Of Course She Has Great Nail Beds #2
Except you are. The words swelled in my chest, so dense I thought I’d suffocate.
“Now, put on my shows.” He motioned to the television.
“Your shows?” I turned the channel until it landed on Judge Judy.
He watched the courtroom drama until he let himself drift back into sleep.
His jaw slackened, his breaths coming in shallow, watery pulses.
The hospital room faded to a cocoon of white noise and filtered sunlight, and I allowed myself one minute—one full minute—to stare at him and mourn the loss that was already happening but hadn’t yet occurred.
I sat with him until the air grew stale and the nerves in my legs started to fizz.
Then, quietly, I slipped out and padded down the hall, passing the same nurses’ station and the wall of get-well cards taped above the coffee machine.
I didn’t stop walking until I found a patch of sunlight in the main lobby, pressed my forehead to the glass, and closed my eyes.
It didn’t help. The ache just moved from my lungs to my scalp, throbbing behind my temples like a migraine. I tried to summon a shred of gratitude—he was alive, he was still here, wasn’t he—but the panic lurked just under the surface, ready to explode at the smallest provocation.
I checked my phone to see if I’d heard anything back from Uncle Ronnie.
I’d left him messages about what was going on, but I had no clue if he’d gotten them.
He was on a cruise with Lorenzo, so he didn’t have cell service.
My heart sank when I saw that there were no missed calls or texts from him.
I let my head fall back against the wall, and tears filled my eyes.
That’s where Gio found me. He’d swapped his button-down for navy blue scrubs, his name badge crooked on the V-neck like a badge of irony.
He’d always looked like he belonged in a beer commercial—not a hospital—but the uniform suited him, made him seem more substantial.
He tapped the glass next to my head, then offered me a latte, steaming through the lid.
“You look like you could use this,” he said.
I took it. “Thanks. Is it real, or decaf?”
“Double shot, no mercy.” He winked. “How’s Buddy?”
I shrugged, and the motion nearly sloshed the coffee onto my wrist. “He’s Buddy. Insulting the staff, pretending to be immortal, refusing to admit he’s in pain.”
“It’s what old men do,” Gio stated gently. “Want to sit? There’s a bench outside.”
The idea of fresh air was almost as intoxicating as the coffee.
We walked into a garden area, onto a little patio decked in drought-resistant succulents and painted benches.
The hospital had tried to make the courtyard cheerful, but the only thing standing between us and the parking lot was a three-foot hedge and a few wind-tossed daffodils.
“How’s your residency?” I asked, still having a tough time reconciling Gio Russo, the guy who surfed on top of Calvin Hawkins’ van, Teen Wolf-style being a physician.
Gio rolled his eyes. “They’re trying to kill me, but little do they know I’m immortal,” he teased, then, after a beat, asked, “You want to get a drink after my shift?”
I almost laughed. “Like, a drink, drink?”
“Yes, liquid in a cup that you bring to your mouth and ingest.” He grinned. “Cupid’s Arrow.”
Dawson had always maintained that Gio had a thing for me, but I’d never believed him. Surely, he was just asking as a friend. Either way, it probably wasn’t the best idea. I had enough going on in my life and didn’t need any more complications.
I opened my mouth to invent an excuse, but my brain sabotaged me. “Yeah,” I agreed. “I could use some alcohol and greasy food.”
“Great. I’m off at eight. I’ll text you.” His pager beeped and he stood as he checked it. “You want me to walk you back up?”
“No, I’m good. Thanks for the coffee, G.”
He gave me a nod and disappeared back inside, leaving me in the sunlight with a caffeine spike and a weird, buoyant sensation that felt suspiciously like something close to hope.
I lingered outside until the wind picked up and the chill crept past the hoodie Dawson had given me, then headed back in.
I didn’t want to think about the fact that he remembered how cold I always got, or that I never remembered to bring a sweater.
My heart didn’t have the bandwidth to process that information.
Those were the things that mattered to me.
Not flowers. Not jewelry. Not fancy restaurants.
A hoodie because you know I get cold and always forget to bring a sweatshirt after not being with me for twelve years—that’s romantic.
Which is why I was absolutely not going to dwell on it.
It shouldn’t surprise me. Dawson’s love language is acts of service. Which, again, I wasn’t going to dwell on, because he doesn’t love me. He cheated on me a dozen years ago, only someone delusional would think that he still had feelings.
Right? Yeah. Right.
The automatic doors whooshed open and I headed back inside. The lobby was busier now, a couple of little kids zoomed past the nurses’ station, one on crutches, chased by a mother who looked two seconds from tears. The world spun on, no matter what.
I stepped into the elevator with a woman pressed into the corner, scrolling through her phone.
She wore scrubs, but unlike Nurse Jackie, these looked tailored and expensive, like she’d ordered them in six different colors from some boutique in LA.
I recognized her instantly, although it took my brain a beat to connect her to something non-hospital related.
It was the woman from the wedding. The one who’d danced with Dawson, all shiny-haired, honeyed limbs, and endless smile. She pushed off from the wall and began to walk out, but when she saw me, she retreated back into the corner and stayed on.
“Hi,” I said, mostly because I couldn’t not, as I pressed the third-floor button. I didn’t do well in awkward situations. I’d been known to get hives, which Dawson used to tease me about, saying I was literally allergic to being uncomfortable.
“Hey,” she replied. Her voice was deeper than I’d expected, rich and musical. “You’re Buddy’s granddaughter, right?”
“I am, yes.” I nodded. “Sadie.”
“Dr. Chang.” She offered a hand. Her fingers were so slim and delicate, and her nails were perfectly manicured with a gloss finish.
She had really great nail beds, which was an odd thing to be jealous of, but I’d always wished I had better nail beds.
“You can call me Angie. I’m the attending in the ER.
I was on the night your grandfather was admitted. ”
“Oh, wow, okay, that’s…” I stumbled over my words because as a side effect of my allergy to awkward situations, small talk had never been a survival skill of mine. “Um, yeah, thank you.”
She smiled, but there was something inscrutable at the corners of her mouth, a tension that I couldn’t quite place. She turned her attention back to her phone. “He’s tough. I just moved here, but everyone says he’s somewhat of a legend in Valentine Bay.”
“Yeah, that’s what he tells me,” I joked with a grin.
Just moved here? I wondered if she and Dawson were serious.
Had she moved to Valentine Bay for Dawson?
I checked her left hand for a ring but didn’t see one.
That didn’t necessarily mean anything. A lot of engaged people, especially in fields where they would have to take their jewelry off and on, opted not to wear their wedding or engagement rings.
Was Dawson engaged? I was kicking myself for not asking him more questions. No, not more questions, any questions about his personal life.
We fell into silence as the elevator climbed.
Above the faint hum of the machinery, I could feel Angie watching me, not unkindly, but with a species of curiosity that bordered on appraisal.
I wondered what she’d heard about me, if anything.
Had Dawson mentioned our history? If he hadn’t, had someone else?
Despite not living in Valentine Bay for over a decade, I was pretty sure the majority of people still knew about me, about us, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe I’d just frozen our relationship in time because I left, and everyone else, Dawson included, has moved on.
“So are you staying out at Lockhart Ranch while you’re in town?” she asked, not looking up from her phone as she scrolled.
“Um, for now—”
The elevator doors opened on my floor as the intercom paged Dr. Chang to the E.R.
I lifted my hand in an awkward wave as I stepped off. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around.”
She was already pressing the down button, not paying me any attention.
The doors closed without another word, leaving an odd taste in my mouth for the entire interaction.
I walked back to Buddy’s’ room and wondered if Angie had remained on the elevator just to ride it with her boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend.
I was so tempted to text Dawson and ask him about her, but I knew it was none of my business. Still, I wanted to know, was it serious? She was a drop-dead gorgeous doctor, he’d be an idiot if it weren’t serious.
And I still cared about him, I wanted him to be happy and she had a lot going for her. So why did I feel jealous? Why did the thought of her going home to him make me want to stab my heart?
Yeah, I definitely needed a drink. Cupid’s Arrow at 8:00 p.m. could not come soon enough.