CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Scarlett
My stupid heart hasbeen doing flips in my chest since I saw Austin turn around at the festival. There’s something hot about a guy who prefers a plain t-shirt and a torn pair of jeans over expensive threads that never last more than a few washings. In Boston, you wear your income on your body most of the time, so it’s rare to find rugged looking guys in the city. I kind of have a thing for that look, so I’m not complaining about that part of this town. Actually, I’ve gone a few days without a negative thought about Blytheville. It’s way easier to get around than Boston. Besides the heat factor and our small living space, Brendan seems to love it, so things might just be okay here for a while.
“Are you enjoying your new job?” Austin asks as we walk.
“Yeah, I do kind of like it. Everyone is super friendly. It’s nice, and a pleasant change of pace for me.”
“You seem different,” he tells me. “More relaxed, maybe.”
“Well, in my defense, you did meet me under shitty circumstances.”
“True.”
“Can I say something rude?” I ask. I’ve been working on asking before spitting out my inappropriate thoughts. It seems to bode better for me here than my filterless ways.
“Do people actually agree to this kind of question?” he asks with a snicker.
“Not usually. I typically just say what I’m thinking without asking permission.”
“You can say what you’re thinking with me. I won’t judge.” He looks over at me and huffs with a nod that says he thinks I’m being funny and not serious. “You crack me up.”
It hasn’t been often that people have told me I crack them up. In any case, I don’t think he’s laughing with me. “You don’t strike me as the nurse type of guy. If I saw you in your casual clothes and didn’t know where you worked, I’d think you might enjoy an outdoorsy kind of job.”
“I wouldn’t necessarily call that rude, but maybe stereotypical,” he says, deepening his voice at the trailing end of his statement. “However, since I grew up on a farm and still tend a farm after work hours, I think you hit the nail on the head.”
“How the hell do you have time for all that?” I ask him. I could hardly manage an eight-hour shift then go out and have a few drinks when I was at home. I can’t imagine going home to more work.
“I do what I love. Simple.”
“You love taking care of people.”
“I do,” he says.
“Hmm. That’s nice of you.”
“I try.”
We walk through the parking lot of the hospital and weave through the scattered cars until we reach the sliding emergency doors. “How old are you?” I ask him.
“Thirty.”
“You hit the hill, huh?”
“Hey now, watch it, missy. Just because you’re only twenty-nine doesn’t mean you’re far behind me.” I’d ask how he knew my age, but he’s had his hands on my files. I’m sure he knows way more about me than I know about him.
“What’s going on, Austin?” the receptionist asks. She’s a bit older than most of the staff I’ve seen here but seems as nice as everyone else.
“How long is the wait, Mary?” Austin asks her.
“What do you need?” Mary asks.
“This is Scarlett. She was treated here for a broken wrist last week, but she has some swelling under her cast and her fingers are discolored.”
“Radiology is open, and Dr. Lane is finishing up his shift right now. Do you want me to alert them?”
“Please,” he tells her.
