Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Chapter Two
Natalie
Surely he’s not here for me. There are three other graduates he helped train as well. For all I know, he could be good friends with one or two of them and has come tonight to support them. Except, he’s starting to round the edge of the room and beeline toward my table. I watch him with my breath caught in my throat, following his every step until he glances over and catches my gaze.
I immediately jerk my attention back to the stage.
I keep my spine perfectly straight, my dessert spoon poised gently in my hand as I count the seconds until he nears.
His hand touches the back of my chair and I nearly jump. Then he deftly takes the empty seat on my right. He and Noah exchange a silent nod in greeting, cognizant of Dr. Patel speaking on stage. I should probably greet him somehow as well, but instead, I act like he’s not there, because…well, how can he be there? It’s so unexpected I’ve lost all social skills, which is troubling because I possessed so few to begin with.
Connor has no choice but to lean in close to address me. I catch a whiff of his subtle cologne and my eyes flutter closed as he whispers quietly.
“Sorry I missed dinner. I’m on call and we had a late admit.”
He’s apologizing for being late?! Who cares that he’s late! Why is he even here at all?
It’s complicated because it’s normal and even expected for him to show up. Most of the other attendings are here to support us as well. But he walked in and came to my table, took the seat beside me even though he’s Noah’s friend, not mine.
After his whispered words, he pulls back to assess my reaction and our eyes meet again. I have the ridiculous urge to wet my lips, as if they’ll be going into action at any moment. They won’t be. Not even when he glances down at them briefly before turning his full attention to Dr. Patel. A waiter arrives and lightly places a dinner plate in front of Connor, who happily accepts it. If he’s anything like me, he hasn’t had a decent meal all day.
I turn my gaze to Noah, looking for answers, but he shakes his head, subtly informing me that he had nothing to do with this.
My chest tightens painfully.
I catch a snippet of what Dr. Patel is saying on stage.
“—has gone above and beyond in her time in our program. During her last two years of residency, she was the president of St. Vincent’s Student Clinic, which, as many of you know, provides crucial healthcare services to the underserved populations in downtown Boston. On top of that, she served on three medical mission trips. In her chief year, she co-authored two research articles. And, as if all that wasn’t enough, she also had the highest score out of all fifth-year residents on the American Board of Surgery In-Training Exam. Without further ado, please join me in celebrating Dr. Martin as she comes on stage to accept the ABSITE Master Award.”
I’ve been expecting this—after all, I’ve won it a few times in my years of residency—but still, it’s surprising to hear my name called over the microphone. When a few seconds pass and I still don’t stand up, Noah chuckles and stands first, tugging my chair out for me.
The crowd laughs, and I try to play off my embarrassment as I take careful, measured steps toward the stage, pleading with my feet to deliver me up the stairs without tripping. Everyone’s eyes are on me as I accept the award from Dr. Patel and then turn to pose beside him with my new heavy plaque clutched in a shaky hand. The photographer takes his sweet time snapping away. He adjusts a setting on his camera and tells us to hold still. My smile takes on an awkward, strained edge, and I know I’ll look back at this photo and cringe at how weird I look. While I’m up there, I chance a quick glance over to Dr. Easton. It’s only meant to be a second—less even—but I linger, ensnared. I’ve never been able to get over how handsome he is. He has honey brown hair, twin dimples, a quarterback physique, and all-American charm. He’s the kind of guy who looks like he’ll mind his manners right up until he slides his hand up your skirt on his parents’ yacht. He’s watching me with unwavering concentration, his gaze unapologetically intense. A shiver trails down my spine and the photographer prods me to smile. I realize I’ve just been staring, slack-jawed. I quickly pull myself together, propping up a big smile for the camera and leaving it in place as Dr. Patel hugs me gently. “You deserve this, Natalie. You really do.”