“You’re rather pleased with yourself.”
“Not in a pompous way. I guess you could equate it to that feeling an expectant mother has hearing the heartbeat of the child growing inside of her the very first time.”
She had no reply. It was miraculous what he accomplished – a miracle. She read up on the surgery and in awe of his expertise and skill. It was a complex repair. Hand vascularization was delicate work—tiny vessels, high pressure.
“Your circulation is back to near-normal levels," he continued, tapping the tablet to log in the Doppler readings.
He put the device down and gently picked up her hand, feeling the skin.
The contact was electrifying, sending a current up her arm prickling her skin.
She shivered.
He noticed.
She noticed he noticed.
He smiled warmly in return and massaged the area – not that he needed to but, wanted just to touch her.
"The numbness in your fingertips, he continued massaging, is likely just the peripheral nerves taking their time to wake back up after the vascular crisis. Nerve regeneration is slow, but given how the blood flow looks, I expect it to continue to improve."
"No more turning blue?" Randi asked, a vestige of anxiety in her voice, as she slipped her hand from his.
"No more turning blue," Brew affirmed. "You can put away the heavy winter gloves in the house.Your hand is warm, the blood is flowing."
He handed her a pamphlet on hand therapy.
"The surgeon repairs the pipes, but the hand therapist brings the function back. This is what Trinity will switch up during your next sessions as a heads up. Start focusing on those grip-strengthening exercises. Gentle at first, of course. No heavy lifting for another three weeks. You’re home free."
“No more office appointments?”
“Not unless you miss me and want to stop by.”
She blushed.
He smiled and lifted his hand to tuck a loose golden tendril behind her right ear.
He offered a hand to help her down.
She hesitated briefly before accepting it.
She stood closely facing him and couldn’t help feeling a profound sense of gratitude. The hand that had been on the verge of needing emergency intervention, that had been cold and silent for far too long, was now warm and pulsing with life.
"You've given me my life back, Doc – I mean, Brew," she corrected, reaching to shake his hand—with her left, then cautiously with her right. “I … I wish there was some way to thank you for saving my hand.”
He tenderly palmed her right hand between his and gazed deeply into her amber eyes.
They held the rich, warm color of aged brandy, a striking, rare amber that seemed to vibrate in the low light. She wasn't just looking athim; she was studying him with a slow, deliberate intensity, a "wolf-eyed" gaze that suggested she was measuring the depth of her own attraction.
The soft light in the room caught the golden flecks in her irises, creating a warm shimmer that made her gaze steady and captivating. When she smiled, her eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, revealing a genuine kindness beneath the focused attention. As she returned his gaze, not wanting to leave, the ambient glow of the room seemed to reflect within them, suggesting she was fully present and captivated by his presence.
He took both her hands in his, drawn in by her attention and her amber eyes conveying a blend of admiration and gentle affection, bridging the space between them.
“Agree to have dinner with me. Please. Let me have the chance to learn more – spend more time with Randi Caleb, the artist, the woman.”
She chewed at her bottom lip, wanting to say yes, afraid of taking the chance, missing him already.”
He playfully raised his right hand three fingers extended, mimicking the Boy Scout salute and vowed.
