Page 13 of Christmas On Call
“Rideshare.” Max gestured vaguely toward the pickup zone. “Should be here in—” She glanced at her phone. “—ten minutes.”
“Ah.”
The silence stretched again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt expectant, like the pause before a storm.
Asha shifted her weight, suddenly unsure what to do with her hands. “Thank you,” she said, the words coming out more abruptly than she’d intended. “For last night. During the code. You were?—”
“Just doing my job,” Max said, but there was no deflection in her voice, only warmth.
“No,” Asha said, and she was surprised by the firmness in her own tone. “You were more than that.”
Max’s expression shifted—surprise, then something softer. She took a small step closer, close enough that Asha could see the flecks of gold in her green eyes, the faint freckles dusting the bridge of her nose.
“You know,” Max said quietly, “you don’t have to keep pretending you hate Christmas. I think there’s a little joy in there somewhere.” She tapped her fingers lightly against her own chest, then gestured toward Asha. “Maybe even in you.”
Asha’s breath caught. Her pulse was suddenly too loud, her skin too warm despite the cool air. She opened her mouth to respond—to deflect, to retreat into professionalism—but Max was looking at her with such unguarded kindness that the words died before they could form.
The moment stretched, fragile and electric. Asha became acutely aware of how close they were standing, how Max’s gaze kept flicking to her mouth and then back to her eyes, how her own heartbeat was racing in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion.
Max leaned in—just a fraction, just enough—and Asha realized, with a clarity that felt like falling, that she could meet her halfway.
So she did.
The kiss was soft at first, tentative, a question neither of them had dared to ask aloud. Max’s lips were warm, slightly chapped, tasting faintly of cocoa and cinnamon. Asha’s hand moved without her permission, finding Max’s wrist, her fingers curling around the delicate bones there as if to anchor herself.
Max made a small sound—surprise, or relief—and the kiss deepened. Asha felt the world tilt, felt the careful architecture of her self-control crack and splinter. Her other hand came up to cup Max’s jaw, and Max’s fingers tangled in the fabric of Asha’s coat, pulling her closer.
It lasted only seconds. Or maybe hours. Time folded in on itself, and Asha couldn’t tell the difference.
When they finally pulled apart, Asha’s breath was ragged, her hands trembling. Max’s eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed, her expression caught somewhere between shock and delight.
“Wow. Merry Christmas,” Max whispered.
Asha’s mind was a white-noise roar of panic and exhilaration. She took a step back, her fingers still tingling where they’d touched Max’s skin, and tried to reassemble herself into something resembling a functioning adult.
“We should—” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “We should get some sleep.”
Max nodded slowly, but her gaze didn’t waver. “Yeah. Sleep. Totally. “
The word hung between them, heavy with everything they weren’t saying.
A car horn blared somewhere in the parking lot, shattering the moment. Asha flinched, and the spell broke.She straightened her coat, smoothed her hair, her mask of professionalism snapping back into place like muscle memory.
“I’ll see you on your next shift,” Asha said, and she hated how formal she sounded, how distant.
Max’s smile was small but knowing. “Sure, Doctor Patel.”
Asha turned and walked toward the parking structure, forcing herself not to look back. Her legs felt unsteady, her pulse still racing. She reached her car—a sensible Honda Accord, silver and anonymous—and fumbled with her keys, her hands shaking so badly it took three tries to unlock the door.
She slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door, sealing herself in the small, quiet space. For a full minute, she just sat there, staring at the steering wheel, her fingers pressed to her lips.
She could still feel it—the warmth of Max’s mouth, the gentle press of her hands, the way her breath had hitched when Asha pulled her closer. The self doubt of her actions clouded by the unstoppable pull.
Had she made a huge mistake?
Asha’s phone buzzed in her bag, startling her. She pulled it out: a notification from the hospital system, a reminder about her next shift. She swiped it away without reading it.
Through the windshield, she could see the hospital entrance in the distance. Max was still there, waiting for her ride, her figure small and bright against the concrete.
