“Can you do me a favor?” Tanya asks before I make it to the sliding door.
I’m surprised because she hasn’t really talked to me since our first interaction. It’s mostly been nods and grunts.
“If I’m able to, of course,” I say immediately, turning back towards her.
“Can you thank that nice nurse for me? I was stuck here with an awful guy who came in a while ago—he was wearing a short white coat like you? But the nurse made sure he behaved.”
“Which nurse?” I ask, but I have a feeling I know who it is.
“He had dark hair and an earring?”
Of course. It’s Jake.
Guilt stabs my chest when I realize I was so self-absorbed with my own issues with Weston that I overlooked the fact that he would probably frighten Tanya. But then, realizing that Jake looked out for her in my stead eases some of my remorse. Without needing to be told, he instinctively knew to protect her. Thank God for this amazingly insightful man.
“I’ll tell him,” I assure her.
After my ER shift ends, I head to the parking lot, envisioning my empty apartment. Honestly, all I’ve been doing lately is cleaning, and I’ve scrubbed all of the surfaces in my apartment several times over. The last thing I want to do is return home to the loneliness inside.
After I settle into my driver’s seat, instead of turning on the ignition, I pull out my cell phone and stare at it.
My fingers move of their own volition, tapping out a text to Peter. I reach out to him at least once a week, but this time, his silence has been deafening. I should do more, but the thought of adding one more thing to my plate is overwhelming—this will just have to be enough for now.
Sighing, I sag back against my seat. What now? I still don’t want to go home—not yet. Do I reach out to one of the girls? Amelia would definitely bring up Weston or Peter, and I rather not think about them right now. And I’d like a bit more time to prepare myself before I meet back up with Zoe. Iz is the safest choice for some lighthearted conversation.
Plus, Isabelle is a fierce romantic, and bringing up a new, cute guy will be the ideal way to bridge the gap between us. My skin tingles at the memory of a flash of a dimple, the glint of an earring, and the electricity of a single touch. I tell myself the sudden increase in my heartbeat has nothing to do with Jake.
Hoping she’s available, I fire a text.
Me: Hey, you still up?
Isabelle: Yeah!
Me: Just finished up in the ER, and I have the day off tomorrow. I could really use some girl talk and maybe a glass of wine if you have any.
Isabelle: Come on over! What’s up?
Me: I wanted to pick your brain about a new guy?
Isabelle: AHHHH! Get your butt over here! Drive safe! I’ll pull out some glasses!
I grin—Iz is adorable. I’m excited to see her, and not just because she’s the one friend who lives and breathes romance. I dump my heavy bag and my white coat, pockets heavy with supplies, into the back seat of my silver Honda Accord.
The act feels symbolic—just the thought of seeing one of my best friends makes me feel lighter.
“So, dish!” Iz exclaims after she pulls me inside.
I suppress a smile. She looks so sweet and totally on-brand in her silk pink pajama set covered with red hearts and fluffy pinkslippers. Her hair is up in a messy bun, and her eyes are brimming with warmth, for once not hidden behind her glasses. It’s such a relief to see a friendly face after the dumpster fire that was today: breaking down after meeting Tanya, panicking in front of Jake, confronting Weston... and starting a fake relationship.
Wow. I’m a hot mess.
I refocus on Isabelle’s apartment. I haven’t been to her place in ages—the few times I’ve seen her recently were at coffee shops or at the movies. With its honey-colored wood and white-ridged crown molding on the walls, Isabelle’s two-bedroom apartment is a welcome contrast to the cold concrete of my place. It’s a gorgeous, large, and airy space, filled with old-world charm. There are green tendrils curled over the edges of each windowsill—she has a huge penchant for living things.
Iz used to have a roommate, but after our first year of medical school, that classmate moved to a cheaper location. Because Iz enjoyed having more space to herself, her indulgent parents supplemented the extra cost, enabling her to live alone. The second bedroom is now her craft room, filled with jewelry-making supplies, paints of various shades, and pieces of shimmery fabric.
The first time I saw her craft room, I was horrified by the clutter and had to leave quickly before I started organizing her stuff. Weston would have lost his mind if I had a room like that.
Although Iz is a hoarder by nature, she generally keeps the public parts of her apartment clutter-free. Her enormous dining table is the one exception—it’s currently covered in pediatrics textbooks, her notes, a Netter’sAtlas of Human Anatomy,and herlaptop. The living-room area adjacent to the dining room has a couple of plump leather couches, an antique coffee table, lamps, and a flat-screen TV. To my relief, everything is the same as I remember. I’ve had more than enough change lately.
