Nick
Ihaven't been on a date since high school, and even then, it was a school dance our parents practically orchestrated.
Dinner? Their idea.
Transportation? Their idea.
Music? Their idea.
The only decisions I remember making were what color tie to wear and which after-party to crash.
Leah and I have been ships passing in the night since Thanksgiving. Between Grady's kindergarten Christmas program, our work schedules, and Leah's obligations with her church, we've managed to postpone dinner twice. I was starting to think our first date would be Valentine's Day.
And that would be a first for me.
The air is brisk tonight, more so than what I'm used to in December. It doesn't help that I only have a half of an inch of hair sticking up everywhere on my head.
Leah's apartment complex is cozy. Christmas lights of every color, pattern, and blinking setting imaginable drape across porches and railings.
Stockings and wreaths hang from balconies and awnings.
A few people have their curtains open, proudly displaying their illuminated Christmas tree in the front window.
After circling the parking lot twice, I finally find her building, park my truck, and head up the walkway. A burlap wreath hangs from her door with sprigs of pine, gold and silver ribbon, and a little wooden sign in the middle that reads JOY.
I shift the bouquet of pink peonies from one hand to the other, the butcher paper crinkling with the movement.
I don’t know if flowers are too much for a first date, but they seem like something Leah would enjoy.
That's the only motivation I need. I'd buy her an entire garden of flowers if there was even a possibility of it bringing her a smile—even if just for a minute.
Blowing out a heavy breath, I smooth the front of my jacket and knock on her door. The evening silence stretches as hurried footsteps draw close.
The door swings open.
Christ.
How am I going to make it through dinner not touching her, much less the next five fucking minutes?
Her dark hair is down. Not in a braid or woven into a crown. It's actually down, cascading in thick, loose waves, tumbling over her shoulders and down her back.
Her gray sweater dress hugs her curves that are normally hidden behind modest tops and fitted pants. Between the hint of cleavage at her neckline and the sinful red painted on her lips, I am in serious trouble.
“Hey! You made it.” She beams.
I clear my throat. “Wow … you look …” My eyes wander over her body again, tracing the lines of her legs to her hips before settling on her bright eyes. “I'm sorry. I want to say beautiful, but that sounds so ordinary, and you are just … wow ….”
“Nick …” she croons as pink blooms across her cheeks.
“Oh, and these are for you.” I take a step forward, holding out the bouquet of flowers.
A stocky white pit bull with his ears pinned back squares himself in front of Leah, growling.
“Angus, no, buddy.” She scratches behind his ear. “Sorry. He's not a fan of men.”
“Hey, that's okay.” I squat down. “We won't be strangers for long. Right, big guy—?”
He huffs, baring his teeth.
I jump, steeling my back. “Jesus, dude …”
“I warned ya.” She snorts before bending down and petting the little hellion. “You're just a little protective, aren't you?”
A dopey smile appears on his face as he looks longingly at Leah, his tongue rolling out of his mouth.
“I'm sorry. Did you say that these were for me?” Leah takes the bouquet of peonies, carefully smelling the large pink bulbs. “They're heavenly,” she croons, her eyes sparkling. “How did you even know they're my favorite? And how did you even find them?”
“I have my ways, Ms. Harrison.” I wiggle my eyebrows.
“I would expect nothing less from my stalker.” She giggles, waving me in. “Come in. Let me find a vase for these.” She disappears into the kitchen.
I carefully shut the front door behind me, my eyes not leaving her attentive dog who I'm pretty sure wants to eat me..
“Heel,” I whisper-shout, peering over my shoulder at the kitchen. “At ease. Stand down.”
Angus responds by narrowing his eyes and letting out an even deeper growl.
“C’mon, don't be a little shit.” I point toward his bed. “Go be off-duty for a little while, would’ya?”
He sits back on his haunches, but his expression doesn't change.
Suddenly, there's a clatter from the kitchen.
“I'm fine,” Leah calls out as more clanging continues.
I rush to the room to find Leah hunched over, collecting scattered boxes of tea and paper goods scattered across the floor.
She gives me a coy smile before pointing up toward a high shelf. “I have a crystal vase at the top of that cabinet. Do you mind grabbing it for me?”
“Of course. Are you sure you're okay?”
“Oh yeah, I'm fine. I'm just glad nothing broke.”
I reach above my head, wrapping both hands around the heavy crystal vase before carefully working it toward the edge of the cabinet. “I have to ask …” I glance up at the shelf, then back down at Leah's petite height. “How exactly were you planning on getting this down?”
She folds her arms. "I had a plan."
"Was the plan growing another ten inches?”
She scoffs playfully, nudging me. “I'm not that short.”
“But the shelf is that tall.” I carefully bring the vase down. “Why are you putting something so heavy so high?”
“I needed a place to store it because I never use it. Now I have a reason to.” She sucks in her bottom lip, beaming brightly at me.
Damn. I guess I'm buying a garden.
Leah carries the vase to the middle of her kitchen table, turning it a few times until she's satisfied with the arrangement.
“My great granny gave this to me when I got engaged.
It's a family heirloom, so I couldn't exactly get rid of it. Plus—” She sighs—“it's really pretty.” She fluffs one stubborn bloom that refuses to cooperate before taking a small step back.
“Perfect.” She slips an arm around me. “Thank you for my flowers, cowboy.”
“Of course.” I tuck her under my arm. “You ready to hit the road?”
She hums, beaming up at me.
I grab her black peacoat perched on the back of the couch. Holding it open, she gathers her dark hair over one shoulder before slipping her arms through the sleeves.
“Such a gentleman.”
“Shhh, don't tell anyone. I've got a reputation to uphold.”
We exchange amused glances and head for the door, but neither of us makes it more than a few steps before a dramatic whine echoes from the living room.
“Oh, you grumpy potato!” Leah laughs, leaning over and patting his belly. “We'll be back in a few hours.”
Angus answers with an indignant huff before circling twice on the couch and plopping down.
“Quite the charmer,” I murmur.
“And he has a nice bite.” She pats my arm as we step outside.
Did she say bite?
***
The heater hums to life as we pull out of the apartment complex.
“So …” Leah smooths the skirt of her dress over her knees. “Where exactly are we going?”
“I've got us reservations at the Briar.”
“The steakhouse? Wow …”
“Is that okay?”
“Of course.” She flashes me a crooked smile. “Look at you pulling out all the stops to impress me.”
“Is it working?”
She laughs under her breath. “I already am. You could've taken me to Whataburger, and—”
I scoff. “I'm not taking you to Whataburger for our first date.”
“Why not?”
“Because … it's … fast food. And you deserve something nice.”
She shrugs. “Whataburger does have fancy ketchup."
I chuckle. “Fine. If you really want to go somewhere else—”
“No, no.” She reaches over and gently pats my arm. “The Briar sounds absolutely divine. I'm just a little bit more excited about the company.”
I bite back a stupid grin, sharing a look with her. “Next date then.”
“You're already asking me out again?”
I hum. “And it comes with a number one with cheese.”
“Mustard all the way?” She nips her bottom lip.
“And a Dr. Pepper.”
“Make it a Diet Dr. Pepper, and you're on, cowboy.”
The conversation ebbs comfortably, wandering from the vanity plate on the Lexus beside us to the Texas country singer on the radio Leah once saw in concert. It's just so damn easy with her—always has been. I almost resent the drive not being longer.
We pull up to the valet when my phone lights up across the center console.
G-DUB ANESTHESIA MAIN
I silence it.
Thirty seconds later, it rings again.
I let out a quiet sigh, my thumb hovering over the decline button before glancing her way.
She looks from the screen to me. “Don't you think you should answer?”
I shake my head. “I'm not on call tonight.”
The phone buzzes a third time.
Leah gives me a small smile. “It's okay. Answer it.” I hesitate long enough for her to add, “I mean it.”
I tap the steering wheel once before answering through the truck speakers.
The voice on the other end wastes no time. “Crawford, we've got three emergency surgeries stacked up, and we're short an anesthesiologist. Everyone's tied up. Any chance you're close?”
“Where's Kumar? Isn't he on-call?”
“He's already here. I hate to do this, but is there any way you can help us out?”
I close my eyes for a second. “How long?”
“We're trying to buy an hour. Maybe less.”
I glance over at Leah.
She already knows my answer before I do. “It's fine. Go,” she says quietly.
“Leah …”
“I'm serious.” She reaches over, resting her hand on my forearm. “People need you. Dinner can wait. It'll be fine.”
I let out a slow breath, hating every second of it. Then I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, make a U-turn in the parking lot, and pull back onto the highway.
***
My post-op patient serenades the nurses—and everyone else within earshot—with an enthusiastic, thoroughly off-key rendition of “Sweet Caroline” as I wheel him through the PACU doors.
“Mr. Dawson?” I clip the pulse oximeter onto his finger as he launches into the chorus again.
“Bum! Bum! Bum!”
“Mr. Dawson!”
He freezes. Rolling his head up to face me, he squints before breaking into a lazy grin. “Well, hello. You’re ... really pretty.”
“Thanks. Take some nice deep breaths for me, sir—”
“Ooooh call me sir again, Doctor.”
I exchange a look with his nurse. She bites her cheek, fighting back her laughter.
“Mr. Dawson, I'm going to—”
He catches my hand. "Your arms are so strong …” He rubs his thumb across my palm. “So soft … Are you married?”
Before I can answer, another nurse escorts a woman to the bedside.
“Hey, muffin,” she says warmly.
My patient looks between the two of us. He releases my hand as though he'd never touched it, and clears his throat. “Hi, honey.”
Talk about disoriented …
“I'll leave you two to it. Welcome back, Mr. Dawson.” I turn to the nurses. “Call if you need anything.”
Leaving PACU, I push through the double doors into the OR core. At the charge desk, the charge nurse, one of the surgeons, and two anesthesiologists stand beneath the electronic board, reshuffling room assignments.
“Y'all good?” I ask.
One of the anesthesiologists glances up from the board and nods. “We're good. Everything's covered now. Thanks for jumping in, Crawford.”
"No problem." I check my watch as I walk away.
Shit. It's been over two hours since I dropped Leah back off at her apartment.
I can still picture her standing there, her hair pouring over her shoulders, those ridiculous red lips making it nearly impossible to remember my own name.
She smiled through the disappointment, insisted we could reschedule, and never once made me feel guilty for turning the truck around.
She deserved better than that.
I pull my phone from my pocket, already thinking about how many apologies it would take to earn another chance at a first date. As I pass the waiting room, something catches the corner of my eye.
Dark waves.
A gray sweater dress.
Black boots propped on the empty chair beside her.
Leah looks up from her phone, a grin spreading across her face. “Hey, there, cowboy. You hungry?” She lifts a large white Whataburger sack with food bags inside with a drink carrier. “It's not piping hot anymore, but it's still tasty. Plus anything tastes better with their spicy ketchup.”
“Leah …” I work my jaw, but I am completely dumbfounded. The thoughtfulness of this woman ... I shake my head with a grin. “I hope that's a Dr. Pepper in there.”
“Pssh, I'm not a heathen,” she jokes. “Of course it is.” She stands up, looking up and down the corridor. “Do you want to go to the cafeteria or is there like a lounge?”
"I've got a better idea. C’mon"
She slips her phone into her purse as we head toward the staff elevators. Halfway down the hall, her pace slows, trying to conceal a limp.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. These boots—” she winces—“are sitting boots.”
“Sitting boots?”
“You know? There are climbing boots, riding boots, hiking boots. These are—”
“Sitting boots, gotcha.” I chuckle. “Well, we've gotta fix that.”
Before she can take another step, I slip one arm beneath her knees and lift, my other arm catching her against my chest.
“Nick!” she squeals.
“What?"
“Warn a woman! You can't just pick people up! Especially people carrying drinks!”
“I think I just did.”
She chuckles nervously. “Put me down. Seriously, I'm way too heavy."
I blink, then look down at her. “That is … wildly insulting. Don't worry; I gotcha.”
She laughs, clutching the Whataburger bags against her chest before looping an arm around my neck.
The elevator doors slide open.
Still smiling, I carry her inside.