See you then.
Mission accomplished. Clean, efficient. So why was my heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to beat itsway out of my chest?
At 1:55, I was sitting in my truck across from The Daily Grind coffee shop, doing nervous surveillance I usually reserved for potential fire scenes. I'd changed clothes twice, settling on dark jeans and a simple blue sweater — put-together without trying too hard.
I saw him before he saw me. Without the baggy scrubs, I could see the lean strength in his arms and shoulders. He looked younger in jeans and a gray henley, his sandy hair catching the afternoon sun. He looked... normal. Somehow, that was more intimidating than facing a whole battalion of chiefs.
When I walked in, he stood immediately, that warm smile spreading across his face.
"Hey," he said, and even that one word carried genuine warmth. "You made it."
"Wouldn't miss it," I said, surprised by how true that felt.
The initial conversation stayed safely clinical — Cap's condition, the stent placement, his improved outlook. But when we settled at a corner table he'd chosen for privacy, something shifted.
"Can I ask you something?" Jimmy said, wrapping his hands around his coffee mug.
I nodded, though my defenses automatically started rising.
"What's it like? Being one of the only women in your department?"
The question surprised me — not because he'd asked, but because of how he'd asked it. Not looking for drama, just genuinely curious.
"Lonely sometimes," I said honestly. "I have to be twice as good to get half the respect. Can't show weakness, can't have bad days, can't make mistakes. The guys I work with are great,but they forget I'm fighting battles they don't even know exist."
Jimmy nodded thoughtfully. "That sounds exhausting."
"It is." I was surprised by my own honesty. "But it's worth it. I love what I do, and I'm good at it. I just wish I didn't have to prove it over and over again."
"For what it's worth," Jimmy said, "watching you advocate for Cap, seeing how you handle yourself — you've already proven it. To the people who matter."
The sincerity in his voice made my chest tight. When was the last time someone had seen past the uniform?
We talked for another hour — about families, about careers, about the weight of choosing jobs that mattered over jobs that impressed people. Jimmy had an easy way of asking questions that made me want to answer them, of listening like my words actually mattered.
"My mother thinks I should have been a teacher," I found myself saying. "Safer, more 'appropriate' for a woman."
"Let me guess — she worries about you."
"Every single day. She lost my dad to the job. And now Cap..." I trailed off, feeling suddenly vulnerable.
"But you can't live your life afraid of what might happen," Jimmy said. "And you can't choose your career based on other people's fears."
I looked up at him, struck by the certainty in his voice. "Sounds like you've given this some thought."
"My parents wanted me to be a doctor. Better money, more prestige. But I like being a nurse. I like the hands-on care, the patient advocacy, the relationships. I don't want to diagnose and move on — I want to be there for the whole journey."
The passion in his voice was unmistakable, and I found myself leaning forward, drawn in by his conviction.
"That's why you were so good with Cap," I said. "You saw him as a person, not just a set of symptoms."
"He deserved that," Jimmy said simply. "You both did."
We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the shared humor having broken down the initial awkwardness. But I found myself studying Jimmy's face, my mind shifting into evaluation mode. There was something I needed to know about him.
"You’ve got a day-shift charge nurse named Sophia Mitchell, right?" I said, leaning forward slightly.
Jimmy looked surprised by the shift in topic. "Yeah. She's the best in the hospital. Why?"
