I packed three pairs of black leggings. I decided to go with a high-waisted pair that has small skulls and crossbones all over it, and side pockets. It’s such a blessing when leggings have pockets. I paired it with a cropped sleeveless, white shirt, that’s sheer enough for my black sports bra to show through.
I make my way to the park that the food truck was at before. The all-black food truck with gold lettering comes into view. Side Chick. Such a funny name for a food truck. It’s perfect because the entire menu is side dishes and snacks, and they’re fucking delicious.
“Hey. Welcome back. Couldn’t stay away from Paramount, huh?” the person taking orders in the food truck says to me. They must see the absolutely puzzled look on my face because they laugh. “I’m Shaw. I own this truck. You were here not too long ago. You hung out with Jon.”
“We just had some fries,” I say nonchalantly, but I feel the blush creeping up my neck and cheeks.It wasn’t just fries.
“First time I’ve seen Jon have lunch with anyone. He’s more of a loner.”
He’s practically engaged. Has he never brought Paramount Barbie to eat here? I get the vibe that food trucks aren’t her jam.
“How long have you owned this truck?” I ask, desperate for a change in topic.
Shaw chuckles, tucking their shoulder-length, dark brown hair behind their ear. “Got it. You don’t wanna talk about Jon.” They wink at me. “I’ve had this truck for a couple of years now. It’s way more fun than being in a hot and crowded kitchen, getting screamed at by pompous executive chefs who wish their dicks were half as long as their knives.”
I snort a laugh, almost falling over. “Holy shit. Tell me how you really feel,” I say, still laughing. “What are you doing here, in Paramount? You seem too cool for this type of stuck-up town.”
“Psh. Iamtoo cool for this town. But it’s my mission to teach people that food doesn’t have to be overpriced to be considered fine dining. I make good money being one of the only food trucks in this city. Plus, I’m my own boss, and set my own hours. I can go anywhere with this truck. I like the ability to be nomadic and spontaneous.” Shaw is my kinda person. “So, what are you having?”
“Umm…” I hesitate, scanning the menu.
“We’re sharing a large basket of fries, Shaw,” Jon says walking up behind me. He’s in his scrubs and his hair is a wavy mess, like he’s been tugging it and brushing his fingers through it all day.
“We’re sharing?” I ask, recalling we had our own baskets last time.
“Yea. Don’t want you to get too full if you see something else you want to try,” he says, licking those full lips of his.
You had me at french fries, Jon.
He may come off as a sweet guy with a good heart, but Dr. Jon Jacob is looking at me right now like he wants to make a bunch of bad decisions. And I have no intentions of stopping him.
“Hmm…I think I see a couple of things I may want to try.”
17
JON
Today hasn’t beenthe worst day.
Once I got to the hospital, Dr. Nash had me meet with her. We went over our current cases and once we were done discussing treatment plans, she sat back and it’s the closest I’ve ever seen this woman come to breaking down.
Sammy’s mom came in for a meeting with us. Sammy’s dying. It could be a couple more weeks at most. The three of us sat together, completely distraught.
“Why does God want to take my son away from me, Jon?” Wendy asked me, her blue eyes tired and bloodshot from crying.
My insides twisted and my throat dried up. I’m a man of science. I don’t think religion has a place in medicine.
Not wanting to talk about God, I said the only thing I could think of. “We’re here for you, Wendy. For you and Sammy. You’re not alone.”
“I keep praying for a miracle,” she sobbed, ignoring my remarks.
I stopped believing in miracles a long time ago.
Wendy left us, and I promised her I’d come visit Sammy. Sammy’s been a special case for me. Dr. Nash understands that. Everyone on the pediatric floor adores Sammy and his mom. He’s such a great kid.
I could barely focus when doing my rounds and checking on myother patients. I was on the phone, reaching out to other hospitals and speaking with their cardiothoracic specialists to see if they have potential donors. It doesn’t help that Sammy is blood type B-negative. He’s a harder blood type to find a match for. Plus, his age, and body size. It’s just a perfect storm for difficulty.
Once I got done calling over two dozen hospitals, I noticed a stream of messages from Nicolette. She gave a deposit for the condo we saw earlier this morning! When I called her and asked why she did that when I told her we needed to talk more seriously about it, she explained there were other couples showing interest and she didn’t want to lose the unit.
