Page 65 of Sweet Heart

“Durand.”

My voice is clipped, authoritative, and hushed. If I’ve learned anything over the past few weeks of sharing a bed with her, it is that Mary sleeps extremely lightly. The smallest thing can wake her up, and once she is awake, her brain is on immediately. Unlike me, though, her body isn’t adapted to the shock that comes with an irregular schedule. Even without watching the clock, she starts falling asleep around eleven and wakes around six. Her natural rhythm is scarily accurate like that.

“Whitman here. We have a problem.”

“What is it?”

My tone softens slightly as the scrub nurse informs me that Honda had to leave due to a family emergency and that there is no attending present at the moment. I know she wouldn’t call me if she hadn’t tried Jim or Aïda first, and for the first time in my career, I silently curse myself for being the person who always picks up the phone.

“I’ll be there in 30.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

As soon as I hang up the phone, I hear a shuffle behind me. I spin around to see Mary standing in the doorway. She has thrown on one of my button-up shirts, which is now hanging loosely around her frame, and she is clutching the cuffs between her fingers.

“Baby?” she questions softly, her eyes still heavy from sleep.

“Mm, amor.”

I step toward her, pull her into my arms and tuck her under my chin. Her hands come around me instantly, and I feel her warm exhale caressing my skin. Mary’s breathing settles into a deep and soothing rhythm, and I feel myself calm down.

“You needago?”

Her words are tangled together in the most adorable way, and I can’t help but feel amused. I smile into her hair and press a warm kiss there.

“Sí.”

Her fingers curl into my shirt just a little, and she tenses for a beat. This is the part she hates most, the moment when I am being called away. I press another lingering kiss into her hair, and she hums softly. Satisfied with what she can get, even if it isn’t enough for either of us.

“I know,” I murmur before pressing my lips against her temple this time. “I hate it too.”

She lets out a soft sigh and nods, but she doesn’t complain. Instead, she lifts her head toward me with her eyes still closed, and finds my lips with her own.

Four months ago, I would have scoffed at the thought of ever being in a relationship, let alone one that could tempt me to stay home from work. But Mary’s toothbrush has found a permanent spot in my bathroom, there is a small bottle of her perfume on the dresser, and she even has her own drawer filled with shirts and underwear. She has me in a chokehold, and I love it.

I hum against her lips and let my fingers trace up her side, to the back of her neck, and into her hair. She nips at my bottom lip in an attempt to corrupt me. A low rumble escapes me, and she chuckles lightly, the sound reverberating through my chest.

“Did you know,” I murmur as my thumb caresses the back of her neck, “that sound has both physiological and psychological effects on the human body?”

“Oh?” she quips and leans back to look at me.

It is one of my favorite things about her. Whereas other people’s eyes glaze over when I explain something, Mary zeroes in and listens. She cares.

“Sí. Negative sounds can trigger stress responses. But positive sounds…” I pinch her side slightly, and she lets out a startled yelp, followed by a chuckle. I grin. “…can improve relaxation and cognitive processing.”

I lift her chin with my index finger and thumb, making her look at me.

“So, querida.” I smile and kiss her lips. “I argue that your little chuckle is vital to my day now.”

Her blue eyes grow just a little darker while the red crawls up her neck and onto her cheeks.

“Así es,” I murmur, satisfied, and then press my lips against hers once more. That’s it, indeed.

***

I’m seven hours into my now twenty-four-hour shift when there is a soft knock on the door. Just as I am about to say, ‘Enter,’ the door already swings open, and I don’t even have to look up to know who it is.

“Hermana.” I smile, keeping my focus on the charts in front of me.