5
Sydney
“Coleman, can you check on the knee replacement patient?” Dr. Nazar, one of my supervisors, asks as he passes me in the corridor the following week.
“Yes, sir.” I head for the room where the patient we operated on a couple of hours ago is recuperating. “Hi, Mr. Potts. How are you feeling?”
Edmond Potts, the middle-aged father of four teenage boys, smiles blearily up at me from the bed. Beside him, his wife is seated in a visitor’s chair, holding his hand.
“Fine unless I move,” he jokes.
“You’ve kept your sense of humor,” I say. “That’s a good sign.” Sometimes that’s the hardest part. People tend to think of surgery as an end game, but it’s really only the beginning of the recovery journey. I check him over and am about to add my notes to his chart when Ken, another of the surgical residents, pokes his head around the door.
“Sydney, can I see you once you’re done in there?”
Bemused, I nod. I don’t know what Ken needs me for, but he’s a nice guy so I don’t mind helping him out. I finish up and find him waiting in the hall. He’s handsome in that prep school way some men have, with neat blond hair, expensive leather shoes, and teeth that have been whitened to within an inch of their life. He flashes them as I approach.
“What can I help you with?” I ask.
His smile becomes lopsided, almost playful. “It’s something personal, actually.”
My muscles stiffen. I’m not sure I like the sound of that, but I try to hide my reaction. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” He shifts from one foot to the other, staring at me in an appreciative way he hasn’t done before. “I saw your profile on Match-Me.”
“Oh.” Is he going to make fun of me for internet dating? Or does he think the fact that I’m on there means I’m up for a casual fuck? Because I’m not a casual kind of girl. Crossing my arms, I instinctively shield myself. “And?”
“And,” he says with a grin, “I wondered if you’d like to go out to dinner with me.”
“Excuse me?”
He shrugs. “I’ve been interested in you for a while, but I always got the vibe you were unavailable. Now I know you’re on the market, I’d like a chance with you. That is, if the interest is mutual.”
One part of what he said catches my attention. “What do you mean, I seemed unavailable?”
“Just that.” He steps to the side as a gurney hurtles down the hall, and I follow. The result is that the two of us are now pressed against the wall, too close for comfort, and the conversation adopts a new level of intimacy. “I thought perhaps you were seeing someone. There was just something about you that didn’t invite attention, and I thought you were trying to avoid it.”
“Wow.” I hardly know what to say. Have I really been giving that impression? Have I been so wrapped up in Gabe and our friendship that I shut myself off to anyone who might want to know me better, without even being aware of it? I suppose anything is possible.
“Well, I’m single. Have been for, oh, three years, give or take. The job doesn’t exactly lend itself to dating.”
He gives me a conspiratorial smile and a wink. “That’s why I thought we’d be such a good idea. We see each other all day long.”
I laugh. “So you want to take me out to dinner for the sake of convenience?”
His gaze wanders down my body again, and the smile fades. “Not just that. You must know you’re beautiful, Sydney, and damn smart.”
“Thank you.” My cheeks heat, and I have no doubt I’m blushing, although thankfully it’s difficult to tell with my skin tone. I’m not used to men being so forward with me. For the first time, I consider Ken as boyfriend material. He’s cute, friendly, intelligent, and hardworking. Not to mention his future is secure—he’s the best resident in the group, excluding me.
“So, is that a yes?”
“Yes.” For the first time, I actually feel excited about the prospect of a date. Ken is someone I could really see a future with, assuming he wants the same things I do. I picture it. Sneaking kisses when we pass in the hall, eating together in the cafeteria, buying a little house with a front garden and cute retro wallpaper. A home. That’s what I want. A place and a person with whom I can belong. That person could be Ken.
“Thank God.” His expression is relieved. “I was worried I’d crash and burn. Where do you like to eat?”
“There’s this Italian diner a few blocks away, Moretti’s. Do you know it?” As soon as I mention it, I feel guilty. Moretti’s is the place where Gabe and I go. I shouldn’t have invited him there. But the damage is done, and I can’t take it back.
“No, but I love Italian, and I’m sure I can find it,” he says. “Are you free tonight, around eight?”
