The Best of Us (Sullivan's Crossing #4)(15)

“Don’t look at me like that,” Gretchen said. “Not the medical waste. Just the paper and kitchen waste.”

Leigh sighed. “I’ll go get it.”

“Let me do that, Dr. Culver,” Eleanor said.

“No, it’s my phone. I wonder if I could’ve knocked it in the trash while I was cleaning off my desk this morning. I’ll be right back.” She took the stethoscope from around her neck and put it on the counter. Then she went out back to the Dumpster.

She could see the white trash bag that came from the clinic but she couldn’t quite reach it. If the Dumpster had been almost full, the bag would’ve been within reach, but it was about a foot too far down. She spotted an old wooden chair and grabbed it, pulling it out. It was a little wobbly but still functional. She pushed the chair up against the Dumpster to steady it, then stood on it and leaned over the edge, reaching in. Her fingertips grazed the trash bag. All she had to do was get a grip on it and pull—

She teetered on the edge of the Dumpster as she reached and her toe accidentally pushed away the chair. In a frightful moment, she fell. Headfirst.

She froze, sprawled atop the bags of trash. Her first order of concern was whether she had landed on anything sharp. She didn’t feel any pain. Her next concern—had she landed on anything really icky? She heard the sound of footsteps—someone was running toward the Dumpster. Her third concern arose—how long was she going to look like a complete idiot?

“Oh Jesus,” Rob Shandon said, peering into the Dumpster. “What the hell happened?”

“Kind of a long story,” she said, still lying across several bags of trash. “Short version, I seem to have lost my phone.”

He grinned at her. “You want to get out of there?”

“Not without my trash,” she said. She moved around and found the one she was after. She tossed it out of the Dumpster. Rob ducked as it flew past. “All right. Can you give me a hand?”

“Yes, Doctor,” he said, reaching for her. He checked the edge of the Dumpster, making sure it wasn’t sharp. “Can you stand up? I’m going to lift you out.”

“The chair isn’t a good idea,” she advised.

“Yeah, I saw that. Just let me get my hands under your arms. Don’t try to help me—I’m going to pull you right over the edge. It’s kind of dirty but no sharp edges. Here, hold my hands until you get upright.”

She had to stand on a pile of trash to get high enough for him to get a grip on her. “Ew,” she said, lifting a foot to which a limp and slimy lettuce leaf clung.

He laughed. “If that’s the worst you get, you’re in good shape. Ready? Here we go.” He pulled her right over the edge and into his arms. And he just held her there. He didn’t even attempt to put her down.

“How did you know I was in there?” she finally asked.

“I was driving by and I saw your legs go over the edge. I knew it was someone from the clinic because of the scrubs but I didn’t know which one of you. I hit the jackpot.”

“You can go ahead and put me down now.”

“I’d rather not,” he said. “Brings something to mind I’ve been thinking about for weeks. We should go out.”

“Out?” she asked.

“On a date.”

“Where does one go out in Timberlake? There’s no movie theater and you have the best restaurant in town.”

“Thank you,” he said, beaming. “I like to visit lots of different restaurants that are nothing like mine. I started my career working in a five-star restaurant.”

“And you want a date with me? Why?”

“Well, let’s see,” he said, rolling his eyes upward. “You can get out stains, you’re good with a needle, various things... Maybe we should get to know each other better. Isn’t that why people date?”

“I shouldn’t have rubbed your head,” she said. “I do that with patients who have a lot of fear or anxiety or look like they might puke. It relaxes them.”

“I’m not the only one?” he said. “Damn. I thought I was the only one.”

“You want to be the only one?”

He nodded and smiled slyly. “How about Sunday night? The pub is kind of frisky on Friday and Saturday night and I like to stay close. There’s this great gourmet restaurant in Aurora—only nine tables. The chef is a friend.”

“You can put me down,” she said. “I have to go through the trash.”

“This feels kind of nice,” he said. “Okay.” He let her legs drop down but, with an arm around her waist, continued to keep her close. “You said yes to Sunday night, right?”

“I didn’t yet. I haven’t had a date in a while.”

“Me, either,” he said. “Maybe we’ll get through it okay. I’m very polite. And helpful.”

“You did drag me out of a Dumpster, so I guess I owe you.”

“Dr. Culver,” Eleanor called, coming toward them, holding Leigh’s phone. “It was in one of the exam rooms.”

“That’s right!” she said. “I took it out to see who was calling me and put it on the counter rather than back in my pocket.” She smiled. “You’ll be happy to know I won yet another free vacation. That’s when I turned it off.”