Page 46 of My December Darling

My heart squeezes at his gesture. “Thank you.”

He acknowledges my comment with a dip of his head. “If you don’t tell me how many scrubs you really have, I’ll assume it’s over three hundred.”

I gawk. “That’s ridiculous!”

“Four hundred?”

“No.”

“Then how many?”

We stare at each other for a few seconds without blinking before I let out a resigned sigh. “Ballpark number? Probably sixty. Or maybe seventy—” His lips twitch. “I stopped counting after fifty, so technically I don’t know.”

He laughs to himself. “That’s not as bad as I thought.”

I make grabby hands for the cup of coffee, and he passes it to me. His fingers brush across the inside of my wrist, and I bite back a smile as familiar butterflies unleash in my belly.

I’m catching on to Luke’s slick ways of initiating contact, but I pretend to be oblivious because I secretly like him touching me. It makes me feel desired, and I’ll be damned if I ruin it by pretending I don’t like it.

Luke tips his head toward the empty table at one corner of the break room. We walk over to it, and he pulls out my seat and waits for me to sit before taking the one across from me.

We will not swoon. We will not?—

He interrupts my inner mantra with another question. “How do you travel with all of them?”

“I bring an extra suitcase packed with all my scrubs. Since I come home to my parents’ house twice a year, I switch out the old ones with the others.”

“Smart. So you have different ones for seasons and holidays?”

“Yup. I made a bet with Gabriela last year, though, so I’m only allowed to treat myself to a new one every season.”

“So four a year?”

“Yes.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because we both have addictions we’re trying to overcome.” It’s notmyfault that my favorite medical clothing company drops new apparel every few months, right? I’m clearly a victim of consumer culture and capitalism.

He leans forward with a smile, turning my insides to mush. “This sounds serious.”

“Tell me about it. If I break my scrub-buying-ban, then I’m screwed.”

“How so?”

“That’s between me and her.”

He stares at me thoughtfully. “Based on your facial expression, I assume it’s bad.”

“Your assumption isn’t wrong.”

“Have you considered seeking medical attention for this so-called addiction?”

I fight a smile. “No.”

“Good thing you know a couple of doctors then. I’d be more than happy to help.”

I motion between us. “Wouldn’t this be a conflict of interest?”

---