Her expression contorts into one of frustrated anger. “I think I prefer an aneurysm over talking to you. Get out of my face.”
She begins walking away, and for a moment I note her attire. Her hair is pulled back in that same tight bun, scrubs replacing the running clothes from the park. When we were talking, I noticed that the bruise on her face has faded to a yellowish green. Better but still visible.
She suddenly stops and turns around. “You wouldn’t happen to be here looking for a keychain, would you?”
My eyes widen. “You found it?”
I cover the distance between us, and she immediately steps back. “Yeah. And I called out to you, but you’d already left.”
“Why not give it to me that day we met in the park?”
She stares at me as if I’m a very particular kind of idiot. “You think I carried it around with me as a memento, just hoping to run into you by chance?”
“You could’ve mentioned it,” I retort.
“Sorry,” she drawls. “I was busy rescuing your child. My bad.”
I wince. “Fine. Can I have it now?”
“It’s in my locker. Come with me.”
I do, watching the sway of her hips as she leads me through the hallway toward the staff area. The break room is empty whenwe enter. She goes straight to a locker, spinning the combination lock.
“I wouldn’t have expected you to keep it,” I say, leaning against the wall.
“It looked worn out.” She pulls open the locker and retrieves the keychain from a small shelf. “I assumed it meant something to you.”
She hands it to me, our fingers brushing. Her skin is soft and warm. The contact lasts a second too long before I close my fingers around the familiar soft fabric. The relief is so strong it makes my throat tight.
“Thank you.” The words come out quieter than I mean them to.
“You’re welcome.” She turns back to close her locker. “Now if that’s all, I really do have patients, so you’re welcome to scram.”
Despite her tone, she looks exhausted. There are shadows under her eyes, and her movements have a heaviness to them.
“Long shift?” I ask.
“Is there any other kind?” She doesn’t look at me.
“You should take better care of yourself.”
That gets her attention. She turns, one eyebrow raised. “Excuse me?”
“You look tired.”
“How observant.” Her voice drips sarcasm.
“I’m serious.” I pocket the keychain carefully, making sure it’s secure. “When’s the last time you slept more than four hours?”
“When’s the last time you minded your own business?”
A grin tugs at my mouth despite myself. I step closer, watching her pupils dilate even as she lifts her chin in defiance. “Is this how you talk to everyone, or am I special?”
“You’re not special, Mr. Wolfe. You’re just persistent.” She moves toward the door, and I catch the quickening of her pulse. “And I need to get back to work.”
“Have dinner with me.”
The words are out before I can stop them. Where the hell did that come from?
