Klaus enters the room and closes the door behind him. He clears his throat. “She was much less hyper when I met her in Los Angeles.”
“She’s drunk on holiday spirit,” I explain weakly.
“So, I didn’t realize you were about to be my patient last night,” Klaus says softly.
I frown pointing a finger at him with accusation. “You can’t make a stranger call you Mr. Claus when your name is Klaus, that’s similar enough that you didn’t give me a fake name. Faker. You’re a fake at being fake.”
He smiles. “You started it. You suggested Mrs. Claus first, and I just went along with the theme.”
“I guess I did,” I grumble.
“I’m honestly just glad to see you again,” he says, moving over to sit beside me on the bed. “When you walked out on me like that… I felt horrible. I thought I screwed up somehow, hurt your feelings, or offended you.”
“No, it was perfect,” I whisper. “It was all so perfect.” Without realizing it, I am reaching out to pick a piece of lint off his shirt.
“Then why did you leave?” he asks, and he sounds… vulnerable.
“I was afraid,” I explain. “As you can see, I just lost my career, and lost my ability to dance… and everyone at work hated me so much. I was just afraid of getting attached, or spending more time with you, and then having to say goodbye and walk away…”
“What if I said that I am already getting a little attached?” Klaus asks.
I stare at him, my eyes wide. “I wouldn’t believe you.”
“I was in a dark place last night, Clara. I told you… it’s the anniversary of Lilly’s death. And I feel like I’ve been walking around in this dark cloud for years, and you just came along and let in a few rays of sunlight. For the first time in a long time… things didn’t feel so bleak. When you were there. Is it wrong if I want you to be around a little more?”
“No,” I say, still picking lint off his shirt. Except there is no more lint. I’m making up imaginary lint to pick off his shirt, just because I want to keep touching him. Or almost touching him. So I just stop this childish, anxious behavior, and actually touch his hand. I just skim my fingers over the skin of his knuckles, and his palm turns over to clasp my hand as easily as breathing.
“So your name is Klaus,” I murmur, staring at him. “Like a Santa Clausemopolitan.”
He winces. “I saw that on the menu at The Drunken Elf.”
“It’s really good. Tastes like fruit juice,” I say.
“Klaus is a shortened version of the name Nikolaus,” he explains.
“Oh. That makes sense,” I murmur, not realizing that I am stroking his hand and sliding closer to him.
“And you’re an incredible ballet dancer,” he muses, “from that short little clip I saw. I guess that’s why you didn’t want me to take off your socks, and see your feet.”
“They are horrifying,” I assure him. “My feet will give you nightmares.”
He smiles. “Clara, I’m going to need to see your feet in order to perform surgery on them, you know.”
“That’s different,” I grumble. But then I bite my lip. “Do you think you can help me? The surgery, I mean. Do you really think it will fix me?”
“I need to take a closer look before I make any promises,” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a business card, handing it to me. “If you can forward your diagnostic imaging to that email address, along with any reports the technicians made, I’ll take a look as soon as possible.”
“When can you perform the surgery, if we decide to do that?” I ask, tucking the card in my pocket.
“Well, we could fly to Sweden in the morning to do it,” he answers. “I will need my staff to help out. Plus all the legalities of where I can perform medicine, etc.”
“I understand,” I say softly. Then I squint at him. “What about the ethics of… us having… been intimate? Will that cause any legal problems with you operating on me?”
“I mean, it certainly could,” he says quietly. “But that’s mainly if we… continue to have some kind of intimate relationship, while I’m your doctor.”
“Would you like to… continue?” I ask him awkwardly.
“Very much, yes,” he answers at once. “But I also want to help you feel better, Clara. Which is more important to you?”