“Yep,” Angie said. “This is video from inside my bird feeder. Taylor, can you count how many that little rascal popped in his mouth? Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two…”
Meanwhile, I suddenly had a brilliant thought. “Ang, I need a Katz extractor.”
“A what-whozit?” she laughed. “Okay, you go, Dr. Green. We’ll be looking at my pet opossum.”
I popped out into the ER and walked up to a wall of supply cabinets. There was a nurse in scrubs loading one of them. I thought I would try and find it before I had to ask, so I peeked in a few doors and drawers.
Someone cleared their throat. “Can I help?” I froze, immediately recognizing a baritone that had re-played many times in my fantasies over these past months. But no. That would be impossible. Thinking I must have been mistaken, I slowly turned to find a man in dark navy scrubs. With amazing biceps, by the way. But not just any man. I was eye-level with a breast pocket that readAdam Lowenstein, Hunkadoodle.
Actually, it readM.D., notHunkadoodle,but it washim. Adam.MyAdam. The Adam from the airplane, the Adam from Turks and Caicos. Fantasy Adam that I’d slept with that last wild night of insanity.
And oh, he looked…scrumptious. The same nice brown eyes, that same pure dark brown color that I liked my coffee to be in the mornings. The thick wavy hair, the shadowy shadow of stubble that was just that way—indicating that he wasn’t trying to be hot, but rather that his facial hair just grew fast enough to be really sexy.
He was adefinitehunkadoodle.
And Iknewhim. How was this possible?
His eyes widened with recognition. But he definitely did not seem shocked or startled to see me.
I gave a little gasp. “You’re stalking me,” were my unfortunate first words. “How did you find me?”
He cleared his throat. Glanced around to make sure no one was around. “Dr. Green, I am the head of the ER.” He dropped his voice. “And I am definitely not stalking you.”
No smile. No barely turned up tip of the lips. Nada.Nothing.
“You’reDr. Grumpenstein?”
His brows shot up in surprise at the nickname, but he recovered quickly. “I was coming to find you to discuss some protocols so that we’re both on the same page when an emergency arrives. Being that you’re a pediatrician and not an ER doc.”
Wait.Dr. Green?A man whom I’d seen in all his naked glory had just called meDr. Green?Had he suffered a bout of amnesia since we’d met? Was I so unforgettable?
I would say that, judging on how he’d cried outAniat a certain particular critical time that last night, I was definitelynotthat forgettable.
“But—but why are you here? In Oak Bluff? You—you work in Chicago.” I might possibly have known that from stalking him online. Northwestern, to be exact, about three hours from here.
“My mother lives here,” he said matter-of-factly. “I moved to be closer to her.”
The whole thing sounded strange and suspicious and really answered nothing. I was so distracted that I forgot to be insulted by his “not an ER doc” comment, which was borderline insulting. But right then, my partner’s trusting daughter was down the hall waiting for me to get the things out of her nose that didn’t belong there, and Angie had only so many birdfeeder videos on her phone.
“Oh, okay,” I said as I continued to rummage through the cabinet. “I—uh—I’m looking for a Katz extractor. I know you’re new, but would you happen to know where they are?”
“We’re a fully staffed ER.” He stood beside me, reached above my head, and rummaged through the part of the cabinet that I, all five-foot-two of me, couldn’t reach. His arm grazed mine, which reminded me of when his entire body had grazed mine, and it sent all those memories flooding back—hiskindness, his care, his ability to joke. The tender way he’d kissed me.
Could this be his evil twin? I side-eyed him when he wasn’t looking. He was very tall, I’d bet six-two, even taller than I remembered. And he smelled like oranges. Everything else was the same except for the personality transplant.
Plucking out a package, he said, “Here you go. What are you planning to use it for?”
“I have a toddler with a couple of M&M’s up her nose, and I need to get them out quick and easy.”
He frowned. “You think that this is the appropriate instrument?”
“Yes, I think it will work quite well.” Was he actually challenging me?
“Maybe you should consult ENT instead?”
Okay, enough. I’d already thought this through—calling a consultant would mean having to wait until tomorrow, and Pen would have to miss work, and the pus drainage would get worse and… “I think it’s worth taking a shot.”
He pondered that, cupping his chin with his hand and tapping his jaw. Then he looked up. “Would you like some assistance?”
