She didn’t bother with the radio on her return trip. Most of the morning chatter had been more about that missing college girl and the ongoing search efforts—a mix of police, college associates, and assorted volunteers—and the utter lack of clues. The radio host remained convinced the girl’s boyfriend was to blame for whatever atrocity had happened. Supposedly her family was flying in from England to join the search. The whole story was heartbreaking, except for the part where a public figure threw accusations without a shred of proof, based purely on general statistics. There would be a new host on at this time of day, but Lynnette didn’t have the emotional energy to risk that they were any better.
Her spot was still open, so she reclaimed it, snatched the deli bag and her purse, and hopped out. She walked in through her usual entrance, smiled but didn’t linger at the first familiar face she saw, and took the elevator to her floor.
Nerves mounted in her gut. She’d never done anything like this before. Not that there was anything wrong with a platonic lunch during open visiting hours. There were other nurses who donated free time to patient’s needs in various ways—though those were often part-time nurses, or they worked in one place and donated in another. Still, the hospital had no rules against what she was doing. So long as she kept it platonic.
Which won’t be a problem. It’s not a date.
Why in the hell would she even consider that it was a date?
The elevator released her, Lynnette drew an unsteady breath, and stepped into the newly familiar hall.
Amy looked around her monitor, a bright red straw slipping from between her lips. “Lynnette?”
“Don’t mind me,” Lynnette said, raising her free hand in a dismissive wave. She slowed her pace but angled so as not to stop at Amy’s desk. “I’m still very much off. Not really here.”
Amy squinted. “Are you?”
Lynnette pinched at her shirt to draw attention to normal-person attire. “Yep. See you later.” She gave Amy a finger wave and continued on, praying her face hadn’t been five shades redder than normal.
It’s definitely, totally, not a date.
She pushed into Lance’s room after sneaking a glance through the slanted blinds that peeked inside, making sure no one was with him. Because that embarrassment might have been too much for her already elevated heartrate. But he was alone, so it was fine. As long as she didn’t think about how relieved she felt over that fact.
Lance’s eyes widened when he saw her, his gaze rolling over her form. “Lynn?” His stare snagged on the branded bag, then jumped back to her face as a smile tugged at his lips. “Did you dress up for me?”
More heat rushed to her face that she could only stubbornly ignore. Lynnette walked around and held out the bag. “Since you’re so capable, I’m sure you can hold onto this for a minute.”
He took the bag easily.
She turned, grabbed the permanent guest chair, and hauled it closer. Because that would be more comfortable and less awkward. For no other reason. Then she lowered her purse to the floor between the chair and the cabinet she’d previously hidden against—an embarrassment she already didn’t want to think about—and took the bag from him. “While I imagine you’ve had worse, we both know hospital cafeteria food isn’t all that craveable. And there’s no reason you can’t have better, so, I brought lunch.”
Lance beamed, his pale green eyes sparkling under the glare of the fluorescent lights. “Not how I pictured our first date, but I won’t complain.”
She nearly crushed his bag of chips. “I never said anything about a date. You’re my patient, that would be highly inappropriate.” Enough to get her fired.
“I dunno, Lynn,” he teased, “you don’t look very nurse-like right now. Maybe there’s more to you than ‘Nurse Garver’.” He made it sound downright indecent and she was questioning her sanity for not bolting from the building.
Instead, she set his wrapped sandwich and the small bag of Doritos—cheesy, because he was cheesy and the thought had made her laugh—in his lap and said, “Since you insisted you could eat just about anything, I ordered what reminded me of you.” She lifted both sodas from the bag and held them up. “Which of these would you like?”
He already had a hand on his sandwich, but he looked over at the sodas and blinked in a brief silence. Then he shrugged. “Whichever one you don’t want as much.”
Lynnette frowned. “I’m fine with either.”
His lips twitched. “Are you being stubborn?”
“Are you?” She was. He kept giving her noncommittal answers and she wanted him to make a choice, to have an opinion. It was possible he genuinely didn’t care what he ate, but even then, that wasn’t all that healthy.
He studied her for several more seconds, amusement showing on his face, before tilting his head marginally to the right without ever breaking eye-contact and saying, “Root beer’s good.”
He’d left the diet soda for her. Was that the reason he’d done it? Or did he prefer root beer? Or did he just not like diet soda?
Why am I overanalyzing every single thing?
Lynnette set his choice on the cabinet top within his reach, then finally lowered to her seat with the remainder of the contents in the bag—her own lunch. She twisted off the cap of the soda and gulped down a swallow, then set the bottle on the same cabinet top so she could unwrap her sandwich.
“So,” Lance said as he lifted the first half of his already unwrapped sub toward his mouth, “since you’re off the clock, can we talk about non-medical shit? I’d like to know Lynnette beneath the scrubs.”
She watched him bite into the sandwich as her brow arched. “You mean beyond?”
