I take a look at the card, seeing that it’s supposed to go to the sixth floor. “I’ll take this up before I take off for the night.”
“Why can’t I?”
“Because, old woman, the last time you went to the sixth floor, you didn’t come back for an hour.”
She sits back in mock defeat. “It’s not my fault nurse Kevin was working and I had heart palpitations.”
I laugh, gathering my purse and coat along with the poinsettia. “Heart palpitations, my foot. You just wanted him to feel you up.”
“A lady never tells. Now, go on, get out of here. Tell Kevin I said hi. Merry Christmas, darling.”
Millie waves me off with a smile and I set to make my delivery. When I first started, I used to come up to the patient floors on a regular basis, doing everything from stocking the bathrooms with toilet paper to visiting with patients. Now, most of my shifts are at the front desk. Between directing traffic and deliveries, it gives me the flexibility to work on other projects I have going on when it’s a slow night.
I double-check the number on the card, making my way to room 623. It says the arrangement is for a man named Boomer in bed B, which I really hope for his sake is a nickname.
The room is quiet, so I do my best to stay silent as I make my way to the far bed. When I approach, I see a man sleeping and a woman about his age sitting next to him, reading, as the man I’m guessing is Boomer gets his rest. I place the poinsettia on the windowsill alongside numerous other artificial plants, get well cards, and an elaborate balloon bouquet. Whoever this Boomer guy is, he’s apparently very popular. And not eighty years old like his name suggests.
I smile at the woman and give her a small wave as I turn to exit the room, but suddenly stop when I notice the man in the other bed. The one I didn’t even look at when I walked in.
He’s the last man I ever expected to see here.
Garrett Dixon, lying on his back, sleeping with IVs and wires coming out of his arm and from underneath his hospital gown. The steady beep of the monitor signaling that everything is OK, despite the image before me.
He looks frail, and that’s never a word I thought I’d use to describe him. I mean, I don’t know him all that well, just from that night at Cullen’s music program. But just from the brief interaction we had, he seemed strong. Confident. Like nothing could knock him down.
And oh yeah, sexy as all get out.
It’s that last thought that has me shaking my head, trying to erase the thought from my mind. For weeks after that night, I thought I might have imagined how attractive he was. And then I’d lose sleep for the guilt taking over me for having those thoughts. I shouldn’t be fantasizing about a married man, no matter how good looking he was. And I met him for five seconds. Who honestly does that?
As I watch him, even sleeping in a hospital bed with a heart monitor beeping, I know I didn’t imagine anything.
Great, there’s another night of guilt-ridden sleep.
He stirs, and I’m frozen in place. I don’t want him to think I’m watching him sleep like some sort of creeper—even though I totally am—but part of me doesn’t want to move, either.
It’s then I notice that there are no flowers around his bed. I see one drawing on his tray table and I recognize Cullen’s coloring skills. I let out a sigh of relief, knowing that at the very least, Mark, Charlie, and the kids have been around to visit. Being Christmas Eve, it makes sense that they are at their house, getting ready for Santa’s big arrival.
Where is his wife? Shouldn’t she be here? Visiting hours aren’t over for another few hours. And it’s flipping Christmas Eve, for goodness’ sake! No one should be alone tonight, especially in a hospital.
I might not know about marriage, or even what a healthy relationship looks like, but I’d have to think that if my husband was in a hospital on Christmas Eve, you bet your butt I’d be there until they kicked me out. And even then I’d probably try to bribe the staff with cookies to stay a bit longer.
He stirs again, and I take that as my cue to get out of here. But as soon as I turn for the door, a raspy, deep voice nearly sends me out of my skin.
“Well, hello, Angel. I didn’t realize that I’d died and gone to Heaven.”
Chapter Ten
Garrett
My words visibly startle Paige and I have to stifle a laugh.
“Oh my God, you scared the life out of me!” she says, her hand over her heart as she tries to catch her breath.
“You’re scared? You weren’t the one who opened an eye to see someone staring at you.”
“I was not. Staring at you, that is,” she says, though the blush on her face immediately gives her away. I know Charlie would beat my ass for thinking this, but it’s absolutely adorable.
And not just her reaction. She’s adorable. That’s probably not the right word to describe a beautiful woman. Maybe it’s the pain meds I’m on. That’s the only word I can think of.
She’s the kind of beauty where I can’t tell if she’s twenty-five or thirty-five. Her skin is flawless, a perfect porcelain that leaves no doubt when she’s blushing, but I would never consider her skin tone as pale. Her hair is the most interesting shade of blonde that I’ve ever seen. There are so many different tones that there is no way she could have had that professionally done. No, that’s all Paige.
And her eyes? Now that they are back on me, I’m mesmerized by them. When I first met her at Cullen’s school program, I swore they were blue. Now? Now they seem almost gray.
And they are looking at me like I’m supposed to say something.
Shit… what were we talking about? Oh. Right. She’s an adorable creeper.
“You were,” I say, hoping the silence didn’t last too long. “And I’m not mad. I’ve definitely woken up to much worse.”
“Do I even want to know?”
“I was in a fraternity in college. That’s all you need to know.”
She smiles and takes a step toward me, away from the door she was about to exit.
“Is that where you learned that bad pickup line? Because, honestly? Angel? Heaven? I wouldn’t have pegged you as a bad-pickup-line kind of guy.”
I push myself up, glad that she has decided to stay, even if she’s trying to give me shit. “Who said that was bad? I think that was pretty clever. And timely. You should always give bonus points for timeliness.”
She lets out a soft laugh. “Well, I do believe you are married, which means that bad pickup lines need to be tucked away. Besides that, you don’t think it was a bad one? Because if you think that was good, then I’d love to hear a bad one. You know. For comparison.”
“Just because I’m married doesn’t mean I can’t compliment a beautiful woman.”
“If you think that was a compliment, then maybe I need to bring you a dictionary. Help you pass the time here.”
I smile, liking her playful tone, despite her mention of my marital status. She’s right though. I am married, and a good married man shouldn’t be tossing out cheesy pickup lines to his nephew’s kindergarten teacher. Then again, a good marriage would probably have the wife at the hospital with her husband who nearly died.