“You can help, right?”
I can’t resist.
The next ten minutes are spent moving around the room and standing on the stool with Snow’s hands on my thighs holding me in place, not that I need it, and pinning decorations to the ceiling.
From streamers and snowflakes to angels and Santa, I pin them all without a word of complaint.
With Snow’s hands on me, perfectly innocent to everyone else, I’m in heaven.
And she knows it.
Every chance we get, there’s contact.
Lingering fingers with the exchange of decorations, secret smiles, supportive hands on my legs.
I get my own back by holding her waist when she wants help placing things on the Christmas tree, but I also aid June so no one gets suspicious.
In the end, my half-hour break flies by and I’m called back to work, but not before Snow stops me in the doorway with a coffee in hand. “Here.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank you for your help, Doctor.”
Something about the way her lips curl around that word makes my gut clench, and I barely hide my smile. “If Jen gives you trouble, send her to me.”
“Oh, she will definitely be on her way,” Snow says. “Enjoy your coffee.” She turns and heads back into the staff room and my heart follows her, lingering even as I walk down the corridor.
It’s not until I reach the elevator that I spot the faint lipstick kiss on the mouthpiece of the coffee cup.
I can’t stop my smile this time and I take my first drink while sharing that secret kiss with her.
In the elevator, my phone buzzes in my pocket and my heart lifts, hoping to see a message from Snow.
No such luck.
It’s from Thea and my heart sinks.
[THEA]You didn’t call or come home, so I had to call the hospital to make sure you weren’t dead, you dick.
[THEA]You hid because you know I’m right. Don’t throw your career away for a fling, Xander. You’re better than that.
27
SNOW
“Christmas is…” June stands next to me, leaning against my desk while counting on her fingers. “Two weeks away? Less? More?”
“Something like that,” I reply, not looking up from the patient charts I’m in the process of double-checking.
“And I haven’t even thought of anything to wear to the Christmas party. Are you going to go?”
“No.”
“You never go,” June whines.
“I know. It’s just not my thing. And I say this with love because we all work together, but spending three hours drinking watered-down orange juice and party food past the use-by because Jen is so cheap is not my idea of fun.” Finishing my typing, I finally glance upward. “Besides, I’m going?—”
The words catch in my throat.
