Page 57 of Doctor Charmer

“What’d I miss?” We all scramble out of the hug when we hear the question from Chelsea with a perplexed look on her face.

We don’t answer, merely bursting into a fit of laughs.

Chapter Thirty

Reggie

Two days later

I pace next to the elevator on the eleventh floor of Eastport General Hospital like an expectant father, nervous and waiting for news. I whip out my phone, checking to make sure I didn’t miss a text and making note of the time. Eleven fifty-three.

Where is she?

The ding of the elevator causes me to step back, a pattern I’ve repeated over a dozen times these last few minutes. I hear the laughter from the cabin car before the elevator arrives and breathe out a sigh of relief.

Finally.

The doors swing open, and a carload of college kids step out. In the center of the crowd is Griffin in a wheelchair, Chelsea on crutches right behind him, and the rest of the volleyball team.

They’re all wearing the matching gray-and-white T-shirts I’ve gifted them. “Cutting it close.” I give Chelsea a glare, and she snickers back.

“Griffin wanted to wait another six minutes to see if you’d have a heart attack.”

He rolls the wheelchair forward and gives Chelsea a happy glance and a wink over his shoulder.

Her light, playful smack on his shoulder lets me know they are officially a public couple.

Two of the girls behind them tug on strings holding a dozen Mylar balloons, a custom design that cost me a mint for rush delivery. One look and I know every cent is worth it.

“This way. Remember, quiet—she doesn’t know you’re here.” I lead the procession down the hall toward room 1103. It’s a private hospital room, one of the largest we have in the hospital. I press my fingertips to my lips, giving it a quick kiss before placing it on the nameplate of the patient: Ivy Springwood.

It’s a routine I do every time I visit Ivy in her recovery room after her surgery yesterday. She insisted on having the surgery right away. She claimed this way, she could stay in the hospital and monitor Griffin as he completes his recovery. But I sense she’s itching to race back to the volleyball court and try to spike again.

I press my finger to my lips, signaling to the team to be quiet.

They cover their mouths to prevent the snickers and laughs from escaping, and I wave a hand for them to step back. I push open the door only wide enough to slip into the room.

“There you are.” Ivy pushes up from the bed, propping a pillow behind her. She’s wearing the college T-shirt from a few days ago, not liking the hospital-issued gown. “I was beginning to get worried. It’s almost midnight.”

The mention of midnight paints a smile on my face. It has quickly become our hour. It’s when she signed the papers that first night, releasing her from the hospital. It was when she was officially no longer my patient, and I was free to pursue her. And tonight.

New Year’s Eve.

I glance at the hospital TV screen hanging from the ceiling, the image of Times Square in New York streaming. Millions of people crammed into that tiny space for hours to stare up at a tiny ball for all sixty seconds.

There’s only one place I want to be at midnight, and I am here. “Wouldn’t miss this for the world.” I step to her bedside. My hand slips into hers with a tight squeeze. “I got you a midnight surprise.”

She tugs on my hand, pulling me forward, stealing a sweet kiss. “Better than this?”

I close my eyes and enjoy this last moment of privacy. Once the door opens, I will no longer have Ivy to myself. “Happy New Year,” I whisper.

“Not yet. Two more minutes. Any resolutions?” She presses her lips to my neck, and the sweet kiss threatens to take away my ability to speak.

“Just to do a lot more of this in the new year.”

I give her a peck on the cheek, and she replies, “Ditto.”

I look up at the screen. The giant golden ball with a hundred flashing lights has begun its descent. “About your surprise.” I slip my hand from hers and walk backward to the door. She pushes up to sit, brow pinched in the center of her forehead.

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