Because whatever this was becoming … it wasn’t something either of them could walk away from easily.
CHAPTER 11
The doors to Brew’s vascular practice didn't just open; they whispered, parting on quiet hinges to reveal an entrance that felt more like a boutique hotel lounge than a medical practice. The air was cool, scented faintly of white tea and something expensive, perhaps leather, calming the frantic heartbeats that often accompanied a visit to a vascular surgeon.
The reception area was a masterclass in plush, tranquil design. Soft charcoal velvet chairs, designed with deep, comforting curves, were arranged in intimate clusters, separated by low tables topped with polished white marble.
The floor was covered in a thick, sound-absorbing grey carpet that swallowed the sound of footsteps, ensuring absolute quiet.Instead of harsh fluorescent lights, custom LED lighting was layered—recessed in the ceiling, glowing behind panels of calming beige frosted glass—casting a warm, serene glow that highlighted fine art on the walls rather than medical posters.
A custom, curved reception desk, backlit by a soft golden hue, immediately anchored the room in high-end sophistication, reassuring patients that they were in the hands of a meticulous specialist.
From the lounge, a polished, minimalist hallway led to the vascular examining rooms. Here, the plush atmosphere transitioned seamlessly into, and disguised, state-of-the-art medical technology.
The examination room was deceptively spacious, dominated by a luxurious leather treatment chair that appeared more like apremium recliner than an exam table. This motorized table was designed with adjustable positioning for optimal patient comfort, with a rich chocolate-brown leather that seemed designed to put patients at ease. The walls were a neutral, calming tone, adorned with large, serene nature-inspired art that aimed to lower anxiety.
However, the "plush" feel was not at the expense of precision. In the corner sat the foundation of the suite: the advanced vascular ultrasound, its monitor and articulated arms appearing highly ergonomic and well-integrated into the design. Instead of harsh metal trolleys, the instruments were concealed behind custom, warm-toned woodwork cabinets, maintaining the clean, non-institutional aesthetic.
Lighting over the exam chair was adjustable, capable of transforming from a soft ambiance to high-intensity, focused LED beams for deep-tissue examination, ensuring that beneath the luxurious veneer was a fully equipped, high-tech diagnostic environment.
It was an atmosphere she did not expect and a sharp contrast of the hospital’s antiseptic-and-fear smell that had dominated Randi’s life for longer than she wanted to remember.
Randi brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead, her gaze moving from the examining table she propped herself upon entering with some difficulty.
Her feelings were mixed about seeing him, being alone with him in the confines of this compact, yet impressive room.
She heard muffled voices outside the examining room, and her heart began to thump wildly in her chest.
Her feelings were mixed in seeing him. She enjoyed his playfulness and the way he made her feel – special, worthy, connected. They were emotional pleasures she desired most but afraid to accept as genuine and lasting as a woman.
A slight knock on the door before it swung open still made her jump nervously.
He noticed but didn’t draw attention to it.
“So, Randi, I mean, Miss Coleb,” he quickly corrected, his tone shaky and uncertain. “That week went by fast. Here you are.”
“We had lunch, remember, just a short while ago.” she joked. “I think we’re past formalities to calling me Randi.”
"Only if you call me Brew here on in,” his tone relaxed with a blend of professional warmth and relief. “Tell me, how has the right hand been behaving? Still need a zipper-upper?"
Randi looked down at her hand. The scar—a meticulous, jagged line running from her wrist up toward the palm—was fading from an ugly red to a pale, thin silver.
"It’s... it's strange, " she admitted. "Better. But strange."
"Strange good, or strange bad?" Brew smiled, pulling a handheld Doppler probe from his lab coat pocket.
"Strange good," Randi said, testing the flexion of her fingers.
"The cold, stabbing pain I was constantly feeling is gone. The blue tint in the mornings is gone. It feels... alive. But it still feels numband my grasp is terribly weak. I … just don’t have the strength."
"That’s entirely expected after an ulnar-radial artery bypass and reconstruction," Brew explained, applying cool ultrasound gel to her wrist. He pressed a probe against her skin. A rhythmic, rushing sound filled the quiet room—whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—like a distant, roaring river.
He smiled, nodding at the sound.
"That, right there - that is the sound of success. The graft is completely patent. Excellent blood flow returning through the bypass, even bypassing that stubborn scar tissue from the injury."
He moved the probe higher up the arm, checking the brachial artery, then down towards the fingertips. Thewhooshfollowed, strong and rhythmic in every sector.
"Yeah … pure joy,” he gushed, making her smile.
