Page 56 of The One Where They Fall in Love

Her pout lifts slightly. “Then join me,” she replies, and I nearly give in.

“I would love to, but duty calls,” I respond as I stand up, adjusting my pants in the process. I have to cover a day shift, today of all days, even though I’d like nothing more than to get right back into bed.

“You don’t even like your job, just quit and stay here. I could plan a much more fun day for us than saving lives,” she says, wrapping the sheet around her and sitting up.

“I don’t doubt that for a second, sweetheart.” I say, thepet name rolling easily off my tongue.

Elle runs her fingers through her knotted hair and turns to face me. I lean down and kiss her plump lips, still swollen from all the times we woke up during the night and found ourselves kissing again. She puts a hand around my neck and tries to pull me towards her but I resist. I let my tongue touch hers for just a second, give her one last peck, and pull away.

I look at the clock on my nightstand. “I have to go,” I say, leaning over the bed to kiss her on the forehead.

“Ugh, you can’t do that,” she groans.

“Why?”

“Because a forehead kiss is one of the mostendearingways a love interest shows affection. And we don’t know what we are yet.” She looks up at me from underneath her full lashes. Something feels uneasy in my chest when she says that, but I try to ignore it. We clearly can’t have the “what was last night” talk right now, and she respects that.

“Right, uh—” I stutter. Then, awkwardly, I put my fist out. “See you later, bro.”

Elle tilts her head at my fist and scrunches her face. “Better. I guess,” she says, giving me a fist bump. “Later bro.”

I turn to leave and Thor jumps up on the bed to join Elle. She plops back on the pillows and allows Thor to cuddle up beside her, both of them knowing full well he is not supposed to be on the furniture. I shake my head fondly. Leaving that sight to work for twelve hours. I should get a fucking medal for that.

*

“Dr. Cole, can you consult on a broken arm in Room Threeplease?” the nurse at the station asks me without looking up from her clipboard. I rub my eyes from exhaustion and immediately regret it. Germs. I cringe and promptly take some hand sanitizer from the nurses’ desk.

“Sure,” I say with a yawn, looking at the clock. One hour left on my shift.One hour left until I can see Elle again. “Has it been splinted?”

“It has, but they need sutures as well. Some glass is stuck in the wound on the same hand. Car accident. Ortho was consulted but Dr.Penistowndidn’t have time to evacuate the contents and suture it before a trauma came in,” she explains. She finally looks up from her chart, realizing what she just said.

I’m taken aback and widen my eyes at her. She does the same. “I’msosorry,” she stutters. All of the color drains from her face and I’m worried she might pass out from the shock of what she just did. “I meant Dr.Penniston. Dr.Pennistonwasn’t able to—”

“I likePenistownbetter, frankly,” I say with a chuckle. The nurse’s shoulders relax and relief floods her expression. She’s an older woman, with black hair braided into cornrows that lead to her ponytail. I don’t remember her name, but she’s always been stoic with me. Until now, that is. I grin at her.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeats as she shakes her head. “It’s a name one of the other nurses came up with as a joke and I wish I never heard it.” She places her palm over her forehead.

“I don’t, just made my day.Penistownis a turd,” I whisper to her, taking the chart from her hands and winking as I walk towards the exam room.

Penistown. I can’t wait to tell Elle about this.

I can’t wait to tell Elle about this.

Shit. I shouldn’t think like that.

I brush it off as I pull back the curtain on Exam Room Three, and I’m surprised when I see a young boy sitting on the bed. He has dark hair and eyes, which are swollen from crying. His mother is sitting next to him on an uncomfortable looking plastic chair and is absorbed in something in her phone. I should have read the chart before I came in, but for some reason, I wasn’t expecting a pediatric patient.

“Hey there,” I say, jolting the mother to attention. The boy looks up at me with a miserable expression on his face. A quick look at the first page of his chart tells me he is five. He is wearing a blue Spiderman shirt that is spotted with blood on the sleeve and Spiderman shoes that look too small for his feet. He’s sitting at a ninety-degree angle because his arm is placed on a tray table beside the bed. There is a soft cast on the underside of his wrist and the wound on the top of his forearm is covered with gauze. He looks terribly uncomfortable, and also like he could fall asleep at any moment. I wonder how long he has been sitting in this position, unable to move his arm. It’s probably numb at this point.

I tilt my head at him and something comes over me. I’ve never been akidsguy, but in this moment, I find myself wanting to makethiskid a little less miserable.

And for some reason, making shit up is the only way I can think to do it.

I sneak another quick look at the chart before speaking. “I’m sorry, but are you Riley? The hero who saved the neighborhood?”

“Huh?” he says in a weak voice.

I look at the chart again. “Riley Chen, the kid who used hisspideysenses to stop a bank robbery and save the neighborhood. I heard all about you. You’re a superhero!” My feigned voice is pathetic, but I try not to let my internal cringing show on my face. I’m doing my best.