"I know you do."
He clapped me on the shoulder and headed back to the day room, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the lingering warmth of Jimmy's smile.
I settled into my office to finish the incident report — simple public assist, no injuries, no complications. But as I filled out the forms, my mind kept drifting back to that moment in the ER, to the way Jimmy had looked at me like I was the best part of his night.
For the first time in years, I found myself looking forward to getting off shift for reasons that had nothing to do with sleep or solitude. I found myself thinking aboutcalling him, maybe suggesting another dinner, maybe taking the risk of letting him see a little more of who I was behind the uniform.
Maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop being so careful all the time. Waiting for chance encounters at the hospital wasn't a plan. It was leaving things to fate, and I didn’t believe in fate. I believed in assessing a situation and acting. This situation required action.
My thumb hovered over his contact. My heart hammered against my ribs. This was a different kind of risk, a vulnerability that felt more dangerous than walking into a burning building. But the memory of his smile, of the quiet strength in his hands, pushed me forward.
Thanks for letting my crew feel useful. They get restless when they're not breaking things.
It was a safe opening. Acknowledging the professional context. I watched the three little dots appear and disappear, my breath held tight in my chest.
Jimmy
Anytime. Glad we could call in the professionals. Hope we didn't interrupt your night too much.
Our night was a biohazard-in-a-bag festival. Breaking down a door was a welcome change of pace.
Jimmy
Ha. I know that feeling. Noro Night is a special kind of hell.
The easy back-and-forth felt comfortable, familiar. I took a deep breath and typed the real reason I was texting.
When’s your next day off?
The question hung there, direct and unambiguous. It was a clear statement of intent. My intent.
The dots appeared again, slower this time. I could almost picture him on the other end, surprised, maybe trying to figure out if he was reading it right.
Jimmy
Tomorrow night- tonight?- whatever 12-16 hours from now is, is my Friday. I'm off for the next two.
Good. I’m taking you to dinner tonight. My treat. You can tell me more stories about what people bring to the ER in Ziploc bags.
I hit send, a feeling of pure, terrifying resolve settling over me. I had taken control. I had made a plan. And whatever happened next, it would be on my terms.
Jimmy
I'd like that. A lot.
A slow smile spread across my face. Maybe this was how it was supposed to feel. Not like being taken care of, but like meeting someone halfway, an equal partnership built on mutual respect and a shared understanding of the beautiful, messy, chaotic world we lived in. Maybe, just maybe, this was what hope felt like.
chapter
fourteen
The high fromseeing Izzy was still coursing through me as I updated patient charts at the nurses' station. Her crew's approval, that moment when she'd said "it was more than that," the way she'd looked at me like I was the best part of her night — it all felt like a promise of something good coming.
My phone buzzed with another text from her:
Izzy
Looking forward to tomorrow. Any restaurant preferences?
