For my part, I dropped my phone to the floor and it wasn’t until two whole blinks later that I realized what I’d done. In that time, he’d closed the distance between us, grabbed my phone, and started polishing the screen on the fleecy interior of his hoodie.
I drew a panicked breath through my nose. He couldn’t be here. He just could not. This was my neighborhood, my coffee shop, my town—and it was my hospital too. I didn’t know how to exist in my world anymore if I had to do it with him right there, watching it all.
Last night’s dreams had been a hazy collection of moments just like this one where everything seemed fine, but then I’d do something crazy like turning to Henry during rounds and asking him to discuss the sexual position where he had the most stamina. Or we’d be in the OR surrounded by staff and residents, and I’d give him instructions, only for him to respond with, “No problem, baby girl.” I didn’t think he’d ever called me that and I couldn’t actually imagine him saying it with a straight face, but none of that mattered as much as the inevitability of my relationship with him coming to light.
He held the phone out to me. “I think this is yours.”
“Thanks.” I tried to pluck it from his hand without touching him at all though I failed miserably, instead dragging my fingertips over his palm and sliding them between his long fingers as I pulled away. It was impressive how hard I fumbled around this guy. No chill, no finesse.
He motioned to the cozy interior of the shop. “Do you live around here?”
I glanced at my phone before sliding it into my pocket. I couldn’t turn around and stroll out of the shop now, not at this point, but the thought crossed my mind. “I don’t think we should?—”
“Oh. Right.” He rocked back on his heels. “I didn’t mean to cross any lines.”
“No, I know that.” We shuffled forward. “Anyway. I’m sure I’ll see you later.”
Henry nodded. “Yeah, I?—”
“It’s not a good morning until Whitney walks in,” the barista sang, his Boston accent thick like chowder. “Same as always, sweetheart? Or you need a little somethin’ extra today?”
“Extra sounds about right,” I said with a laugh.
“I could tell. I could see it the minute you walked in. Late night at the hospital?” I nodded because it was true enough. “I got you, hon. Don’t you worry about nothin’.” He winked over the hood of the espresso machine. “You want me to toast your muffin for you too?”
I laughed as I swiped my card. “No, not today. They’re saying it’s going to be a warm one.”
“Who knows what’s happenin’ with the weather anymore. Global warming, you know?” He gave me a wry smile. “All right, you give me a minute and I’ll getcha taken care of.”
As I moved to the opposite end of the counter, I glanced over to find Henry studying the barista, his bearded jaw set and hismidnight eyes narrowed. I’d watched many expressions cross over Henry’s face though I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen so much intensity from him outside the bedroom.
It was fascinating. I had to force myself to stop looking at him. And thinking about him in the bedroom.God.I wasn’t helping myself here.
He stood beside me, silent for a long moment as we stared blankly at the menu board. When the bellow of espresso machines and milk frothers died down, he glanced over at me. “You must come here a lot. They know your order.” Henry tipped his head toward the barista. “And your name.”
His tone was even but the edges were sharp, a pointed reminder that I’d withheld my name from him until the last moment.
“It’s on my way to the hospital,” I said, “and it’s always the same people working at this hour. It’s really just a matter of routine at this point.”
“Then if I come here every day, will they want to warm my muffins too?”
“I don’t see why not.”
He made a noise that sounded like polite disagreement. “You really believe that?”
I turned my head in his direction but didn’t meet his eyes. “I do.”
He laughed and I could taste the salt in that sound. “Right. Of course.”
I wish I could say that simply being near him didn’t loosen every one of the mental laces holding me together or that his deep voice at this close distance didn’t envelop me like warm bathwater. I wish I could pretend that I didn’t feel the seams of my professional responsibility as his teacher marking my skin or that I didn’t want to press them a little harder just to see what happened.
The barista called my name. I grabbed my coffee and muffin, and marched out the door.
I really was terrible at boundaries.
It wasn’t assimple as walking away from Henry and I should’ve known that.
Ididknow it, but I didn’t expect to be confronted with that truth just a handful of hours later when I stepped into the elevator. Henry leaned against the back wall, his ankles crossed while he frowned at his notebook. His legs were a full mile long. He was in dark blue scrubs and running shoes now, a pen tucked over his ear. His forearms were bare and that was a national emergency.
