Chapter 21 #2
“That was one time,” I tease, meeting her gaze. “I cook from scratch. I’m probably better than you, actually.”
Her mouth drops open in mock offense.
“I bet you burn your cookies,” I tease, and I don’t know where that’s coming from. I’m not usually this talkative or playful unless I’m with my friends. But something about her brings it out of me.
“Hey! Leave me alone,” she protests, but she’s grinning. “I don’t always burn them. It’s just, if I get distracted, I kind of forget I put them in. You know, ten minutes goes by fast.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. I like her honesty, the way she doesn’t try to pretend she’s perfect. I figured, but I’m also refreshed by it. It’s not like she’s denying that she burns her cookies.
“Well, I’m about to make you the world’s best cookie,” I announce.
“I doubt that,” she says playfully.
I head back to the kitchen, roll up my sleeves, and get to work.
Taking out all the ingredients, I measure everything precisely, cream the butter and sugar together until they’re fluffy, add the eggs one at a time, fold in the dry ingredients, stir in a generous amount of chocolate chips. It’s a great distraction.
Before long, I’m scooping balls of dough onto a baking sheet and spacing them evenly. I slide them into the oven and set the timer; the smell of butter and sugar already starting to fill the small space.
While they bake, I lean against the counter, my eyes drifting to her on the sofa.
She hasn’t moved; she’s finished her sandwich and now just sits there, sipping her tea slowly, both hands wrapped around the mug, watching some trashy reality show.
Seeing her comfortable reminds me how the doctor part of me knows she’s mine to protect.
But the other part of me thinks she looks like trouble.
I push off the counter and check the oven instead.
The timer goes off, and I pull out the cookies, which are a perfectly golden brown, slightly crispy on the edges, still soft in the middle. I’m proud of how they turned out, and it makes me eager to share them with her.
I let them cool on the sheet for a few minutes, then transfer them to a plate.
Bringing one to her, I watch her face as she examines it. She looks it over from every angle, humming appreciatively and turning it in her fingers.
Then she takes a big bite, her lips wrapping around a generous piece, and my throat goes dry. She chews slowly, her eyes closing, and then she licks her lips.
Fucking hell, that does something to me.
I ignore the way my body heats, the way my pulse kicks up a notch, and force myself to focus on the cookie, not her mouth.
“How is it?” I ask.
She moans into the next bite, her eyes still closed. “Oh, my God. This is the best thing I’ve ever had. How the hell did you make this?”
“It’s a basic cookie recipe,” I say with a shrug, trying to play it cool, even though her praise swells my chest. And it makes me want to tell her it’s my mother’s recipe, but I don’t want to talk about my family or personal things.
Because talking about those things makes it harder to keep the wall up. And I need to stay professional.
“It’s just… it’s too good to believe you actually made it.”
“Well, believe it.” I glance back toward the kitchen, already thinking about what else I could make her. Something that would get that reaction again. The closed eyes, the little moan, the completely unguarded pleasure. I could do a proper dinner...
“You’re going to have to show me,” she says, dusting the crumbs from her hands. “Because that was incredible.”
“You want more?” I ask.
Her eyes linger on the plate. “No, I shouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’m on TV,” she explains with a small grimace. “I can’t really afford to be eating twenty cookies in one sitting. And now I’m not moving around as much…” She trails off, gesturing vaguely to her injury.
My eyes drop over her body, causing a gentle fire to grow within me—the curve of her waist, the way her sweats sit on her hips. “You look great to me,” I say before I can stop myself.
Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, and she mumbles, “Thanks.” Then, after a pause, “Maybe one more won’t hurt.”
I nod and go get one for each of us. She inhales hers again, savoring every bite, her eyes closing, and I feel it turn the fire into an inferno inside me. Because watching her enjoy something I made is becoming its own problem entirely.
“You definitely have to teach me this recipe,” she says around a mouthful.
“I can do that. But I’ll need to get some more ingredients when I go out to grab things for dinner anyway.
” I gesture at the near-empty cupboards.
“You fainted today. Your blood pressure dropped. You need protein, not just sugar and painkillers on an empty stomach. That’s how we end up back at the hospital. ”
“Shut up,” she laughs, throwing a small pillow at me weakly. “Stop judging me.”
I laugh, actually laugh, and head back to the kitchen, grabbing my laptop from my bag. I did make a damn good cookie. I chew the last bite of mine as I power up the computer and slip my glasses on, settling at the dining table where I can still see her on the sofa.
Her eyelids are getting heavy, drooping as she fights to keep them open. She’s finished her sandwich, tea, and cookies. Now she’s relaxed and happy.
And for some weird reason, that makes me feel happy too.
I should be miserable. I’m essentially babysitting, stuck here when I could be working, doing surgeries, seeing patients. Yet she doesn’t make me feel that way. It’s kind of like hanging out with a friend.
Except she’s not a friend.
She’s a patient, I remind myself firmly. A patient I’m dangerously attracted to. One who, not long ago, I thought about kissing, and I’m pretty sure she was thinking the same thing.
I need to keep my distance. Otherwise, I don’t know what could happen.
And I can’t afford to lose my job. It’s everything to me.
I’m on my last warning at the hospital after the disciplinary review, after Peltz made it abundantly clear that one more misstep and I’m done.
No OR. No patients. No career. Everything I’ve sacrificed to be the senior surgeon will be gone.
All because I couldn’t keep my hands to myself.
No matter how much I want to walk back over there, sit beside her on the sofa, and pull her into my arms... I force my eyes back to the computer screen and try to focus on anything else.