Page 135 of Lily In The Valley
The questions sat with me. “This morning, we had a patient who’s a magician in the making. She did this card trick that had us all stumped.”
His grin showed on its own. “Tell me another.”
“My attending nurse makes the best cornbread.”
“Lies. Ma Joise makes the best cornbread.”
“I’m serious.” I laughed. “She has her beat. Either that, or I was starving after running around between patients all day.”
He tilted his head, satisfied. “Another.”
I bit my lip, thinking of something else that went right in a day that felt so wrong. “Dr. Sayegh said my notes wereconsistently ‘clean and compassionate.’” I tried making my voice flat, but pride was hard to smother when it was honest.
“Because they are,” he replied. “Because you are.”
We admired each other through the screen, the two of us breathing like we were in the same room. Rain tapped on my window like a drummer keeping time.
“Lily-girl,” he said after a minute, his voice low.
“Hmm?”
The corner of his mouth curved in a dangerous way. “I’m gonna need a little more of your time.”
“For what?” I asked, but the question came out soft, already halfway to surrender.
“For me,” he said. “For you, really. Stand up, get a glass of water. I need to borrow your hands for a few minutes.”
I rolled over to my side, my bones humming. When I turned on the lamp next to the couch and cut off the overhead lights, the living room gentled. I filled a glass, took a long sip, and let the water settle in my belly like rain on dry soil.
“Okay,” I said, coming back into frame. “Hands, borrowed.”
“Go to your bathroom,” he said, a gentle command wrapped in honey. “Keep me where I can see you.”
I carried my phone into the bathroom, set it on the counter, and propped it up against a bottle of perfume. I sat on the rim of my tub, hands bracing the cold ceramic rim. My pulse was suddenly everywhere, a drumline marching toward a battle of the band’s showdown.
“Closer,” he said, and I moved the phone a little. “Perfect.”
He continued to lean back low in the driver’s seat of his car, his shirt draping over his chest in ways that should be illegal. His eyes dragged over me with a hunger that wasn’t impatient. It was reverent. As if he’d finally gotten the prayer he’d asked God for.
“Take a breath,” he said. “Let the day go for real this time.”
I did. It came out shaky as I stared back at him.
“That’s it.” His voice stroked my skin. “Now tell me one thing you wanted today.”
You.The answer leapt up, simple as gravity. But I didn’t want to play coy tonight.
“You,” I said, and watched as the word hit him.
“Say it again,” he murmured, then bit his lip.
“You,” I repeated as heat rose to my ribs.
“Come here,” he said, useless across two thousand miles, but my body leaned forward anyway like his voice had a string on it. “I want you to let me watch you feel good.”
“Khalil—”
“Uh-uh,” he said softly. “Take them clothes off and sit back down.”
