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The morning sun filtered softly through the blinds as I stood at the foot of the patient’s bed, clipboard in hand. The little boy looked so much better than the last time I had checked on him. His cheeks had more color now, and the oxygen tube that once seemed like a permanent fixture was gone. His mother sat by his side, her eyes fixed on me with the kind of anxious hope only a parent could carry.
“How are we feeling today?” I asked gently, lowering my voice as I adjusted the boy’s chart.
The boy grinned, a small toothy smile that was enough to melt the heaviness off my shoulders. “Better, Doctor.”
“Better, huh?” I smiled back. “That’s what I like to hear. No headaches? No trouble breathing?”
He shook his head, hair flopping. “No. Can I go home soon?”
His mother glanced at me nervously, silently pleading. I crouched to the boy’s eye level, my voice soft but careful. “You’re healing really well, but I’d like to keep you just a little longer. A few more tests, just to make sure you’ll be completely safe when you leave. Deal?”
The boy sighed, dramatically, as though I’d just told him Christmas was canceled. “Fine.”
His mother laughed softly, relief brightening her features. “Thank you, Doctor.”
“Of course. I’ll check in later.” I placed the chart back on the stand and gave her a reassuring nod. “In the meantime, let him rest. And maybe sneak in some of that soup you were talking about yesterday.”
As I stepped out of the room, I scribbled a quick note on the chart for the nurse. “Ensure fluid intake is monitored closely. Order chest x–ray for tomorrow morning.” My voice was low, more to myself than anyone else, but the nurse beside me nodded dutifully as she copied the instructions into her own notes.
By the time I reached my office, the weight of the morning was pressing down on me. I pushed the door open absentmindedly, already pulling off my coat, then froze.
Edmund was sitting there. His presence filled the space in a way that made me blink twice to be sure I wasn’t imagining it. He was too composed, his legs crossed, his hands resting easily on the arm of the chair. He looked like he owned the place.
“Edmund?” I asked, startled. “What are you doing here? Our meeting isn’t until tomorrow,”
He gave me a small smile, one that tugged at the corner of his lips like he was half–apologetic and half- amused. “You’re right. But I needed the budgeting figures sooner. The medical outreach-” he leaned forward slightly, “I need the breakdown, the list of items, supplies… and the names of the workers who’ll be joining us. I thought it best to get it straight from you.”
I set my coat aside, raising a brow. “You could have called.”
“I could have,” he agreed easily. “But then I wouldn’t get to see the way you frown before you sit down.”
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I ignored the remark, though my pulse betrayed me with a small stutter. Sliding into my chair, I pulled open the folder I had prepared. “Alright. Let’s go through this carefully, then.”
For the next half–hour, our voices were the only sound filling the room. I laid out the budget: the cost of equipment, transport, the stipends for nurses and volunteers. Edmund asked sharp questions, his eyes narrowing whenever he felt a number didn’t add up. I explained, sometimes firmly, why certain expenses were unavoidable.
“And these, “he tapped on the section for medical kits, his finger lingering, “why so many?”
“Because we’ll be rotating across rural areas,” I explained patiently. “If one kit fails, or if supplies run out faster than expected, we need backups. We can’t gamble with people’s health.”
His gaze met mine then, steady, unwavering. “Fair point. You’re thorough, Amelia.”
I felt the warmth of his words even though I tried not to. “It’s not about being thorough. It’s about being responsible.”
He nodded slowly, then leaned back. “And the list of workers?”
I handed him another sheet. “These are the nurses and volunteers who I think will be committed so far. A few are pending, but most are reliable.”
Edmund scanned the names. “Good. I’ll need to cross–check with Lewis, make sure contracts are drawn.”
That caught me off guard. “Contracts?”
“Yes.” His eyes lifted to me again. “We can’t afford loose ends. Volunteers or not, everyone needs terms clearly laid out. It’s how we prevent issues later on.”
I hesitated, then finally nodded. He wasn’t wrong. “Alright. I trust you’ll handle that part.”
He smiled faintly. “I’ll draft the documents, but I’ll need you to explain the medical side in more detail to my office team. That’s where you come in.”
I exhaled, glancing at the clock. “When were you thinking?”
“Now, preferably. I was going to suggest we go over to my office. You can explain everything, and we’ll start printing the contract letters for the nurses and volunteers.”
“Now?” I blinked at him. “I have rounds-”
“I already checked with the head nurse,” he interrupted smoothly. “You’re clear for the next two hours.”
I gave him a long look. “You’ve been planning this.”
He shrugged, utterly unbothered. “I don’t like wasting time.”
Against my better judgment, I agreed. The work needed to be done anyway. We left together, his stride matching mine easily. When we reached his car, he opened the passenger door with a practiced ease that made me hesitate before sliding in.
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Chapter 32
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The drive was quiet. The kind of silence that felt heavy with unspoken words. I kept my eyes on the city passing outside the window, but I could feel his presence next to me, solid and steady, his cologne faint but intoxicating.
Then, without warning, he turned the car into a restaurant parking lot.
I frowned, twisting toward him. “What are you doing?”
He cut the engine, his brows raised as if the answer should have been obvious. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“It looks like you’re detouring,” I said slowly, suspiciously. “We were supposed to go to your office.”
His lips curved, not quite a smile, not quite serious. “We will. But first, lunch.”
“Edmund-”
He held my gaze, bold in a way that made my chest tighten. “Amelia, you’ve been running yourself into the ground. You can spare forty minutes to eat with me. Or,” he tilted his head slightly, “should I take you straight back and tell Lewis you didn’t want to cooperate?”
I glared at him, though the corner of my mouth betrayed a twitch. “That’s blackmail.”
“That’s persuasion,” he corrected smoothly. “Come on. It’s just lunch.”
I hesitated, torn between irritation and an inexplicable warmth that tugged at me whenever he looked at me like that. Finally, I sighed, unbuckling my seatbelt. “Fine. But only because I don’t want your office staff blaming me for delays.”
His grin then was almost boyish. “Fair enough.”
As we stepped out of the car, I caught myself wondering why my heart was beating faster than it should for something as simple as lunch.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
