It nearly comes tumbling out of my mouth, but instead I shift in my seat again and change the subject.
“So…I have something to tell you.” Might as well lower the boom now. “Paps got a picture of us leaving for lunch together. Twitter blew up. There might be minor conjecture that we’re together.”
Ren hits the brakes hard, lurching us forward. “I’m sorry, what?”
“It’ll blow over, Zenzero.” I grip the handle above the car door, just in case I’m in for another jolt.
A furious blush crawls up his neck and darkens his cheeks. “Oh.”
“Oh?” I poke his shoulder. “You’re going monosyllabic on me.”
He starts sputtering, his cheeks darkening to raspberry red.
I try to ignore that stab to my pride. Is it so terrible to be temporarily linked to me this way?
“Ren. Relax. It’ll die down on its own. And if you want it to go away faster, put yourself out there and go on some actual dates. Got yourself seen with another woman—”
“No,” he says sharply. Taking a long slow exhale, Ren grips the steering wheel tight, then relaxes his fingers. “Sorry, that came out harsh. I’m flustered. What I meant to say was, I’m not interested in dating right now.”
A weird surge of jealousy pricks me. Who is this woman he’s waiting for, who has this deep claim on his heart?
“This woman better be worth it, Bergman.”
His mouth is tight. He shakes his head. “I’m…it’s not…” Sighing, he turns the van into the hospital parking garage and nabs an accessible parking space. I pull out my parking sticker and hook it around his mirror.
“Will this impact your job?” he asks. “Do you want me to touch base with Darlene?”
I shake my head. “Don’t worry. I already emailed her to explain earlier. I’m just sorry you have to deal with people thinking you’re with me—”
“Frankie.”
I freeze mid-unbuckling. “Yes?”
Ren turns in his seat and locks eyes with me. “I’d be flattered if someone thought you were with me.”
My ears ring. A dull ache tightens my heart as every alarm goes off inside me.
Danger! Danger! You are catching feelings for Ren Bergman.
While living with him. And trying to keep my professional integrity intact. And keep my heart sealed off.
Shitty shit shitballs. Terrible, terrible timing, Francesca.
I throw open my car door, which I know will end this conversation, at least for now, because Ren is hell-bent on chivalry. He all but sprints to my side, holding open the door and offering me a hand, like he does every time we descend the travel bus and he’s ahead of me.
Not because he thinks I’m fragile or I can’t do it on my own, but because Ren should have been born two hundred years ago, when men stood as women entered a room, and courtship was stolen kisses in moonlit gardens.
“We’re not done with this conversation,” he says firmly.
I pat his shoulder reassuringly and stifle my grin. “Whatever you say, dear.”
11
Ren
Playlist: “Port of Call,” Beirut
I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not—
Carbuncles. I’m crying.
I’d ask whose idea it was for me to read Wherever You Are, My Love Will Find You to a group of toddler and preschool-aged patients, but I have no doubt it was Frankie’s doing.
She leans against the wall, with a smile that’s so dangerously beautiful, I’m worried my heart’s going to beat right out of my chest. At least I’m at a hospital. Someone could probably do something about that here.
“You okay, Mr. Ren?” My new little buddy, Arthur, smiles up at me and adjusts his glasses. He’s sitting close and rests his small hand on my arm.
“Yeah, Arthur. I’m okay. Sometimes I feel big feelings and they make me have tears.”
Arthur’s smile widens. “Me too. I cry when things hurt. And when I miss my family. Daddy told me that’s okay. He said mommies and sisters aren’t the only ones who cry. Brothers and daddies have tears, too.”
“That’s what my daddy told me when I was little, too.”
Arthur grins and leans in closer, poking the book. “Can you read more now?”
“Right.” Picking up the book, I clear my throat and blink away the wetness blurring my vision. “‘So hold your head high and don’t be afraid to march to the front of your own parade. If you’re still my small babe or you’re all the way grown, my promise to you is you’re never alone.’”
I swallow another lump in my throat. Christ, these books. It doesn’t help that half of these kids have parents who can only visit occasionally. California’s a huge state, and this is a top hospital for childhood illnesses. A lot of these kids’ parents have to work to pay for their child’s treatment while living hours away. If anyone needs to be reminded that love doesn’t fade when Mommy or Daddy leave for a while, it’s these little ones.
I glare up at Frankie who’s holding her phone with the concentration of one filming a video, biting her tongue square between her front teeth. She always does that, and it always stirs my body.
I’m starting to have a response that is beyond inappropriate for a children’s hospital reading time, so I blink away and refocus on the book. After I finish reading, we make a craft, eat some healthy snacks, and I give hugs goodbye, promising Arthur I’ll come by soon and say hello again.
Walking down the hallway, I notice Frankie’s limp is a bit more pronounced, but I’ll be damned if I say anything about it or offer to pull the van right up to the exit. She’ll shove that wand of hers up my butt faster than I can open my mouth to say sorry I asked.
“Well, that was a home run,” she says. “And I won the bet with Nicole in PR.”
“What bet was that?”
She grins as we stop in front of the elevators and pushes the down button. “That you couldn’t read that book with a dry eye.”
“Wow. I made you some money with my soft side, Francesca. How nice to be used for profit.” She shoves me, and bounces backward, since my body doesn’t budge. I catch her by the elbow and steady her. “Easy.”
Frankie peers up at me. Heat slides through my hand, as I hold her arm. She flexes her lean bicep underneath my grip and cocks an eyebrow. “Careful,” she says. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
I give the muscle an experimental squeeze, narrowing my eyes in feigned concentration. “Impressive.”
Her smile fades as her gaze drifts to my mouth. And suddenly it doesn’t feel like we’re being playful. Not anymore.
The elevator door springs open, I drop my grip, and the moment is gone.
Once we’re in the van, making our way down the 110 South toward Manhattan Beach, Frankie disappears into her phone, muttering to herself as she answers emails and checks in on social media platforms. Then she picks up her phone, working her way through voicemails. I steal every possible glance I can safely take and tell myself I can handle this. I can have the woman I’m crazy about in my home and keep myself together. I can—