Page 23 of Under Southern Stars
Jack laughs, that warm sound that seems to vibrate through me. “Smart kid.”
“Too smart sometimes,” I agree. “So. We got a little sidetracked. Your sisters?”
“Right! My sisters,” Jack says, leaning back. “I have three of them, and they’d eat you alive but in the nicest way.” He grins at the memory. “Emma—my middle sister—actually had a shot at making it on the Black Ferns.”
“The Black Ferns?”
“New Zealand women’s national rugby team. Absolute legends. She broke her arm in a scrimmage but walked around with it broken for a week just so she wouldn’t miss the tryout.” He shakes his head. “Mum nearly had a coronary when she found out.”
“Did she make the team?”
“Probably would have, if the medics hadn’t spotted the fracture during physicals. Although I don’t think they held that against her. She coaches youth rugby now. Says it’s less painful.” He takes a sip of wine. “My youngest sister, Lily, is finishing her PhD in marine biology—living your dream, actually. And the oldest, Charlotte, she runs the business side of things back home with my dad.”
“And you became a paramedic.”
“Black sheep of the family.” His smile’s self-deprecating. “Though Lily backs me up. Says at least I’m doing something useful instead of ‘perpetuating the global network of capital.’”
I laugh. “She sounds fun.”
“She’s a terror. You’d love her.” He pauses. “Hmm. Think American coffee’s basically dishwater—present company’s red-eyes excluded. Oh, and I make a mean pavlova.”
“Pavlova?”
“Meringue dessert. National treasure back home. I’ll make you one sometime.”
The casual future tense makes my stomach flip.
“Your turn,” he says. “Secret talents?”
“I could put an IV in the back of a rock if I had to. Uhm. I can quote ‘The Princess Bride’ entirely. Once I delivered a baby in a casino bathroom stall.”
“Story there?”
“Lady thought it was heartburn from the buffet. Turned out to be labor. Security helped me carry her out while she was still attached to her newborn by the umbilical cord.”
“Brilliant.” He’s laughing, really laughing. “What else?”
“I read romance novels voraciously. The smuttier, the better. Have a secret Instagram for plant photos. I have to buy the 50% off flowers at Lowe’s; can’t keep any of them alive, but I do it anyway. Oh, and I might have a tiny crush on the new paramedic who’s been calling on the radio and keeps bringing me coffee.”
The words are out before I can stop them. Wine on an empty stomach—rookie mistake.
“Tiny?” His voice drops half an octave.
“Microscopic.”
“That’s why you announced I’d asked you out in front of half the ER?”
“Pure self-defense.”
“Right.” He leans forward slightly. “And the accent comment?”
“Temporary insanity.”
“Which makes this the second occurrence.”
I throw my napkin at him. He catches it, grinning.
“For what it’s worth,” he says, handing it back, “I transferred to 402 because of you.”
