Chapter 22 EVE
Chapter twenty-two
EVE
There’s nothing professional about my feelings and my daydreaming. Adam’s hands. His smile. The sound of his voice. Of his laughter. His arms… But work keeps me busy enough.
By the time I get back to the B&B, I’m exhausted in that nerves-wired, emotionally-raw kind of way.
But when I open the fridge and see the tiny containers of homemade pumpkin spice creamer… my breath catches.
Of course he remembered.
I snap a picture for the group chat, trying not to read too much into it. But I also don’t delete the note he left. “Three different sorts of pumpkin spice creamer”.
Poppy
This is the rom-com of the year.
Me
Julie's latest book?
Julie
Nope, your life. Also I'm writing a romantic thriller right now with a hot vet and a sweet, sexy nurse who doesn't realize how amazing she is. No link whatsoever. But let's say her ex is an asshole. And his name is Chuckie.
Me
(types, deletes)
Claire
You are a sweet, sexy nurse who's funny and hardworking… stubborn though. And hates asking for help. Luckily, we're like leeches who won't let go.
Poppy: Changes the group name to CHRISTMAS LEECHES.
Harper
Sorry, I was, um, busy with your brother, Jules. Want me to send you pictures for anatomical reference in your book? For accuracy?
Julie
I will END you.
Poppy
Ignore them. Maybe he's moving to Chicago! And fate will bring you back together after your contract ends!
Me
I actually don't even know where he's going. He’s leaving Pine Creek, taking some teaching position, but we've both been so busy I haven't asked for details. He could be heading to the other side of the world.
Claire
And you haven't asked because...?
Me
(types, deletes) On this note… I got to go to work.
I haven't asked because I'm worried this will cement the fact that I care.
And I can't care. The cautiously optimistic feeling I had at Rosie's?
It's still there, but buried under work anxiety, Chuck's texts, and the terrifying realization that I'm making Christmas pickle ornaments and actually enjoying it. Every time that feeling surfaces, I mentally prescribe myself a heavy dose of reality. Side effects include: career focus, emotional distancing, and an inability to ask one simple question about Mr. Large Hands’ future plans.
Day 4: Failed to connect with Mr. Gunter even after he mentioned his Christmas ornament collection.
I could have shared about my grandfather's heart waiting for me back at the B&B.
Could have made a real connection. Instead, my throat tightened and I nodded mechanically, sounding like a medical robot.
"Some people don't get it," he said, "but looking at it makes me smile because my wife made it with her hands and her own heart.
" I mumbled about the need for proper ornament storage.
Chuck would have been proud of my clinical distance.
I wasn't. Didn’t even get him to agree to be more careful with his medication.
Day 5: Probably confused the heck out of Liz with my color-coding system for patients. She’s been looking at me weird all day.
Work hasn't gotten any better. No matter how hard I try there's something I cannot do. Something I can't get over with.
"And then we keep checking every hour to see if your levels are better." I'm explaining the blood glucose monitor to Megan while her father signs paperwork with Dr. Harrison. "See, when the number goes up or down, it tells us what your body needs."
"But it pinched," Megan's eyes fill with tears as she looks at the small bandage where I'd done her finger stick. "The other nurse said I wouldn't feel anything."
My first instinct is to go clinical: explain nerve endings and capillary blood draws. Instead, I remember what Adam said about trusting myself.
And I do. In this moment, I do.
I crouch down to her level. "You're right. It can pinch for some people."
Her eyes widen in surprise.
"Doctors and nurses sometimes say 'you won't notice it' because we hope it won't bother you. But you're the expert on your own body's sensations." I pull out my stethoscope. "Want to hear something cool?"
She nods, tears forgotten.
"This is how I hear your heartbeat." I place it against her chest. "But you can detect it right now without any tools. Try it."
I guide her small fingers to her pulse point.
"That's me?" Her face lights up with wonder.
"That's all you. Your own personal drum set."
She giggles, then throws her arms around my neck. The unexpected hug freezes me for a second before I gently return it.
"Miss Eve?" she asks, pulling back. "Are you coming to the gingerbread house competition next weekend? Uncle A said you might be busy, but my best friend and I are entering for the kids' category and I want you to see my special Santa hat. Uncle A. made it."
Those eyes. So, earnest and hopeful. This is exactly the kind of attachment I've been trying to avoid because I once was told I wasn’t maternal or nice or sweet and yet. "I—"
"Megan, let Nurse Eve finish her work," Wes says, appearing at the doorway with Dr. Harrison.
"She was showing me my heart music!" Megan exclaims, bouncing on her toes.
Dr. Harrison watches our interaction with a smile that reminds me so much of Adam it makes my chest ache. "Eve has a real gift with children," he tells Wes. "She's got Liz shadowing her with all our pediatric patients now."
I blink in surprise. "I do?"
"You didn't notice?" Dr. Harrison chuckles. "Liz's been taking notes on your approach all week. That color-coding system you developed to keep track of the kids' symptoms? She's implementing it."
"But I only showed her once, I wasn't trying to—"
"Mentor her?" Dr. Harrison finishes for me. "Sometimes the best teaching happens when we're not even aware we're doing it." He gives me a knowing look. "You've been a real asset to this team, Eve. More than you realize."
The praise makes me simultaneously want to stand straighter and hide under the exam table. In Chicago, recognition usually came with strings attached—expectations to exceed, bars constantly raised higher.
"Thank you," I manage, as Megan tugs on my scrubs.
"So will you come?" she persists. "To see my Santa hat?"
Wes gives me an apologetic smile. "You don't have to—"
"I'll try," I hear myself say, surprising all of us. "If my shift ends on time."
Megan's face lights up in a way that makes me understand why Adam can't say no to her. "Promise?"
"I don't make promises I can't keep," I tell her, definitely not thinking about the one promise I didn't keep. "But I'll really try."
“Oh, and there’s the tree lightning tonight and the caroling in the park tomorrow and did you hear about the dog parade?”
Wes tilts his head with a smile. “Okay, pumpkin, let’s go.”
After they leave, I stand in the empty exam room, staring at my reflection in the window. The nurse looking back at me seems different somehow. Less tightly wound. More... present.
Dr. Harrison pokes his head back in. "By the way, Nurse Foster," he says casually, "my wife mentioned you might be joining the book club." He smiles, reminding me so much of his son I have to look away. "And I want you to know I’m happy I hired you."
He steps away before I can ask him why.
Last night, I broke my own rule. For once, we were on the same schedule.
So, when Adam came in from his emergency shift, I saw the exhaustion etched in every line of his face. The words slipped out before I could stop them: "Come to sleep." Such a simple invitation that felt heavier than my medical textbooks.
We didn't have sex. Just sleep. But somehow waking up with his arms around me had me sleeping better than I have in years.
Now I'm at the desk, wrapped in his hoodie that he handed me when I shivered.
A gesture so natural it scares me. I focus on patient charts, trying to ignore how his scent surrounds me, how my body still remembers the weight of his against mine that first night, and how hard I've been working to maintain boundaries since then.
This clinical approach isn't working. My diagnostic skills appear useless when it comes to the condition I'm developing: acute Adam Harrison attachment syndrome.
"Tree lighting's tonight. You coming?" His voice breaks through my concentration.
I barely glance up, afraid my face will betray me. "I can't. I have plans."
He leans against the doorframe, deliberately rolling up his sleeves. I can't help tracking the movement, the flex of forearm muscles.
"Not playing fair," I mutter, forcing my attention back to the charts, but my fingers have stilled.
"Plans?" His voice holds amusement.
I lift my chin, strands of hair escaping my messy bun, tickling my neck. "Yep. Huge night. Very important."
"Oh?"
"Christmas pickle production." I hold up my latest creation with what I hope is professional pride rather than the ridiculous warmth spreading through my chest whenever he looks at me like that.
"See? Santa hat and everything. That's festive.
" I inspect my handiwork, running my fingers over the stitches.
Then, with my best analytical assessment, I mutter, "Still looks like an alien dick. "
His deep laugh makes something flutter in my chest.
"You can't use the Santa hat as your only Christmas spirit defense, Foster."
He moves closer, and my resolve weakens like poorly tied surgical sutures.
"I mean, it's great. Best Pickle Dickle Family ever."
His hand finds my shoulder, thumb brushing over the spot where he left a mark that night and my skin tingles even through the fabric.
"Much better than anything I ever made."
My fingers freeze on the pickle, and I look up to find his eyes on mine. "I remember what Sally said in the carriage. About you attempting to crochet and Frank mentioned it might be for me."
He groans, dragging his free hand down his face. "It was supposed to be a brain, Eve. A brain. With a Santa hat, because you kept going on about how Liv should've had holiday-themed brains on iZombie—"