Page 32 of Doctor Neighbor

Buster turns toward the door and heads out. God, he has a fantastic ass.

"Wait. You aren't going to leave me to drink this wine by myself, are you?"

He stops and swings back around to face me. I was hot on his heels, so our faces are only inches apart. I don't want to, because I am enjoying the scent of him so close to my nose. But I step back so I'm not invading his personal space.

"I would hate to leave anyone to have to suffer through that torture all alone."

"Perfect. I'll get you a glass."

"Well, that settles it, then," he says as he follows me into the kitchen. I grab two stemmed glasses that hang under my cabinet. I place them both on the counter with a familiar clank and uncork the bottle.

I was so exhausted only moments ago, my eyelids heavy. Suddenly, I have a burst of energy.

I fill our glasses about half full and then offer him one. "Here's to having an inside man at the Health Department."

“Cheers."

I take a sip of wine, letting the rich flavor settle on my tongue before swallowing. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I turn to Buster.

"You know, for all our... encounters, I realize I don't know much about you. Tell me more. Where are you from? What's your family like?"

Buster looks surprised for a moment, then settles back into his chair. "Well, I grew up in Mobile. I have a younger brother, Neil, who lives in Tuscaloosa. My dad was a general practitioner, which is probably where I got the medicine bug from."

"Was?" I catch the past tense.

His eyes cloud for a moment. "Yeah, he passed when I was in high school. Abdominal aortic aneurysm. It's part of why I chose surgery as my specialty."

"I'm so sorry," I say softly, touched by the personal revelation.

He nods, taking a sip of wine. "It was tough, but it drove me. I went to UAB for undergrad and med school. Stayed for my residency, too."

"So you're an Alabama boy through and through," I tease, trying to lighten the mood.

He chuckles. "Guilty as charged. What about you? How'd you end up running a cafe?"

"Oh no, mister. We're talking about you right now," I counter playfully. "How'd you decide on surgery specifically?"

Buster's eyes light up. "I love the immediacy of it—the challenge. Every case is different, and you're right there, hands-on, making a difference. It's intense but incredibly rewarding."

As he speaks, I can see the passion in his eyes. It's captivating, and I find myself leaning in, eager to hear more.

"Any crazy surgery stories?" I ask, genuinely intrigued.

There are a few. He goes on to tell me about some gross things he has had to do and some super weird medical issues. “You wouldn’t believe the number of odd items I’ve had to surgically remove from people’s colons. I’ll just leave it at that…”

And I let him. I don’t think I want to be enlightened on that fetish.

As Buster talks about the surgery he had earlier today, I notice a shift in his demeanor. The playful glint in his eyes fades, replaced by a more somber expression.

"I had a patient today," he begins, swirling the wine in his glass. "Abdominal aortic aneurysm. The same thing that took my dad."

I feel a pang in my chest, understanding now why this particular case affected him so profoundly.

"It was touch and go for a while," Buster continues. "The aneurysm was massive, irregularly shaped. We almost lost him a couple of times on the table."

He pauses, taking a sip of wine. I wait, sensing there's more.

"Usually, I'm pretty good at compartmentalizing. You have to be in this job. But this one... it got to me. The guy, he's got two teenage daughters and a wife. All I could think about was my dad and how it felt to lose him so suddenly. I was only eighteen, and my brother was seventeen.”

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