The absolute best part of my job is delivering babies, and tonight we have a full house on the delivery ward. There are three women in active labour, two inductions in the early stages, and at least one woman on antenatal that we’re watching and might take in for a c-section later if her bloodwork changes.

There’s a fine balance in medicine between watching the numbers, trusting the numbers, and making the gut call to ignore the numbers because your Spidey Sense says this one isn’t like the others. That sense gets stronger over time. I’ve seen some consultants with decades of experience make some whacked out calls—and be right—because their internal reference database is just that varied.

I’m relatively new to this. My internal reference database is a picture-perfect memory of all the recent evidence published in peer-reviewed journals.

I’m a barrel of fun at parties.

Speaking of which…I still don’t have a costume for Bas’s street party. His kinky street party, although he hasn’t been more forthcoming about that aspect of it. But I got the gist. I also picked up, loud and clear, that he doesn’t think that’s my scene.

I’m going to prove him wrong. I’ll show him I’m a hell of a lot more than adorable. There was something about that exchange that pushed me off the awkward should-I, shouldn’t-I fence I’ve been teetering on for the last couple of months.

I should.

I should tell him how I feel.

I should admit the deception I fell into when we met.

I should tell him the truth, because in the end, if I don’t, our friendship isn’t real.

A tremor of fear ripples through me at the thought of losing what we have—but what we currently have isn’t what I really want. And he’s friends with a lot of his exes. Why couldn’t he be friends with the girl who had a crush on him, lied to him, and moved into his apartment like a perverted stalker? If I don’t frame it that way, of course, because yikes.

I’ll need to work on my presentation of the truth.

One thing at a time. First, a sexy costume and a way to make it clear to him that I’m not the little miss goody-two-shoes he’s pegged me as. Second, I’ll make it clear I want him. Third, I’ll admit that’s been the truth from the moment we met.

“It’s a good plan,” I say out loud, under my breath.

“The induction in room 3?” the resident next to me asks.

I glance up the white board, and the progress stats. Yep, that’s a good plan, too. “Mm-hmm. I’m going to take a few minutes and do some Halloween shopping, all right? Page me if anything changes.”

“Sure thing.”

The staff lounge is empty, so I stay there instead of heading all the way to my office. I fire up my laptop and Google sexy adult Halloween costumes. Then I immediately close that window, because no, not that sexy—this is still a public street event, after all—and I try again.

Classy kinky costumes doesn’t return better results.

But then, on the side, I see an ad for a store selling corsets, and when I click on that, a whole array of options present themselves. Cosplay. Steampunk. And then I see a tutu.

It’s been fifteen years since I last wore a ballet leotard, but for the decade before that it was practically a second skin to me.

That’s something sexy and possibly kinky that I would feel comfortable wearing in public. And on the same page is a link to ballet-styled boots, which make a lot more sense for an Ontario Halloween—and an outdoor street festival any time of the year—than slippers would. Done, and done.

I quickly add the tutu, the boots, some fishnet stockings, and two kinds of body leotards to my cart, because a girl likes options when it comes to baring skin. Then I pick a corset which, if I weren’t wearing a leotard, would bare more than just the tops of my breasts.

It’s a filthy costume that makes me feel funny.

It’s perfect.

As I push the order button, the lounge door swings open and a woman I don’t know walks in. She’s in scrubs and her badge says Dr. Addison Greer, Paediatrics. I catch all of that in the split second before I close my laptop, a little too quickly to be casual.

She skids to a halt. “Sorry, am I interrupting something?”

I laugh nervously. “Nope.”

“I can come back.”

“It’s fine.” I hold my breath for a second. “Actually, I just want to make sure an order went through. It’s a Halloween costume, nothing inappropriate.” Not too inappropriate, anyway. Not in its individual parts.

“Averting my eyes,” she says gently, swivelling away from me. “I’m Addison, by the way. I’m new to the Paeds team. I’m covering Max Donovan’s shift tonight. And I adore Halloween costumes, so the dorkier the better.”

“This is less dorky and more trying-to-impress-a-man,” I admit. “Which is a weird thing to share with a new colleague, but I’m sure Max will tell you have a tendency to put my foot in my mouth about all sorts of things.” I open my computer, double-check the order went through, then stow it away in my messenger bag.

I stand up. “You can turn around again.” I hold out my hand. “Meadow Pedersen. Obstetrics.”

She beams and squeezes my fingers gently. “Max said I’d like working with you, and he wasn’t wrong.”

“Have you had a look at the board? We’re going to have a busy night.” As I say that, my pager goes off. I sling my messenger bag across my body and point in the general direction of the nursing station. “Shall we?”

“After you.”

“Where did you come from before here?”

“Colorado. Before that, I was in B.C. That’s where I know Max from.”

“Neat.” And with that, we’re into the thick of it. One mom has started pushing, another is in a nice holding pattern, having a wee rest before she gets started. I stash my bag under the desk, re-tuck my curls into a tight bun on the back of my head, and take a deep breath.

It’s time to welcome some new people into the world.