Page 1 of Not Like Christmas At All
Chapter One
Two weeks until Christmas
“Paging Doctor Grumpy,” the small voice of Mirabelle’s announcement echoes over the hospital's speaker system, her innocent giggles following. “Doctor Grumpy! Where are you?”
“I said to call him Doctor Hottie!” My hand whips out to cover the mic, but my whisper-shout carries through the system. Stifling my laughter, I roll my eyes. My lips thin into an unamused line, and I mouth, “Really?”
“Ew, that’s gross, he’s old!” she shrieks, and it amplifies through the hospital because I still haven’t flipped the off button.
“Wow, I see how it is. Pretty sure Doctor Hottie and I are the same age.” I could be wrong; I’ve actually never asked him how old he is, not like it matters. I’m at the beautiful, golden age where I could date him or his dad and be perfectly content.
Well, maybe nothisdad in particular, but you know what I mean.
There’s an audible click of plastic when I shut the PA system down. With the fakest stern look I can muster, I narrow my eyes at Mirabelle. “Way to blow our cover.”
Laughing, she reverses her wheelchair, shaking her head. “That was all you, Nurse Tinsel-tits.”
At twelve years old, her sass knows no bounds. I’m going to miss her when she gets discharged tomorrow morning. It was a real Christmas miracleDoctor Hottiewas able to work his magic on her open leg fracture, but now it’s time for my new friend to go home.
“Blowin’ this popsicle stand in a couple hours, and she loses all sense of decency for her favorite nurse in the whole wide world. You know what? I’ll remember that next time you’re here.” Which I hope is never. I adore all my patients, but I always hope to never see them again. At least not within these four very bleak, very sterile walls.
Her eyes widen a fraction. “I don’t wanna come back.” A visible shudder racks her petite frame, and I can tell I accidentally struck a chord.
Smoothing her hair, I boop her on the tip of her nose. “Don’t worry, sugar plum. You’re not invited back.”
Mirabelle laughs and rolls her eyes. “Works for me.”
“Come on, let’s get you back to your room. You should’ve been in there twenty minutes ago! Your nurse is going to kill me!”
“You’remy nurse.”
I feign surprise, my hand pressing against my chest. “And the best nurse in this place!”
Pushing her wheelchair down the hall, I take Mirabelle back to her room which overlooks the super amazing—insert sarcasm—aesthetic of the boring parking lot.
It’s no wonder she’s been going out of her mind for the last three days. I’ve been trying to keep her company as much as Ipossibly can, but a girl’s got to work. My patient list is a mile long.
Itisthe holidays after all. There’s no shortage of accidents, and although I have a preference for working with kids, it’s still my first year, and I’m stuck going where they tell me.
At least they let me wear pink scrubs every day.
That being said, I’ve spent every extra minute I have keeping Mirabelle entertained. Some patients you just connect with, and she and I bonded quickly. Although, I’ve learned two very interesting facts about my patient here that make my opinion of her slightly askew. She doesnotlove the holly jolly season like I do—she thinks it’s too cheerful.
Too.
Cheerful.
Is there even such a thing?
Mirabelle also said she prefers to celebrate Halloween!
Can you believe that?
Her argument? The candy is better.
The thought makes me laugh all over again—how freaking ridiculous.
She tilts her head back to look up at me. “What’s so funny?”
