My chest squeezes as the door closes behind him, and back out of the parking lot.
A few errands later, I push into Central Perk to meet Maggie for coffee before heading home. The smell of espresso and cinnamon snaps me out of my Christmas-rush funk and into sister mode.
Maggie’s already claimed our usual table by the window, her hands wrapped around a peppermint latte the size of her head. She has my chai waiting for me like a dutiful little sister.
“You’re late,” she says, smirking. “But you look… glowy. Suspiciously glowy.”
I roll my eyes and drop into the chair across from her. “It’s called tinted moisturizer. I've already been to Durhamand back today, fought the crowd at Wal-Mart and Target. I'm not glowy, I'm exhausted.”
“Uh-huh. But you’re smiling.” She leans in, brows raised. “Like I said—suspicious.”
“You’re weird.” I take a long sip of my chai, hoping she’ll let it go.
She doesn’t. “So? New York. With Woody. How was it, really? My phone lit up after that Robin Roberts interview. Everyone is asking, ‘Are Lane and Woody back together?’ You two practically looked like the All-American family.”
I choke on my tea, coughing into my napkin. “Maggie, keep your voice down.”
Her grin widens. “Oh my God. You’re not denying it.”
I glance around, lowering my voice. “Because it’s complicated. For Sanders’s sake, we’re not… labeling it or admitting to anything. Not yet.”
Her eyes go wide, then soft. “So itissomething.”
Her grin softens into something gentler. “Are you—” she lowers her voice dramatically “—knocking on Wood-y?”
I cover my face with one hand, groaning.
“I knew it!” She nearly claps, bouncing in her seat. “Oh my God, Lane. Finally. After all these years of co-parenting foreplay.”
“Maggie.”
“What? I’m happy for you. He’s still hot. He still looks at you like you hung the damn moon. And you've been 'hating him' when I knew damn good and well you didn't. It's about damn time.”
I exhale, fiddling with the sleeve of my cup. “We’re trying. Quietly. I’m just… cautious. You know how it was before. His job was always first. I can’t go back to that.”
Her sass drops for a moment. “Yeah, but you also can’t expect him not to be a surgeon. It’s whohe is. The same way you’re a planner, a worrier, a list-maker. If you love him, you have to love that part, too.”
I nod, chewing on her words. “I do understand how important his work is. I just need him to understand that it can’talwaysbe work over Sanders and me. If he can balance that, I think we stand a chance. We're still figuring it out.”
Maggie leans back, sipping her latte with a sly smile. “Sounds like you two need ground rules. Set the boundaries, then enjoy the benefits. And by benefits, I mean?—”
“Stop.” My cheeks burn, but I’m laughing despite myself.
Her eyes dance. “Admit it. Practical Lane might need a little reckless Woody in her life again.”
“Maybe.” I grin into my cup, heat rising in my chest that has nothing to do with the tea.
TWENTY-FOUR
Woody
The OR doors hiss shut behind me as I strip off my cap and mask, the smell of antiseptic still clinging to my scrubs. My shoulders ache in that familiar way, the aftermath of holding tension through a long case.
“Beamer,” a voice calls, low and rough from the corridor. Nate Peck emerges from another set of double doors, tugging at the collar of his scrub top. He looks as beat as I feel.
“Thought I’d find you still in here,” he says, falling into step beside me. “Coffee? Christmas Eve-Eve deserves caffeine.”
“Yeah,” I answer, my throat dry. “Definitely. I've got one more case before I'm out of here, but this one went quick, so I have some time to kill.”
