She hesitated. “Something’s off,” she said quietly. “Something’s wrong. What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“Grandpa. You swear?”
He lifted a hand. “I solemnly swear. I’m fine, relax. And better yet, let me relax, okay? I’ve lived a long life, I deserve some joy.”
She stared at him. For whatever reason, she couldn’t get a bead on him this morning. She felt certain he was holding something back, but short of pushing him, which she knew would yield her nothing, she didn’t know what else to do. “Can you find joy in something other than Danishes?”
At that, he looked into her eyes again. “I can,” he said with quiet, warm conviction. “I have.”
She felt the threat of tears in the back of her throat and gave him a smile. “Love you.”
“Love you, too, Sugar Plum. To the moon and back.”
An hour later she was at work, running her butt off as usual. Halfway through her shift, she got a rare lull in patients. She eyed the screen in front of her, where she sat typing her reports. Then she looked around.
No one was paying her any attention.
She sucked in a breath, cracked her knuckles, and did something she was not allowed to do. She typed in her grandpa’s name, accessed his patient records—in Tahoe, all the doctors were contractors to the hospital, so all the records were stored in one system—and began to read.
Chapter 27
Charlotte’s workday was its usual crazy, so by the time she made it to the break room, desperate for caffeine and a bite of something, she was beyond famished. She crossed the room, heading to the staff fridge before she remembered she hadn’t packed herself anything.
Damn. She was channeling Jane now.
“Whatever is in your bag, it smells amazing when you open the fridge,” Sandra said to her.
Charlotte turned in surprise. “What?”
“Your lunch. There’s a big brown bag in there with your name on it. Smells like Mexican food, and I’m jealous as hell.”
Charlotte opened the fridge and gaped. Because there was indeed a big brown bag in there with her name on it, and it smelled delicious. “I didn’t pack myself anything.”
“Well then, can we pretend it says Sandra on it?” the nurse asked with a laugh.
Hell, no. Because she was pretty sure she recognized that handwriting, and the person who’d written it could cook, maybe even better than she could. So she took the bag out of the fridge and to the counter, and opened it up.
There was a glass container filled with what looked like two enchiladas, a side of tortilla chips, and pico de gallo.
Her mouth watered as she pulled out the folded note.
C,
Enjoy.
Love, M
She stood there frozen in place.
Love, M . . . ?
In her pocket, her phone buzzed, indicating an incoming text, and she pulled it out.
MATEO: Check the fridge before the vultures get to it.
CHARLOTTE: You didn’t have to!
MATEO: Actually, I didn’t. If you’ll remember, I ended up in your bed last night when I got home at midnight. My mom left me a fridge full of food. And I know you didn’t have time to cook in your kitchen, since we were cooking in your bedroom until dawn, and I didn’t want you to be hungry.
Charlotte laughed out loud, then bit her lower lip when Sandra glanced over at her. She shook her head at the nurse. “Nothing,” she said.
“Nothing my ass,” Sandra said on a grin. “I wouldn’t mind having someone put that look on my face. The one that says you’ve been kept up all night in the very best of ways. Tell me it’s Dr. Hottie Patottie.”
“There are some things a woman should keep to herself,” Charlotte said with a smile.
Sandra grinned back. “Well, whatever you’re keeping to yourself, it agrees with you.”
Charlotte headed to the ER and pulled Mateo into a corner.
“The note,” she said.
“Good, you got it. I wasn’t sure the food would be safe.”
“The note,” she said again, hearing a touch of hysteria in her voice.
Mateo just looked at her.
“‘Love, M’?”
His dark eyes never wavered from hers. “Yes.”
“You . . . love me?”
His hands came up to her face. “Yes,” he said simply.
She drew in a shuddery breath.
“I don’t expect—”
“I love you too. But—”
He winced at the but.
“But,” she said softly, “I’m not the girl who dreamed about a wedding and kids. I’m . . .” She shook her head. “I’m still not sure I see those things for myself.”
“A piece of paper linking us . . . kids . . .” He smiled into her eyes. “I can do without those things. What I can’t do without is you, Charlotte.”
Heart. Melted.
He started to kiss her, but someone was calling his name urgently from down the hall and he straightened. “We’re swamped. I gotta go. But I can’t until I know we’re okay.”
She smiled. “We’re more than okay.”
He smiled back and vanished.
Still smiling, she left the building and walked over to the urgent care next door to share her lunch with Jane.
She found her sitting behind the counter staring off into space, looking pale.
And maybe like she’d been crying.
“What is it?” Charlotte asked.
Jane just shook her head.
“Jane—”
“What is that amazing scent?”
Charlotte looked around. There was no one waiting to be seen. “Let’s take lunch.”
They went into the back, heated the container, then sat at the small staff table and shared the food.
“Mateo cooked this?” Jane asked after shoving in a few big bites. “You’re going to have to marry him, you do realize that, right?”
“It’s his mom’s cooking.”
“But he shared it with you.”
“Yes,” Charlotte said, unable to keep the small smile off her face.
Jane took in her expression and nodded with satisfaction, though the good humor didn’t make it all the way to her eyes. “He’s the One.”
Charlotte set her fork down. “You ready to talk?”
“No.”
“But you will anyway?”
Jane pushed the food back. “My grandpa has cancer.”
Charlotte felt the breath stutter in her throat. “Oh, Jane. I’m—”
“—Sorry?” Jane shook her head. “I am too.” She looked away. “I’m . . .” She stood up and paced the room. “I’m feeling a lot of things.”
“You’re angry,” Charlotte said softly.
“Damn right I am.”
“It’s one of the first emotions to hit with a cancer diagnosis.”
Jane stopped pacing, “I’m not one of your patient’s family members.”
Charlotte nodded. “Of course not. I’m sorry.”
Jane closed her eyes for a beat, then sighed. “No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. He didn’t tell me about it. I wasn’t important enough to him. I had to find out on my own.”