Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
It only takes a few minutes to put her orders in, and before I know it, I’m three charts deep into the seven I have to review for rounds. I’m pulling up the fourth when my phone vibrates in my pocket, and since modern technology has allowed my phone to double as my hospital pager, I don’t waste any time before checking it.
My brow furrows over two missed text messages and a voice mail from an unknown number. Generally speaking, these days, if someone leaves me a voice mail, it’s because they actually need to talk to me.
Phone to my ear, I listen intently. “Hi. Noah. It’s Ashley. It’s…uh…been a while. I, well, I need to see you. Can you call me back? This is my new number, by the way.”
I shake my head and pull the phone away from my ear, pushing delete on the message without a second thought. No offense to Ashley, but I have no reason to call her back or meet up with her again. It’s been months since I last saw her, and frankly, there’s only one woman I want to see. Her name isn’t Ashley.
Quickly, I scroll over to my text inbox. The first message is from Mary—I just realized I missed your FaceTime call this morning. Kara was in really good spirits, and I took her to that little pancake place she loves, and now we’re at Bryant Park.
I type back quickly, a small smile lifting the corner of my lips.
Me: I’m glad she’s having a good day. Give her a big hug for me, and I’ll check in with you this evening.
The second is a page from the hospital, alerting me to an additional med order I need to fill before logging out. I set the phone down and click around from our chart management system to the med portal, and then back into the charts. My phone vibrates loudly on the surface of the desk just as I’m getting to the meat and potatoes of this patient’s latest bloodwork, and I grumble to myself.
Jeez. Maybe I’ll get through these charts today if—
Annoyance evaporates when I see the caller on the screen, and a big-ass smile takes over my face. Talk about a pleasant fucking surprise.
“Hey, Sammy,” I greet eagerly.
“Hey there,” she says, her affection tentative but present. “So…I… Are you at work?” I have a feeling this phone call is in some way related to her making an effort, and I truly want to do my best to nurture it.
“I am. What’s going on?”
“Are you busy?”
“I’m not too busy to talk to Sammy Baker,” I say through a smile. “I’m just finishing up going over some charts and about to go to lunch.” A flurry of sudden concern makes my brows furrow. “Why? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Everything is good,” she answers in a rush. “I’m just leaving my dentist appointment, and it’s in that medical building connected to St. Luke’s… and I have a few hours before I have to get the boys from school and go to work, and I just thought I’d call you and see if you…I don’t know…wanted to get lunch or something?” she asks. But then she quickly adds, “No pressure, though, okay? Like, seriously. No big deal if you can’t. I totally understand.”
Her adorable ramble makes me feel like a hormonal teenager all over again. I’ve got one hell of a crush.
“I’d love to buy you lunch, and I know just the place.”
“You do?”
“Oh yeah. Have you heard of the award-winning, prestigious, incomparable St. Luke’s Café?”
She snorts. “You want to buy me a cafeteria lunch?”
“Listen, Sam, you might not know this, but their chicken tenders are a delicacy. They’re basically caviar. People come from all over the city just to eat them.”
“Stop.” Her giggle is fucking music to my ears.
“Oh, I’ll prove it to you if you’re willing to meet me.”
“I can meet you in the cafeteria—I mean, prestigious café with the caviar chicken tenders—in about fifteen minutes.”
“Can’t wait.”
“So, this is an on-call room?” Sammy questions as she pops the last bite of her chicken tender into her mouth. “I honestly never thought I’d get to see what a real one looks like.”
“A real one?”
“Oh yeah. I’m an expert in the pretend ones. When I was pregnant with Seth, I watched ER, Grey’s Anatomy, House, and General Hospital like it was my job.” She snorts. “As you can imagine, the second pregnancy with a two-year-old already on my hip went a little differently.”
“So, how does this one compare?” I ask with a teasing lilt.
With only a bed, small table with two chairs, a tiny kitchenette, and a basic bathroom, I’m almost positive this is lackluster compared to the ones on her shows. In fact, a part of me feels a little bad that this is where I brought her to eat our lunch.