Page 1 of Anatomy of a Meet Cute
Chapter One
“If there is a doctor or a nurse on board, will you please ring the call button?”
The soothing voice of the flight attendant glided across Sam’s consciousness, jolting her out of her early-flight stupor. Pushing her sleep mask to the top of her head, she sat upright in her chair, stretching to her full height so she could look around the plane. No one else was ringing the call button. Shit.
Taking a deep breath, she raised a shaky hand and pressed the dreaded button above her seat. Nervous energy coursed through her as she tried to recall what her professors and any doctor she had ever encountered said about medical emergencies and aviation. She’d been warned that this could happen to her one day. Sam had just thought she’d have a lot more actual doctoring under her belt when it did.
“Ma’am, are you a medical professional?” the flight attendant asked, his voice low and calm, as if someone weren’t somewhere on the plane experiencing a trauma.
“I’m an ob-gyn. Will that work?”
The flight attendant’s flinch was almost imperceptible. “I think it’ll have to. Would you come with me, please?”
Sam tried not to let the fear creeping through her skin make its way to her face as she mumbled apologies to her seatmates, both of whom smiled at her in the vaguely uninterested but encouraging way that onlya plane full of Los Angelenos making their way to the freezing wasteland that was San Francisco could. This was probably an average Tuesday to the Hollywood set.
Snatching her sleep mask off her head, she looked at the flight attendant, who began to walk down the aisle. “Can you tell me anything about the individual?”
“We have a gentleman in first class, wearing dark sunglasses, who started behaving strangely just after departure. He keeps trying to take off his clothes, saying he is melting, then saying he needs help. We’re about twenty minutes to San Francisco; the captain has already called ahead, so medical attention will be waiting for him at the gate. We just need to make sure we can get him there in one piece.”
“Right,” Sam said, taking a deep breath. What she really wanted to say wasoh shit. The flight attendant’s description wasn’t much for her to go on, but it would have to be enough, since she’d decided to take her Hippocratic oath seriously.
“Excuse me,” a passenger said, stopping the flight attendant as they neared the front of the plane. The attendant motioned for Sam to continue as he leaned in to listen to the passenger’s request.
Pushing aside the thin curtain that separated the economy cabin from first class, Sam spotted the man almost immediately. Even as he wrestled with his jacket, it was impossible not to notice how good looking he was. He was probably four years older than her. His fine face twisted as he fussed with a zipper, the tawny color of his East Asian features slightly flushed from exertion, the muscles in his sculpted shoulders flexing as he shook his arm free from one sleeve.
Pursing her lips, Sam reminded herself that this was someone in need. Ogling was wasting valuable seconds that might save his life. Filling her lungs with air, Sam bent down next to the man, gently setting a hand on his arm. Twisting around in his seat, the man snatched a pair of designer headphones off his head and lifted his Wayfarer sunglasses to look down at her. “Can I help you?”
Sam fought the urge to squirm and reminded herself that the flight attendants had put out this call because the individual in need was acting strangely. “Hi. I’m just here to check on you. The flight attendants thought you may need some medical attention?”
“Excuse me?”
Sam shifted uncomfortably under the intensity of his gaze. His eyes were just-woke-up puffy but not bloodshot. She registered this as a good sign, trying to ignore the fact that his eyes were so dark they seemed more black than brown. That information wasn’t, strictly speaking, medically relevant.
“How are you feeling?” Sam asked, cursing her hair puffs. Of course, this man didn’t recognize her as a doctor. She was wearing pigtails, not scrubs, and thanks to God and a sprinkling of melanin, people often mistook her for younger than thirty-two.
“I’m fine. I work in medicine. Why would I need a doctor?”
Sam took a deep breath, giving the man a once-over. If she had to guess, he was on a bad trip. The question was, What had he taken? Fake Ambien? Maybe a party drug?
“I see. Did you, by chance, consume anything before you boarded the plane? You’re not in trouble.”
“No. You’re mistaken. I’m not in need of medical—”
“He took something right when we boarded. I saw it,” the elderly man next to him chimed in, causing the man’s head to whip around. Not helpful. She was trying to establish trust with the patient, which she couldn’t do if the older man was going to tattle on Mr.Sexy Ambien.
Rolling his eyes, the man said, “It was Advil. I have a headache.”
Doing her best to look sympathetic, Sam nodded. “It is possible to have an unusual reaction to—”
“What reaction do you think I’m having?” the man asked, squinting at her, wrinkling the fine smattering of freckles across his nose.
“You were—”
“Oh, no,” the flight attendant said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Doctor, the—”
“I’m dying!”
Sam’s head jerked up just in time to catch a blond man with a bun scratching at the sleeve of his blazer and jerking around in his seat two rows up.
