Page 7 of Luca

“I know you did. I’m glad it all worked out.”

Heading to the linen cart, I grab a fresh gown and return to the room. I snap the garment up to make donning it more efficient. Dr. Jacobson is on the other side of the stretcher, explaining his concern for appendicitis. I bend over Luke, holding the gown open so he can slide his arms inside, then freeze when he gives me a sexy wink. Instantly, I feel my thighs clench and discover it’s impossible to stop my cheeks from returning to their earlier flaming red appearance.

What was that wink for?Because he returned as promised? Or maybe for his stellar acting performance?

Before I can question it further, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and turn to find an adorable little boy about the same age as mine. He’s swinging his legs back and forth on the metal chair, watching something on a cell phone. Crouching down before him, I ask, “Hi there. What’s your name?”

“Hi. I’m Mimmo.”

My head swivels toward Luke. Unsure I’ve understood the child.

“His name is Domenico. We call him Mimmo.”

I can’t help but grin at the cherub. He’s beautiful with dark curly hair and big brown eyes. “I love that name. I have a little boy at home that looks to be about your age. Are you five?”

“Yes,” he practically shouts, his swinging limbs picking up pace. “Does he go to kindergarten too? I love riding the bus.”

“Yes.” Based on the distance to the school bus, Luke and his family must live closer to the hospital than we do. “We’re probably further away from here than you, so you two likely go to different schools.” Looking over at his father, my heart melts at the look of pride he wears. Then the realization my son willnever have that smacks me in the face, and a familiar ache develops in my chest. I reach up to rub the area, knowing full well it will do little to ease the pain, when I notice someone standing by the door.

“Luke Barrett?” the transporter asks.

Mimmo looks up from the phone, points at Luke, and laughs.

“Yes, I’m Luke.” His eyes flash to me momentarily and there’s an expression there I can’t make out.

“I’m Dwayne. I’m here to take you to CT.”

It hits me that he’s likely worried about his son. “He’ll be fine while you’re gone. Don’t worry.” I attempt to reassure him. Squatting down by Mimmo, I ask, “Would you like some juice or crackers?”

“Yes, please,” he answers excitedly.

“He didn’t get an afternoon snack today,” Luke says as Dwayne, the transporter, unlocks the stretcher and pushes him out of the room.

“Would you mind coming with me, Mimmo? I have to do some work on my computer. You can sit right next to me and watch your show while you have your snack. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Forty minutes later, Mr. Barrett returns. I usher his son into the room with him just as Dr. Jacobson approaches.

“I’m afraid I was right. It appears you have appendicitis. I’ve contacted the surgeon who will come and see you in preparation to have it removed. It’s a fairly straightforward procedure. They only need to make three small incisions. Most patients are able to be discharged within twenty-four-hours.”

Luke glances at his son with trepidation. I recognize that look.It’s usually one I wear.

The plight of a single parent.

Dr. Jacobson finishes his conversation and walks away just before Luke says, “I need to make a call.”

Hopefully, Mimmo’s mom can help. Whether they’re married or no longer together, I hope they’re able to co-parent. I, on the other hand, have my mother, when she isn’t traveling with her boisterous bridge buddies or meeting some geriatric gigolo she met on a dating app.

“Mimmo. Lasciami il telefono.”

Holy crap.My lower belly tightens, and my nipples instantaneously grow hard at the sound of his voice. I have absolutely no idea what he just said. It clearly wasn’t sexual. It had something to do with a telephone, for gosh sakes. But I’m practically wet. Something tells me if he repeated it in a dark room with a glass of wine, I’d let him have his way with me.

Who are you kidding, Jillian? You wouldn’t need the wine. Or the dark room.

Luke reaches across to his son, who quickly hands it over. I decide to step out to allow him some privacy and check on my other patients before ensuring all of his pre-operative orders are complete. It has nothing to do with the fact that my pants are more damp now than when I sat in blueberry cobbler.

When I return about thirty minutes later, I find the cute little boy is nowhere to be seen.

---