Page 27 of Night Shift

“You did. It’s no big deal. Your body was just telling you that you needed some rest. You looked so peaceful that I didn’t dare wake you up. You know, Samantha, you’re a beautiful woman.”

“Well, look at you, being all sweet and caring. You know, I’m still trying to figure out what a dichotomy you are. Everyone at work thinks you’re an asshole, and if I’m being honest, I can see why. But then, I also see this other side of you that would make those same people love you if you gave them a chance.”

“I don’t go to work to make friends. I don’t need to be liked. You say my behavior is dichotomous, so let me present you with a scenario I face every day.” I paused for a moment. “Imagine a doctor with a great bedside manner. The patients always smile when this doctor leaves the room, even if they’re clueless about what he said. Ready for the twist?” I glanced at Sam before continuing. “The patients keep coming back. Not because they love their doctor, but because they don’t get better. My aim in medicine is to fix people, not to keep them coming back. And that doesn’t require that I’m all sunshine and roses. I am who I am…take it or leave it.”

“Well, that’s a shitty way to look at things,” Sam said with a huff, turning to look out her window.

Slightly irritated, I gripped the steering wheel but then loosened my fingers. I couldn’t let her know she was getting to me. “I’m just…trying to help you understand me better, that’s all.”

“Listen, I get it, Atticus. You compartmentalize. I do it too. I just express my frustration differently, through sarcasm. As you know.” She shot me an impish grin, and a part of me wanted to kiss her right then and there. Her sarcasm and intelligence had a hold on me, and she had this way of disarming me, which wasn’t something I was used to.

As we pulled up to the cabin, Sam gasped. “This place is absolutely beautiful! I mean, the cabin looks a little run-down, but look at that view.”

“A little run-down?!” I said with a bit of fire in my tone. But before I could say anything else, Sam was already out of the car and running down to the dock.

Even though I wanted to unpack the car and settle into the cabin, I decided to join her.

The late afternoon air was cooler than I’d expected. The breeze off the water was sharp, probably biting at Sam’s legs since she was wearing shorts. I came up behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist, and to my surprise, she relaxed into them.

“Great view, huh? I love this place even if the cabin is a little shabby,” I said.

She playfully elbowed me in the ribs and laughed softly. “I was just teasing you. For Pete’s sake, don’t be so uptight.”

“Uptight?” I asked. “You make me feel so old. But don’t worry, I’ll teach you the best ways for releasing tension.” I gave her a little squeeze. “Let’s bring our bags in and fix some dinner.”

Together, we returned to the car and unloaded our things.

We both toed off our shoes at the front door, a habit from working in a hospital. “I’m going to carry our bags upstairs. Make yourself at home,” I said. When I returned, I found her standing at the floor-to-ceiling back window, looking out at the lake. I’d had these windows installed because of the unbelievable view.

“Wow, this place is incredible!” she exclaimed, turning and roaming around the living room. “It’s so inviting and cozy. Not what I expected of a bachelor’s cabin in the woods that you and your brothers use. You’ve obviously spent a lot of time modernizing it. I love all the wooden details and these giant windows.”

“Thanks, we’ve worked hard on it. It was a dump when I found it, but now, even though it’s rustic, it’s still cozy. I’m glad you like it.” I threw her an appreciative smile before heading over to the fireplace to light the kindling under the stack of wood I’d prepared the last time I was here. I was amazed that neither of my brothers had stopped in and beaten me to it. I strode into the kitchen to start working on dinner. Sam removed her cardigan and tossed it onto the chair by the sofa. I gulped at the sight of her perfectly formed breasts and hard nipples beneath the fabric of her white tank top. I didn’t want to rush dinner, but damn, was I looking forward to dessert.

Sam perched on one knee in one of the cabin’s worn leather chairs, positioned near the fireplace, and leaned against its back. The fire I had just ignited crackled and popped in the stone hearth, casting an inviting glow over the room and illuminating her thoughtful gaze as she watched me. Taking a moment, I scrolled through my phone, looking for the perfect playlist to set the mood. With a few taps, I connected my device to the speaker sitting on the counter that bridged the living room and kitchen. One of my favorite features of this cabin was the open floor plan that seamlessly blended the two spaces.

From the kitchen, I watched as Sam tilted her head and listened intently to the music. “I like this song,” she murmured, then began singing along with “Come Away with Me” by Norah Jones. She closed her eyes and swayed with the rhythm. I was transfixed by the rich melodic voice that came from her full lips. It took all my restraint not to pull her into my arms then and there. I wanted to caress every inch of her skin, but I reminded myself to take things slow and took a deep breath.

“This is one of my favorite playlists,” I told her. “It’s an eclectic mix of jazz, including classics by artists like Nat King Cole, Frank Sinatra, and Billie Holiday, as well as the more modern vibes of Norah Jones and Michael Bublé. It even has some Bossa Nova jazz of João Gilberto. Who could resist those sexy samba rhythms, hmm?”

She continued singing, lost in the music, and I simply soaked in the moment. When the song ended, I asked, “How do you feel about Swedish meatballs and cream sauce over noodles?”

Her face lit up. “Oh, yum…yes please!” she replied, her enthusiasm unmistakable.

“You’re going to love it,” I said as I rummaged through the fridge I’d stocked a few days ago.

After getting the things I needed, I pulled out my grandmother’s old recipe from a box sitting on the counter next to the sink. The yellowed paper was brittle and stained from years of use, but it didn’t matter because I’d pretty much committed the recipe to memory anyway.

“You know, my grandmother used to make these every Sunday for dinner.”

“Did she?” Sam asked, her eyes lighting up with interest as she made her way over to the kitchen.

“Yes.” I smiled at the memory. “And she taught me how to make them before she passed away.”

She watched with keen interest as I combined the ingredients—ground pork and beef, breadcrumbs soaked in milk and egg, a blend of carefully measured spices, and onion chopped so finely it was almost invisible.

“Let’s see if you can roll these meatballs properly, Sammich,” I challenged her playfully, reaching out to smear a little butter onto her nose.

Swatting my hand away, she gave me a laugh before rolling a meatball with focus and precision. Then, with a triumphant grin, she neatly plopped her perfectly shaped ball onto a tray.

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