"No, no. Look at the dermal tension," Alex continued. Her tone was a cross between condescending and aggressive as fuck. "We're starting over. You're going to leave him with an uncomfortable wound, and that's going to lead to an ass-ugly scar. We're doing a running subcuticular closure, and that's the end of it. Where are the sterilegloves?"
Oh my fucking god.I hadn't even gotten face to face with this chick yet, and all I could think wasIs there anything you don't know?She was straight out of the Tracy Flick and Hermione Granger School for SmartyPantsing.
"Under the sink," hereplied.
I got my first real look at her when she rounded the island and started washing herhands.
Alex Emmerling was disarming. Even her hand washing was terrifyingly competent. I had to admit she was pretty hot—especially when she wasn't busy reminding everyone that she was the brightest bulbandsharpest tack in the room—but no lessterrifying.
She was long on that salty attitude, her presence punching far above her weight class. It made up for everything she lacked in height. She was a pixie, not much taller than Erin. She probably had to take those lovely legs up a stepladder to reach the top shelves. I figured she had a year or two on me, but not much morethanthat.
Her hair refused categorization. It was too dark to be blonde, too light to be brunette, and lacked the flame to be red. It existed at the intersection of all three, like an aged whiskey. Those rich, wavy strands came in sharp contrast to the severe line of her frown and the hard, determined glint of her green eyes. It didn't seem that she made a habit of smiling, but just as the Mojave Desert was known to find itself awash in wildflowers on a single spring day, those rare instances were probably worth months of inhospitableconditions.
"Where's Hartshorn?" Nick asked. "I thought he was comingwithyou."
She tilted her head to the side, her eyebrows lifting while she patted her hands dry. Then she snapped on a pair of gloves with brutal efficiency. There wasn't a man alive who didn't experience some asshole puckering from thatsound.
"I'd just finished a bowel obstruction when I saw him running into an OR," she replied. "We'll save him a plate. He'll catch up with us later." She moved behind me and said to Nick, "I'll take itfromhere."
"By all means," he said, stepping aside. "I'm going out to fire up the grill, Emmerling. You're incharge."
I stifled a groan. Sarah McLachlan and cereal were looking pretty good right now. And those lady golfers. I had no troublemutingthem.
"What's the nature of this injury?" she asked when Erin, Nick, and the tray of meat stepped outside. It was a whole new voice. Still abrupt, but it was as though she'd decided this moment wasn't entirely about her legendary skills but me—the guy with the blood and gaping wound and all theshambles.
"Rusty nail, old basement,"Isaid.
Full sentences didn't come easily to me when faced with someone I didn't know well. Without Nick or Erin nearby, I was right back to saying words in my head before they passed my lips. I hadn't yet hammered out the damage from my father beating my ass over my speech impediments asakid.
"That's no fun," she murmured. "See the time over there?" She set her gloved hand on my shoulder and pointed at the wrought iron clock in the adjoining room with her other hand. It was an upcycled salvage job Lauren discovered at a flea market in Connecticut. She was miraculous like that. "Focus on the second hand. I'll be finished in fiveminutes."
She hummed while she worked, and when she told me to anticipate a few pinches, they actually felt like pinches. Score one forGastroGirl.
"Don't people around here call them cellars?" Alexasked.
"They do," Ireplied.
"But you called it a basement,"shesaid.
"Idid."
"So it's obvious to you that I'm not from around here?" sheasked.
"No," I said, swallowing a laugh. This pixie really did believeeverythingwasabouther.
"Thenwhy—"
"Because, by strict definition, cellars are below-grade rooms in residential properties used for storing coal or wine. I don't believe this particular space was used for either. Yes, in my Bostonian mind, underground spaces are 'down cellar' but my architect's mind reaches for the technical terms first," I said. "That's why I said basement. It had nothing to dowithyou."
Honest to god, I didn't know how all of those words came out of me without a single stutter. It was like one of those freak incidents where a skydiver's parachute didn't open but he managed to tuck and roll when hitting the ground, and walked away without ascrape.
"Oh. I see," she said. "You're anarchitect,then."
Two minutes down, threetogo.
"Yes."
"What was Chapelton on your case about now?" Nick asked as he and Erin returned to thekitchen.
