Page 78 of Best Year Ever

As soon as I open the door, I realize I should have brought something. A cookie. Coffee. Hot chocolate. Or I should need something. Stitches. A cortisone shot. An inhaler. Kimberly the nurse looks up from her computer as I walk inside. There’s nothing in my hands, and I’m not experiencing a medical emergency.

The waiting room is empty.

I have no excuses.

“Hi, Sage,” she says with a smile. She remembers me. I mean, she should. I’m here a lot. But it surprises me how much relief her smile brings.

“Hi. Is there any chance I could see Dr. Mercer for a minute? Maybe between patients?”

“I’m sure I can fit you in. What’s your concern?”

Her hands are poised above the keys, and I pause long enough that she looks up. As soon as we make eye contact, she drops her hands and smiles. “Oh. Nonmedical visit.”

I nod. “Is that okay?”

She laughs. “Absolutely. Come on back.”

“Now?”

She disappears for a couple of seconds as she goes to the connecting door. “Now’s as good a time as any,” she says, holding the door open for me.

She points to the exam room across the hall. “I’ll let him know you’re here,” she says, and that part is so familiar that I forget to be nervous for a minute.

I sit on a chair, not the exam table.

And it really is only a minute, because now Grayson puts his head in the room. “Are you okay?” he asks.

I nod. “Nothing much is wrong with me,” I say. “At least, nothing new.”

Oh, that smile. He moves inside the room and slides the door closed. I can’t take my eyes off his face. He sits on his wheelie chair and moves it closer and closer until our knees are touching.

If this has ever happened before, it didn’t come with so much sensory explosion. I think my feet are going to start tapping from all the extra energy brought on by his closeness.

“My doctor doesn’t usually sit this close to me,” I say. My voice is breathy.

“No?” he asks, his hands coming to rest on my hips. “Maybe today I’m not your doctor.”

I can feel my nerves singing under his hands. No one has ever looked at me like he’s looking at me. Like he has to keep his hands on me so I don’t disappear. Like I’m precious.

“What are you, then?”

“Is boyfriend too juvenile a word?” How is it he’s getting even closer? I can feel the whisper of his breath on my cheek.

“I don’t mind it if you don’t,” I say. “But do you think it’s a little premature? I mean, we haven’t even kissed properly.”

His hands flex and tighten on my hips. “What makes a kiss proper?”

“I think we’re required to both be doing the kissing at the same time,” I say.

“Now? Is this the time?”

I nod, and before I realize I’m doing it, I lick my lips. No, really. As we sit here contemplating our first kiss, I actually lick my lips. I’m a cliché. This should be so embarrassing, but then I look at his face and decide to run with it. He doesn’t look like he minds too much. His eyes darken as they flicker from my mouth to my eyes and back.

“Now is a very good time if you don’t have other things you need to be doing.” Why am I still talking?

I slide my hand up his arm, wondering why any man would ever wear anything but scrubs. There is nothing more attractive in the world than this navy-blue shirt on these arms. Unless it’s the tendons in his neck and the movement of his throat as he swallows.

“This is exactly what I need to be doing.” His voice is soft and deep, and I put my hand to the back of his neck. I feel him shudder as my fingers run through his hair.

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