Page 6 of Just Ten Seconds

I open the wallet and see his New York State license peeking out of the credit card sleeve. I pull it out to see his very handsome face. Olive skin with a straight nose, square jaw, and a killer smile. Brown hair, blue eyes, six-one, and thirty-four years old.

Dean Cristiano Delgado.

I write Amanda Delgado as the patient name and then the address, and I look for Dean’s insurance card. It only has two names on it—his and Amanda’s. I put their group number and then place the license and insurance card onto the clipboard for the nurse to make copies of. I don’t know the medical history, so I leave that section blank.

The exam door opens, and he appears. Without his daughter clinging to his neck, his broad chest and strong arms are on display. The top buttons of his henley are undone, showcasing a gold medal against his damp skin.

There’s something about knowing his name. It makes me feel more connected to him.

“I have to sign the consent forms,” Dean says as he approaches, running a hand through his thick hair that’s slick from the rain.

“I didn’t know if she had any allergies,” I mutter as he takes a place beside me.

He smells good. Like vanilla and fresh cedar.

“How is she?” I hand him the clipboard and pen a little too aggressively.

“Doc is taking her X-rays now. Kicked me out. Is that normal?”

“Sometimes, the patient does better when Mom and Dad aren’t in the room. You guys get too nervous, and it reflects on the kids.”

“You sound like a professional.”

“I broke my collarbone when I was little. And my wrist. I was a bit of a klutz.”

“Your parents must have been a wreck every time.”

Actually, I walked myself. My mother couldn’t stand waiting rooms, and my dad, well, he didn’t like being a dad.

“I don’t remember feeling a thing. I just remember having a big bowl of ice cream after.”

“It’s definitely a pizza and ice cream night for us.” He checks a bunch of boxes and then flips the paper over to the other side. “You did good on this paperwork.”

I hold up his wallet to hand it back to him. He purses his lips and looks at it with a bewildered stare.

“I had to look up your insurance information,” I say. “You did intend for me to go through your wallet, right?”

He laughs, seemingly at himself. A soft chuckle pours from his throat, and whatever trepidation I had melts. “I’m a mess right now. I forgot I handed this to you—or rather, that I made you go into my pants for it. Sorry about that.”

He puts the wallet back in his pocket and goes back to filling out the forms. The pen stops, and his eyes dart to the side as if a thought just crossed his mind.

“Thank you for driving us. That was”—he pauses and looks back at me with a relieved smile—“very kind.”

“It was nothing. She obviously needed a doctor.”

“Trust me, there are people who will deny someone the care they need. I guess there are still good people in this world.” He speaks like he’s been through this before. I can only wonder who it was that didn’t get the help. He points toward the outside. “That music in your car, that was a musical?”

“Dear Evan Hansen. Have you seen it?”

“Me? I don’t do Broadway,” he says and then quickly adds, “Not that there’s anything wrong with musicals. I just … Amanda. She’s always asking to go. I want to take her but don’t know where to start.”

“Just pick one. You can’t go wrong.”

He sways his head in consideration. “My friend took his wife to see Kinky Boots. Said it was great—”

“Anyone but that one.” I clear my throat. “It has an awesome message about being yourself, but it might be a bit much for a little kid.”

“More kinky than boots?” He quirks a brow.