was… illuminating. I am
genuinely incapable of rallying my own
response that even remotely offers you
the insight you just provided me.
Besides, I think your answer changed
mine. Hands are definitely my new
favorite body part.
TOBIN—11:04 a.m.
But, just so you don’t feel like I’m not
respecting the mutual honesty of the
game: I’m frequently drawn to the
shoulders and collarbones, particularly
centrally, below the neck.
Tobin blushed mildly, thankful that Erik had exited the helicopter to stretch his legs between flights. She assumed her face was a mixture of shock and arousal, and she had no interest in having that witnessed by her co-pilot this morning.
TOBIN—11:06 a.m.
Glad you approve.
TOBIN—11:06 a.m.
How’s your morning going? Calming
down before lunch?
Now that she could think clearly again after Grier’s foray into her sensual philosophy of hands, Tobin needed to figure out whether she could pay her a visit during lunch—regretfully, without the use of her own roaming hands.
GRIER—11:07 a.m.
Patients have been a good distraction from
grand rounds. I’ve got one more patient this
morning before I get to break for lunch.
Good. Grier was taking a lunch. This could work in Tobin’s favor. Hopefully Mike and the patient would be ready to depart soon—it was a good forty-five minute flight to Aetheridge Children’s Hospital from here, and she didn’t want to miss her opportunity.
TOBIN—11:08 a.m.
Still bothered by your brother’s mystery
girlfriend? Or is something else on your
mind?
She had to stay smooth—no diving directly into lunch questions.
GRIER—11:08 a.m.
Both. The girlfriend is not so mysterious as
she is secretive. I wish he’d just tell me. But, I
suppose I could just ask him, too. And rounds
were a little heated between me and one of
the surgeons. We’re receiving a patient this
morning he wants to immediately cut into,
but I believe further evaluation is necessary.
The child is only eight, and has chronic
pneumonia secondary to severe scoliosis.
Surgery is likely inevitable, but something
about her presentation made me question
previous assessments. Thankfully, the chief
was interested in my input, which bought us
some time.
Chronic pneumonia? It didn’t take more than that for Tobin to realize the patient she was transporting was the same one Grier had just described.
She immediately felt more protective of the girl, just drawing from Grier’s obvious desire to help.
Her heart warmed as she experienced yet another extrinsic view of Grier’s depth of empathy for her patients.
TOBIN—11:10 a.m.
That’s a lucky girl, to have you in her
corner.
Grier didn’t respond as quickly as she had been, and Tobin looked up to see Mike and the hospital staff wheeling the transfer patient out to the helipad. She wouldn’t have another opportunity to inquire about Grier’s lunch plans until she was at the children’s hospital—so she needed to do it now.
TOBIN—11:15 a.m.
What’s for lunch? Any plans?
She slid her phone into the breast pocket of her jump suit and began going through her pre-flight checklist. She felt the rear doors open as the patient was loaded, followed by the subtle shift as Mike climbed in, then Erik.
The rain had strengthened, and the skies had become a shimmering mixture of dark and light grays.
She honestly enjoyed flying in the rain like this.
The cloud cover blocked scenic distractions, and the quiet stillness of the world below let her brain slip into a kind of autopilot, drifting in and out of incomplete thoughts. Most of them involved Grier.
The flight to Aetheridge Children’s Hospital was smooth and uneventful.
Erik seemed content in his own world and only spoke during the routine status updates.
When they landed, Mike quickly exited to begin the transfer procedure.
It wasn’t unusual for them to break for lunch at the hospital—especially when there was no need to rush back to the hangar.
Tobin and Erik completed their post-flight checklist with practiced ease before Erik quickly excused himself to call his wife.
She knew his son was sick again and hoped it was something mild this time.
As soon as he left, Tobin reached for her phone, anxious to find out whether she’d be having an impromptu lunch date with Grier—or dining alone in the cockpit this afternoon.
GRIER—11:49 a.m.
I’m having a working lunch in my office
today, with whatever assortment of protein
foods I have stashed in my drawer. A friend
wants to be adjusted and I should get some
charting done.
Tobin’s eyes darted to the top of her screen—12:08 p.m. Perfect.
Her excitement at the thought of seeing Grier made her hands tremble.
She grabbed her containers of food and jumped from the cockpit, bolting through the rain toward the hospital doors.
She had no idea where she was going, but a nurse just inside the entrance pointed her toward the Integrative Health department on the second floor.
Grateful that her flight suit granted her the illusion of belonging in the hospital, she slipped into the elevator and descended before anyone was the wiser.
On the second floor, Tobin headed for the nurse’s station to ask for Grier’s office—until she spotted a sign next to an open door just off the elevators: Grier Savage, DC, Chair, Department of Integrative Health.
It looked so official, so important, and Tobin felt a swell of pride for this woman—instinctively knowing how hard she had worked for such a title.
She took a steadying breath, nervous excitement roiling through her limbs, and stepped into the doorway.
She froze mid-knock. Grier in her element—unaware of a spectator—left Tobin breathless.
Grier sat at her desk, a half-eaten protein bar resting beside her keyboard, eyes fixed intently just above the screen as if deep in thought.
Her fingers hovered uselessly over the keyboard.
Hunter green scrubs clung to her toned frame, highlighting the warm glow of her lightly tanned skin.
Her braid had loosened throughout the day, wisps of hair floating around her head like tendrils.
Tobin leaned against the open door, her nearly permanent grin spreading across her face.
Not wanting to startle Grier with an unexpected greeting, she tapped lightly on the door—and relished the look of delighted shock that crossed Grier’s face as she took in the sight of her.
“Tobin,” she whispered, her body still.
Tobin’s heart actually stuttered. Hearing her name whispered in hushed wonder by this radiant woman brought so many unnamed emotions to a boiling point inside her. She felt hot—her chest and neck flushing with warmth—and hoped her flight suit concealed most of it.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she lifted the containers in her hand with a small smile. “I heard you’re having a working lunch and thought I might offer a more palatable solution—and some company, if you’re interested. May I come in?”