Читать книгу Just One Last Night... - Amy Andrews - Страница 9

GRACE was pleased to get her first day in the actual department started. She loved emergency medicine and even a few weeks away from it had left her yearning for the hustle and bustle.

It was the sort of work that was completely absorbing, leaving no time to worry about anything in the outside world. And now she and Brent had agreed to be friends, there was no reason for apprehension.

It was actually a respite for Grace to come to work.

She’d been too free to over-think her situation over the last few weeks, and the problems with Tash and the uncertainty of what would happen next had been unsettling.

She never felt unsettled at work. At work there was certainty.

And control.

As she entered Melbourne Central’s emergency department via the sliding doors fifteen minutes before her official start time of eight a.m., Grace pulled in a deep lungful of hospital air. The smell of antiseptic and floor polish was as familiar to her as her own minty toothpaste breath and she almost sighed out loud.

She wanted to stop in the middle of the all-but-deserted waiting area with its rows of hard plastic chairs and announce, ‘Honey, I’m home.’

She smiled to herself as she kept walking, nodding to the nurse at the triage desk as she made her way to the empty staffroom. Stowing her bag in the locker she’d been allocated, she fixed herself a quick cup of coffee at the kitchenette and wandered out to the handover room where she knew the night medical staff would be passing on information to the day doctors.

The handover room, used by both medical and nursing staff, was an office off the main medical station that formed the central hub of the department. It wasn’t very large and consisted of an overflowing desk, crammed bookshelves weighed down with medical texts and several chairs.

There were two large glass windows so comings and goings could be watched, and on one wall was a large fixed whiteboard with various patients’ names and conditions corresponding with the cubicle number they currently occupied.

Grace introduced herself to the assembled residents and registrars. A large glass jar that sat on the desk containing assorted lollies was passed around and the handover began. Two minutes later Brent strode into the room.

‘Sorry, I’m late,’ he apologised. ‘Bloody traffic is getting worse. Terrible impression to give the new kid on the block. Sorry, Grace, I know how you hate tardiness.’

Grace bristled as she felt the force of several speculative gazes. Yes, she did abhor tardiness. Growing up in a family of twelve, they’d rarely been on time anywhere, and punctuality was one of the things since flying the nest that she’d always prided herself on.

But the familiarity of his greeting, not to mention the way his damp hair curled around his collar and the distinct soap and aftershave aroma he’d brought into the room with him, rankled.

He’d filled the room with such effortless masculinity and, in the process, transported her back twenty years.

When what she really needed was to be in the here and now.

‘I’ll make sure HR docks it from your pay, Dr Cartwright,’ she murmured.

It scored her a couple of laughs but also, she hoped, delivered her message loud and clear. Friendship had its limits.

Brent heard it loud and clear. Obviously being friends didn’t entail anything too familiar.

Fine by him.

But still, as the report progressed he realised how hard it was going to be in reality to ignore their history. He was super-conscious of her. Of knowing that beneath her tailored trousers and cotton shirt lay very familiar territory.

He remembered what she looked like naked.

How she liked to be touched.

And what she sounded like when she came.

It may have been twenty years but those memories were still just as potent today. He’d forgotten nothing.

‘So what time is the ultrasound booked for the suspected gall bladder?’ Grace asked the night reg.

Brent, who hadn’t realised he’d tuned out, dragged his mind out of Grace’s underwear and tuned back in to the handover. Hopefully, seeing Grace regularly like this—at work, as colleagues, in a non-sexual way—would blunt those old memories.

Hopefully, they’d eventually dissipate altogether.

Hopefully.

It took all of Grace’s willpower to block out Brent’s presence in her peripheral vision but once she had, she found herself enjoying the relaxed atmosphere of the handover. Her new colleagues stopped every now and then to have a joke or throw in an anecdote.

The department was in its early morning lull so there was no need to rush. Not every morning was like this so it was great to be able to take their time when they could.

Brent joined in with his own witty observations and Grace could see how respected he was. The junior doctors deferred to him and he was generous with his support and knowledge. But he also challenged them to think laterally and to look outside the box when answers were elusive.

And he was liberal with praise, murmuring, ‘Good catch,’ when an apparent case of heartburn at two in the morning had been correctly diagnosed as an impending myocardial infarction.