Page 16 of Late Harvest

“Oh,” Remy nodded. “Yuck. That starting up for you?”

Ok…seriously…who was this woman inhabiting her body right now? Chatting with another woman about hormones? Certainly not Arabella Remington. Today was definitely occurring in an alternate universe. She frowned at her wine glass. What the fuck was in this Cab, anyway?

Taking in Lila’s overall vibe, Remy decided on the spot to continue pushing past her intentional reserve. Her need to ease Lila’s embarrassment and discomfort distinctly outweighed her own natural reticence. “I, uh, yeah…” she began, struggling to even start a fucking sentence like a normal sentient being. “I feel for you. I’m officially menopausal now.”

“Ohhhh,” breathed Lila. “Lucky. I just started with some hot flashes. And sometimes I can’t wade through the fog of my brain to find the damn thing I want to say.”

“Fucking been there,” Remy grumbled, draining her glass. “And I still get some flashes. It’s part of why I like my OR set at Arctic temperatures.”

“Fucking sucks,” Lila added, finishing off her own glass.

“Sucks.”

For long minutes, the women sat in quiet peace, petting Chicane and in tacit agreement, not needing to fill the calm silence with chatter.

Eventually, a rather ferocious grumble followed by a growl pierced the silence.

“Was that⁠—?”

“Did your⁠—”

Remy and Lila both laughed, the latter motioning her to ‘go on.’

“I was going to ask if that was your stomach growling in sync with mine?”

“Me too.” Lila laughed and shook her head. “Three glasses of wine on an empty stomach maybe wasn’t the best idea.”

“Oh, gosh. I’m the worst. I should have offered you…something. Though the pickings are slim. Or we can order something.” It was almost eight forty-five. With luck, they could be eating by nine fifteen—which wasn’t great, but Remy was suffused with guilt for not feeding her guest. Again, Tasha Remington would be horrified at her lack of manners.

But Lila didn’t seem put out. “No worries. It’s my fault. I invaded your space at dinnertime.” Lila made stirring motions, then paused, clearly unsure about disturbing the lop.

“Here, I’ll get him.” Remy reached over, tucking Chicane into her arm the way he loved.

“I should get out of your hair. I know you’ve had a long one.”

“You too. You worked a seven-to-seven shift?”

“Yes, but I’m off tomorrow.”

“Me too. Saturday. No cases and I’m not on call this weekend—for a change.” Remy’s shoulders lifted in an awkward shrug. Peopling could be so hard.

“I love that you do that. And I know the other surgeons always appreciate the teamwork.”

Remy nodded, back to uncomfortable, and pressed a kiss to Chicane’s head. He clicked his teeth in approval. “I know it’s not common for a chief of orthopedics to take call, but I enjoy it.” And I don’t have much else going on.

“You’re doing great things at Evangelist, Doc.” Lila smiled gently and then shook her head. “And we’ll all dance a jig if you can get Troy McMasters under control.”

Remy knew she should keep a game face, but she couldn’t help the headshake and small smirk that crept across her face. “Clearly Truculent Troy isn’t a favorite.”

Lila snorted. “Truculent Troy? Oh my god, why did you insert that into my mind? It’ll be the one thing I can retrieve from the fog.”

“Sorry not sorry,” Remy laughed. “If you ever attribute it to me, I’ll deny it. But it is fitting.”

“Indeed.” Lila lifted her empty glass. “I’ll just rinse this and head home.”

“Leave it. I’ve got it.” Remy waved a dismissive hand, battling social awkwardness again. “Thanks, uh, thanks for bringing my package over.”

“Sure. No problem. Thanks for the wine. And the bunny love.” Lila whuffed a small laugh. “Ugh, I’m hungry, but too tired, and maybe too tipsy, to be bothered to eat.”