Page 14 of So Wrong It's Right

Beguiling.

Like she wore it to put me off balance.

I notice the folder in my hand and remember why I marched out. I shake it in her direction, and she gifts me with raised eyebrows. Which makes me notice her eyes again. How impossibly blue they are. I bet she uses one of her glitter pens on them every morning.

“We need to talk,” I repeat.

“That’s the rumor. What’s up, doc?”

“No more rainbow pens. And stop calling me doc.”

She tilts her head to her shoulder and studies me. “Are you all right? There’s a tic in your jaw.”

“I’m fine. Blue or black ink only. No more colors.”

“Excuse me?”

I open the file and point to the offending ink. “This is an important medical file, not a smash book or seventh grade love note. Pink glitter is not professional. Blue or black ink only.”

I pause and wait for her rebuttal. She blinks at me like maybe I’m speaking another language. And I am. It is called Grown Up and she’s not fluent.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your paper clips also.”

She stands and I get the full view of all those damned curves. “Do you need some water or something? You look kind of sweaty. What’s wrong with my paper clips?”

“They are cute.”

She picks one up and pretends it’s walking across the desk like a toy figure. “I know. I love these, with the puppy ears.”

“Stella...”

“Christopher...” she mimics and rounds the counter. “You are not my boss. I’ll use whatever paper clips or pens I want. I run the office; you fix the critters. I am not your employee; I am your colleague with my own department to run. And it runs very, very well.”

“I am the veterinary doctor here.”

“Yep. And do I tell you how to do that? No. That’s your department.”

“The way of the world is that the doctor is in charge and the receptionist...”

She covers my mouth. “Please don’t finish that statement. You’ll regret it later.”

I remove her hand, but don’t let go. I’m about to tell her more, but I inhale that damned cherry scent.

My gaze travels to where I’m holding her hand in mine. I turn it over, examining the way it fits so well in my own and that’s when I see it. “What’s that?” I ask about a small red mark.

“It’s just a little burn. No big deal. I should stick to salads, huh?”

I don’t like the way it marked her flesh. “You should be careful.” I want to say more, the words are balled up in my throat, but I know they’ll sound stupid and won’t make any sense at all. I can’t tell her I wish she had a life of no pain or small scars. I can’t tell her that I wish I had been there to make sure she had a proper oven mitt or that I would have jumped in front of her to save her from errant grease splatters.

But I would have. At this moment, this moment that stretches until it feels like the rest of the world blurs around me, I would do any ridiculous thing life requires of me to protect her. I don’t know why. I don’t want to know why. She exacerbates me. I don’t think I even like her. Why is it that I want to wrap her in bubble wrap and slay her dragons?

I’m standing in my place of business, holding my receptionist’s hand and fighting the urge to kiss a burn to make it better. The front door chimes, and she pulls away from me when I don’t want to let go.

Come back.

This is ridiculous. I don’t know what Mrs. Abbott put in those cookies, but I won’t be eating any more of them.

I shake hands with the woman who entered and say hello to Shadow. Shadow’s collar is pink with gold, glittering thread. When she sees Stella, she gets animated, showing me promise of a hopeful prognosis. It becomes obvious the way the dog and my receptionist roll around the carpet together that the two are old friends and that Stella most likely picked out the collar as a gift for the dog and wore her dress today to match our patient.

---