Page 111 of Hold the Pickle

But then he pushes a button, and he’s out in the hall.

Dalton.

It’s been less than two months, but it feels like a lifetime. He looks the same in light blue scrubs. He pulls down the mask to show his smile. He’s scruffy, so it must be the end of a long shift.

And I’m so happy to see him. It all floods back at me.

Dalton. Our home. Our life. Our cat family.

I let out a cry, and there’s no space for niceties. No “hello” or “How are you?” I’m in his arms, and he holds me tightly. Then I’m crying on his shoulder.

He doesn’t ask questions or say anything at all. He just hangs on.

We remain a tight ball until I hear the slide of the glass again.

It’s the nurse. “Dr. D, Jamie is about to come on shift. Why don’t you go on home?”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll tell Davison you’ve clocked out. We don’t have any high-risk labors on the floor.”

He pulls away and takes my hand. “Thanks, Amy.” We walk along the halls. “Did your cousin have her baby?”

“Not yet.”

“Do you want to check on her?”

“I was off getting coffee for family when I found the NICU in my wandering.”

“I can help with that.” He leads me to one of the family stations. “This is the good one. Angelica, one of the RNs, always keeps hot coffee in it.”

We push through the door to the aroma of a French mocha. It’s heavenly. Dalton lets go of me and starts pulling cups. “How many did you need?”

“Three. My mom is here. And Uncle Sherman.”

“Oh, the hard one.”

“Not so hard. He let me go.”

Dalton fills each of the cups from the machine and caps them. “For the rescue? He approved?”

I realize how little we’ve talked lately. “Yes, he’s signed on as an angel investor.”

He hands me a cup. “Should we deliver these?”

“I … uh.” I don’t know what to say. My emotions are tumbling over each other.

Then our gazes clash, and I know he’s feeling it, too. We both set down our cups, and this time when we come together, it’s not an embrace but an unbridled kiss.

Our mouths lock together, our bodies pressed so hard I can feel the strings of my sweatpants pushing against my belly.

He tastes like coffee already, another hint at the length of his shift, and I take in everything about him like I’ve never known it, like I’m discovering him again for the first time.

Dalton and I lived together, slept together, and had many intimate moments.

But this is different. Desperate. Uncontrolled. He lifts me onto the counter, wrapping my legs around his waist.

I can’t get enough of him, my hands gripping his shoulders, our tongues clashing. He rocks against me, and I curse my sweatpants, his scrubs. I want him with an ache I’ve never known before. It’s not just an emotion, but a physical pain.

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