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I knocked softly. He opened the door and my mouth gaped. Wearing a pair of worn jeans, and a tight fitted t-shirt, not a single muscle wasn’t on full display and open to my viewing. Even better, he was traipsing around without shoes or socks. He saw me checking him out and I made a show of closing my mouth and giving him a “fuck you, I may have been caught but it doesn’t matter” smirk.

“Evening, Annabelle.” He stepped to the side allowing me to come in.

“Doctor Brooks.” I regarded him formally.

He shook his head as I walked past. Our banter and flirting was already starting and the evening was young. Following behind me, he closed the door and allowed me to scan my surroundings. It was a very modern, chic apartment, and exactly what I expected from him. Clean lines, black leather furniture, and an open floor plan. There was no true entry way into the space. I walked right into the living room where a large couch sat at an angle over the top of a gray area rug. A massive television covered a portion of the wall, and a very nice surround sound system hung in every corner that I could see. To the right was a kitchen that had gray cabinets and a black granite countertop. Stainless steel appliances rounded off the modern kitchen. It smelled amazing in here—an aroma of fresh herbs and spices with a touch of garlic. Stepping toward the kitchen, I saw the two wine glasses and a bottle of white and red wine next to them. Something was simmering on the stovetop, and two plates sat beside it.

I turned to look at him. “What’s for dinner?”

“Chicken piccata over linguine, and garlic bread is in the oven.” He skirted past me, barely brushing my bare arm. I shivered. “I wasn’t sure if you liked red or white, but reds usually go better with Italian.”

“Red is fine,” I concurred.

He poured me half a glass, while he did the same for himself. “Feel free to relax and make yourself at home. There are stools on the other side of the bar if you care to sit there.”

I did as he suggested. He went to the stove and stirred what was cooking. I took a seat on a silver stool that had no backing. It was slightly uncomfortable but for conversation sake, I’d stay here until it was time to eat.

“How was work?” he asked.

“Quite busy actually. Three deliveries.”

“Were you in on all of them?”

“I was for two, the last I came in after baby was born and did some clean up.”

“Do you ever get to go in during C-sections?”

“No, not really. I’ve seen a few, but there are other nurses on staff, that are trained for those.”

Small talk, or genuine interest. Either way, the conversation flowed from one subject to another. I’d been there for about twenty minutes when he said the food was ready. He made my plate and carried it over to a black table. He stuck to his word. No candles were lit, and no weird music was being played. There was a clicker on the table near his chair and he picked it up and pushed a couple buttons. In a moment I heard Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get It On“ start playing throughout the house.

I looked at him and raised a brow. “Really?”

He chuckled. “I’m totally teasing. Set that one up.”

I laughed. “Well played.”

He pushed another couple buttons and some low key country came on.

“I promise no more ‘cheese.’ But I had to tease.”

I smirked. “Wasn’t sure where you were going with that one.”

He shook his head and dove into his food. I followed suit and silence ensued. It was still comfortable though. It felt like we’d done this many times before and it was natural to enjoy each other’s company. Something I’d never felt with someone else before.

“You ever consider moving up to my floor?”

I paused with my fork midair. “I suppose I have.”

“If a position opened up, would you consider it?”

I thought about it. “Maybe, but I’m enjoying where I’m at more than I expected too. The other nurses are quite nice and seeing the deliveries day in and day out, is very gratifying to me. No two births are the same, and it keeps me on my toes.”

He pondered my words. Taking his last bite, he set his fork down and sat back in his chair. Blue eyes were staring me down and I swallowed my food almost whole. He had the ability to make me feel so comfortable one minute, and completely unglued the next. And could his shoulders be any wider?

“Chew your food a little better, Annabelle. I may know the Heimlich but that doesn’t mean I want to perform it.”

“Excuse me?”

“I see you.” His voice got deeper.

“You see me?”

“Yes. I see everything.”

Enough already.
Shake it off, Annabelle.
He was taking control and I needed it back. “Interesting.” I broke eye contact and poked at my food. “So not only are you a comedian, we can add psycho stalker to your list of qualities. Noted.”

He barked out a laugh. “And there you go again.”

“What did I do?”

“I may see things about you, but one thing I can never figure out is what is going to come out of your mouth next. It keeps
me
on
my
toes.”

“Glad I keep you entertained.” I took his advice and chewed a little more thoughtfully.

He tilted his head to the side regarding me. I expected him to shoot back, but he didn’t. Instead he stood, and picked up his plate and glass. “Finish up. I’m going to start the dishes and then we can sit and relax.”

Relax.
Riiight.
Whatever that was with a man like him sitting next to me. Such a contradiction. I was able to feel at ease next to him, but also edgy. I only had a couple more bites to finish and I was stuffed. Like, certain my stomach was hanging over my pants and I’d be much more comfortable in yoga pants, stuffed. I’ll give him credit, the man could cook. Certainly a quality his mom instilled. Mimicking what he’d done, I took my dishes over to him. I expected him to step out of the way so I could rinse mine off and put them in the dishwasher, but he took them from my hand instead.

“Thank you.”

He eyed me curiously. “You’re welcome. Go make yourself comfortable on the couch. I’ll be over in a minute.”

I did as he asked. Even though my heart was wanting to take a little galloping stroll in my chest, I took a couple deep breaths and reminded myself that I didn’t have to do anything that I didn’t want to. I could, in fact, control the situation. Lies. That was a bald faced lie I would continue to tell myself up until Turner came and sat down next to me. Good God, the man smelled divine. It was a subtle soap scent mixed with a light cologne. How bad would it look if I closed my eyes and inhaled?

“Alright I’ve fed you, given you drinks, and now it’s time to talk.”

I raised my brow. “About?”

“Annabelle.” He said my name in warning.

“Turner.” I dished back.

He sighed exasperated. “The baby. Tell me about the baby. It’s obvious he means something to you.”

Kind of hoped I could dodge this one tonight, but clearly he wasn’t going to let me. Now to decide how much to tell him. Would it really hurt if he knew? Turner hasn’t shown me any ill will or done anything to make me believe he doesn’t want the best for me. He’s shown that he just wants to make me happy. Maybe letting him know and actually talking to someone about it would make me feel better and understand a little more myself about these emotions I had.

“Well, you already know about his traumatic birth experience. His mother completely abandoned him not long after she had him, and I just . . . I don’t know. I felt bad for him.”

“Okay, but you go and see him every time you’re on your shift.”

I nodded in agreeance. “Yes, sometimes more.” I looked down at my pants and picked the lines in the fiber. “It started off as me just wanting to check in on him and making sure the kid was being given a fighting chance. But then, next thing I knew I found myself wandering back in and asking the nurses how he was doing. I felt awful for him that there was no family for him to be held by. The only human contact was what the nurses were capable of giving, and even then, their time has to be split amongst other infants that demanded the same, if not more, of their attention. It just didn’t seem fair to me. The way my parents were taken from me so young, I know what it’s like to be alone.”

He was listening so intently. “Okay, I get that much. So you wanted him to feel love. But do you love him as well?”

I could only answer honestly. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

“He’s a fragile little person. What you’re doing is so beyond selfless, it’s admirable. Do you understand how big of a heart you have? We are taught throughout our residency not to get too attached to our patients. It’s okay to be empathetic toward them, but getting close was frowned upon. Most of us shut it off. We go in, get the job done, and walk out. I’m sure you’ve seen that with several doctors that come in to catch the baby, and leave the rest up to you nurses. But this is so much more than that.” He put his hand on the hand that was fidgeting. “Annabelle, look at me.”

I couldn’t fight him asking. I gave him my eyes. “It’s commendable.”

A lump was forming in my throat and I swallowed. “Is it? Or is it stupid?”

“Why would it be stupid?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because he isn’t mine. I mean I did get attached. I really have. He has machines helping him breathe, he has tubes pumping food into his stomach so he doesn’t have to work so hard to digest anything, and none of it seems fair. I don’t know why I chose to spend time with him like I have. It just sort of happened.”

He leaned forward and placed a kiss on my forehead. It was sweet. “If it’s what feels right, then keep doing it. Besides studies show, that the kind of contact you’re giving him helps the healing process.”

“I know.”

“Then don’t question it.”

I paused and thought for a second if I should tell him the rest. “I’ve named him.”

“What?”

“I haven’t told anybody that, but when I talked to him and I sang to him, I decided he deserved a name instead of just ‘Baby March’ that is on all his charts. I named him Noah. Seemed fitting.”

Aqua blue eyes beamed down at me. “That’s a good, strong name.”

Totally not the reaction I was expecting from that little confession. Most men would hear about babies, and baby names and get the hell out of dodge. Turner was surprising the hell out of me by not doing what I figured he would when any of this came out. I didn’t know whether to hug him for being so understanding, or to question his own sanity for not thinking I was crazy.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For having enough gumption to ask. It’s not like it’s an easy subject for a typical man.”

He put his hand on his chest. “Ouch. I’m typical?”

This time I reached out to him. No clue where the bravery came from, but it seemed appropriate. My palm cupped his cheek. “You are anything but typical.”

Time stood still. I was lost to him, and how he was making me feel. But then he asked his next question.

“What happened with your parents?”

My arm dropped. Another tough subject. Hadn’t we had enough heavy for one night?

“What do you want to know?”

“The night it all happened. Were you there?”

“No. But I was supposed to be.”

He frowned. “You were supposed to be?”

“In the car, I mean. My parents had gone to the mountains for their annual ‘it’s going to be too cold to sleep outside’ camping trip. They’d done it since I was a baby. It was the one vacation that all three of us looked forward to every year. I wasn’t one of those teens that avoided their parents. I loved being around them. That particular year, I had come down with some crazy flu that my body didn’t want to shake. My mom was going to cancel but I told her I’d be fine. The neighbors were near, and I was old enough to drive by then anyway if I needed something. I’ll never forget how reluctant she was. My dad said we could hold off for another weekend, but really it was already getting too late in the year and I didn’t want to be the reason they missed it for the first time since they started the tradition. I promised I’d have my phone nearby, and if anything happened they would know. They were on their way back from the three day trip. I was finally starting to feel better and was expecting them home later that evening. But there was a knock on my door.” I closed my eyes and did everything I could to hold back the tears. I hadn’t spoken about this or even allowed myself to think of it for years. The memory was too painful and not the way I wanted to remember them. “I vaguely remember the officer telling me what had happened. They weren’t very far from home. Maybe an hour. Someone had been coming off of their long shift and fell asleep at the wheel and they crossed the median. The whole vehicle was totaled. The backseat where I would have been sitting was mangled. Both died on impact. The officer had asked me if there was someone that he could call for me, but there was no one. My grandparents were already gone, and both were only children. They’re laid to rest near here but I haven’t been back to visit their grave sites since they were buried.”

He sat for a moment and let what I’d said sink in. “You were sixteen?”