Hotshot Doc(28)

I decide the best person to ask is Patricia. She’s worked for him for years. She has to know more about him than anyone else in the hospital. I find her sitting at her desk at lunch. There’s a mug of tea, a small Caesar salad, and a fresh edition of Creative Knitting spread out in front of her. She doesn’t even bother looking up from the pages as we skate through the usual small talk: hi, how are you, how’s your day going. Finally, I get to the heart of the conversation.

“So you’re pretty close with Dr. Russell, huh?” I ask, lifting my leg to sit on the edge of her desk.

She clears her throat in distaste and I immediately move. Okay, we aren’t there yet. Noted.

“I mean, you’ve been with him since he started here, right?”

She snorts. “I’m the only one who could put up with him.”

“So you admit he’s difficult to work for?”

“Damn near impossible.”

“But that has to be an act. He’s not actually that mean in real life, is he?”

How can he be? Who has the energy to tackle world domination every single day of their life?

“I’ll just say this…” She flips a page of her magazine and points down. “The harder the shell, the softer the heart.”

Wow. Patricia. Who knew she had such a way with words? It sounds like something that should be printed on an inspirational poster or something. Then I glance down and see she has, in fact, stolen the phrase right off an embroidered pillow in her magazine.

Whatever.

“So you think he’s a softie deep down?”

She glances up at me over the brim of her glasses. “He’s gotta be, don’t you think? To do what he does for these kids day in and day out? Not to mention the stuff he’s got going on with that grant.”

“What grant?”

She shakes her head. “You’ll have to ask him about it. I don’t know all the details.”

Then she pointedly returns her attention to her magazine and goes right back to reading, so I thank her and make myself scarce.

I can’t stop thinking about her assessment as I eat lunch. It’s true: Dr. Russell usually operates on three children a week, which means he’s already impacted hundreds of lives in his short career.

He can’t be all bad.

He can’t be the villain everyone thinks he is.





There’s a text from Cooper waiting for me when I check my phone in the locker room after work.

Cooper: Hey Bailey! What’s up?





He sent it hours ago when I was still in surgery. I feel bad for making him wait so long for a reply.

Bailey: Just getting off work, sorry! I’m good, just exhausted, ha.

Cooper: Yeah, I bet. Those surgeons run you guys into the ground.

Bailey: It’s not so bad :) I like my job.

Cooper: What about your doctor? Is he nice? I’ve worked with some terrible ones.





Since my fingers would fall off if I attempted to explain the entire portfolio of emotions I feel for Dr. Russell, I condense it.

Bailey: I’m still deciding. My old doctor just retired and I really liked him. I think this new guy will be okay once we find our rhythm.





He and I text back and forth into the evening. It feels good that he seems to be pursuing me, but I’m not really all there yet. I have no idea how long he’ll be in Cincinnati, not to mention, I’m not sure I’m even in a good place to be dating someone right now. I explain this to Josie after she sees my phone light up with his name while we’re folding laundry and demands to know every detail of our relationship.

“I’m confused—how could you be any more available? You’ve had zero dates lately. ZERO.”

I nod. “Yeah, I know that. It’s just…” I let my sentence linger because I’m not sure how to explain. Cooper is really cute and nice and wants to get to know me. But, my heart doesn’t flutter when I think about him. I don’t turn into a ball of nervous energy when I see an incoming text with his name on it. “I don’t know.” I push up off the couch. “I need to start making dinner.”

“But Cooper is still waiting for a reply!”

Ugh, this whole texting-with-a-hot-guy thing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

“Can you reply for me? Just don’t make me sound too eager,” I say as I start grabbing ingredients from the refrigerator for taco night.

“So I shouldn’t send half a dozen kissy-face emojis?” She smiles and tilts her head to the side like an adorable puppy when I glare at her over my shoulder. “Kidding.”

They go back and forth texting while I chop up onions. Cooper asks about my plans for the night and I tell her to be vague. He doesn’t need to know how embarrassingly nonexistent my social life is.

“I told him you were going to ‘hit the town with your girls and do body shots.’ What are body shots again?”

“Josie!”

She ignores me. “Aw, poor guy. He says he’s eating room service alone in his hotel room.”

Someone else cooking and cleaning? Sounds pretty great to me.

A few minutes later, my phone chimes with an incoming email and Josie asks, “Who’s Dr. Russell?”

My stomach falls out of my butt and I drop the block of cheese I was halfway through shredding. “WHAT?!”