As I pass, the phone rings and her head sweeps up.
For a split second, her golden eyes lock onto mine as she tucks the phone against her ear, but she looks away just as quickly and falls into conversation with whoever called.
I continue into my office at the end of the hall and firmly close my door against the hubbub of the hospital.
Peace to write up all my notes in my office is rare.
I usually do them from home since there’s never any time at work, but today’s success and subsequent pushed surgeries grant me a few precious hours to write up my detailed notes and records of my actions today.
I bury myself under a mountain of paperwork and don’t rise until the light outside dims and I’m forced to turn on my desk lamp.
It’s late.
I shouldn’t stay here much longer.
Taking my phone from the top of my desk, I send a quick message to my neighbor, Auriela.
As I hit send, knuckles rap gently against my door.
“Yes?” Placing my phone face down, I brace for any possibility of bad news coming through that door, but my heart lifts unexpectedly when Snow’s face peeks around and her thin lips melt into a nervous smile.
“Mr. Thomas?”
“Yes? Is something wrong?”
She pushes the door open further with her shoulder, shaking her head, and walks in carrying a silver tray laden with food from the cafeteria. “I haven’t seen you leave your office all day, and you had a long surgery, so I thought you might be hungry.”
The second the aroma of gravy, roast beef slices, and potatoes hits me, my stomach answers for me in a loud gurgle that surprises both of us.
Snow’s brow shoots up to her hairline and a dusting of pink flushes across her golden cheeks while she sets the tray down.
“Thank you, that is kind. You’re right, I didn’t have much chance to eat today.”
“It gets like that sometimes,” Snow agrees, then she clasps her hands together. “I mean, not that I’m comparing what I do to what you do. Totally different things, and yours iswaymore important and stuff. I just mean it can get busy. Although I suppose everything I do is much easier to step away from than a surgery is for you.”
She rambles on hurriedly and her left ear, which holds back her hair, turns crimson at the tip.
“It does get busy,” I agree. “Thank you.” Adjusting my phone out of the way, I pick up the knife and fork.
Snow turns as if to leave but she hesitates at the door.
Watching her over the top of my glasses, I take her in.
Her poker-straight hair comes down to just above her waist and moves like a waterfall.
She’s wrapped in a grey pencil skirt and a white blouse, with a ladder running up the back of her tights on one leg.
Given how hectic things can be for her and people in her position, I imagine she goes through her fair share of tights.
“Actually…” Snow turns back toward me. “Mr. Thomas?”
“Xander.” While all of our interactions in the past up until this moment have been purely work-related, it’s oddly awkward to hear my name like that when she’s just brought me food.
“Xander,” she repeats. “Thank you for the coffee earlier.”
“It’s no problem.”
“Why did you do that?”
