Neither had survived.
All needless deaths, and yet having had her hands on each of them, she felt the weight of their passing as if it’d been her fault. She didn’t know why sometimes the chaos and trauma she saw hit her harder than others, but tonight was one of those times. Looking around the cafeteria at the groups of people talking and comforting each other, she reached for her phone. Craving the comfort only her mom could supply, she called home.
“Hey, baby,” her mom answered softly, sleepily. “Are you okay?”
Horrified, she looked at the time. It was ten P.M. Which was one A.M. for her parents. “Oh my God, I forgot how late it was for you. Go back to sleep.”
“No, I’m so glad it’s you.” Her mom’s voice was more alert now, and there was a soft rustling, as if she was sitting up in bed. “I was hoping to hear from you this week. Are you okay? Is anything wrong? When are you coming home?”
“Mom.” Charlotte couldn’t have stopped the emotion in her voice if she’d tried. “I’m so sorry I woke you.”
“Enough about that. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing really.” She cleared her throat, but the emotion couldn’t be budged. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“Ah, honey. Tough night?”
“Yeah.” She closed her eyes and let her mom’s voice wash over her. She missed her. Missed the big old kitchen, where her mom had never had a problem baking. The whole house was always scented with something delicious.
“What happened, Lottie?”
“Oh, you know how it goes at work,” she managed.
“I do.” Her mom had been a nurse before she’d retired a few years ago. A small-town private nurse, but she’d seen her share of horror. “Remember what I told you to do when it gets to be too much?”
Charlotte found a laugh. “Drink?”
“Find a partner. And jump their bones.”
“Mom.”
“Look, I don’t pretend to understand why you don’t want someone in your life. I mean, okay, after what you went through, I actually do understand, but it’s been years and lots of therapists, and—”
“I’m fine, I promise.”
“But—”
“Not now, okay?” She rubbed at the tension headache forming between her eyebrows, the one that would’ve been erased by a thick, gooey homemade brownie. “Not here.”
“Okay, baby. I hear you. How long of a break do you have?”
“Maybe twenty minutes.”
“You’re going to eat, yes? You need to eat. Preferably protein, not just a quick grilled cheese.”
“I cooked,” Charlotte said. “I went all out and made turkey and stuffing.” She opened her glass food container and had to admit, she’d done a damn good job. “I brought my leftovers.”
“You use my recipes?”
“Of course.” She left off the failed attempts at baking brownies. “I miss you, Mom.”
“Oh, honey. We miss you too. I sure wish you could’ve made it home for the holidays.”
“Me too.” Charlotte looked out at the sea of exhausted hospital employees around her. “But there are just so many staff members with young kids this year who wanted to be home with their families.”
“So you volunteered.” Her mom’s voice was thick with emotion. “Now we only see you when we can come to you. Which is fine, I understand, I just . . .” She sniffed. “We miss you so much.”
Charlotte was staring at the floor, trying not to lose it, when two sneakers came into view, topped by long legs covered in green scrubs. She knew those beat-up sneaks. She knew those long legs. “Mom,” she said softly, closing her eyes, ignoring the man in front of her, “please don’t cry.”
“I’m not. I’ve just got something in my eye.”
Yeah. Her too. “I’ve gotta go, okay? I love you. Tell Daddy I love him, too.” She disconnected and pretended she didn’t feel the weight of Mateo’s gaze as he studied her. When she thought she had herself together, she lifted her face to his.
There was no doubt that he took in the ravages the night had brought because his eyes softened. “My mom doesn’t understand why I can’t always get the holidays off either,” he said.
She looked at him for a long beat, quite positive that her reason for not going home was a whole lot different from his.
He looked at her right back. No smile, exhaustion in every line of his scrub-covered body. She knew his night had been just as rough as hers. With a sigh, she gestured to the empty chair across the table from her.
He sat, but in the chair right next to her, then eyed her food. “I’ll swap you half my dinner for half of yours.”
She eyed the huge piece of cherry pie he set in front of him. “That looks more like dessert than dinner.”
“It’s a dessert sort of night.”
True that. “Homemade or store-bought?” she asked.
“Homemade, straight from my mom’s oven from a big family dinner last night. Which you were invited to, only you didn’t call me back.”
“I’m sorry.”
He chuckled, whether because he didn’t believe her or because he appreciated the lie. “It’s okay, family can be a lot.”
“I like them,” she said.
He lifted his head and held her gaze. “But?”
“But . . .” She squirmed. “I need to work up to that.”
He nodded. Easy acceptance. That’s what she got from him, always.
He divided the piece of pie in half and then put his half on the lid of the container and slid the rest to her. He’d given her the bigger half, and right then and there she knew. He was the One.
If she’d been ready for the One, that is.
Taking the deal, she pushed her food toward him.
With a fork, he scooped up a bite of turkey, dragged it through the dollop of gravy, then scooped some cranberry sauce on top.
She stared at him in horror.
“What?” he asked.
“You mixed everything up!”
“And . . . we don’t do that?”
“Absolutely not,” she said. “The foods shall never touch.”
He slid her a look. “You do know what happens when we eat them, right?”
Okay, so he was definitely not the One. Huge relief.
He ate the bite and closed his eyes in bliss as he chewed. When she started to speak, he held up a finger, indicating he needed silence, so she shut her mouth, watching as his entire body relaxed and tension drained with each passing second.
“Oh. My. God,” he finally said, opening his eyes. “First you kick ass in the OR, and then take the championship in the infamous Moreno snowball challenge, and now this? I’m going to need you to marry me.”
She laughed. “You’re an idiot.”
“Yeah, no doubt. But damn, woman. You’re an angel in the kitchen. This is amazing. You’re amazing.”
She tried and failed to keep the words from warming her from the inside out. “Do you have a lot of family dinners?”
“Yes. There are a lot of birthdays. I get out of most of them thanks to work, which they pretend to understand. But they don’t, not really.”