My phone buzzes in my pocket just as I’m walking out of room 305. It’s been a quiet morning, which is a welcome respite after last night’s chaos. They haven’t needed me in the OR yet today, so I’ve been busy checking on patients.

Linnea: I’m stopping at the store. Need anything?

Me: Maybe more of those condoms.

Me: WAIT. NO.

Me: Cookies. I swear I meant cookies. The lemon ones. God, never mind.

Linnea: It’s fine! Yeah, I can get those.

Me: Charlotte is out of school early today, right?

Linnea: Yep. 11:30.

Me: Want to come by the hospital after? We can get some boobs.

Me: NO

Me: BOOBS

Me: OMG

Me: F O O D

Me: I’m so sorry. Stupid autocorrect. Lunch. We can get lunch.

Linnea: That’s OK. Yeah, sounds good. I’m lesbian soon so I’ll see you then.

Linnea: OMG, no!

Linnea: I’m LESBIAN soon.

Linnea: Why, autocorrect? Is it contagious? No, I’m leaving soon. LEAVING.

Linnea: I think we should quit now. I’ll see you at lunch.

I shake my head and put my phone back in my pocket. Well that was mortifying. Condoms? Boobs? You have got to be kidding me, autocorrect. I’m glad Linnea has a good sense of humor or I could be in trouble.

My pager beeps, sending a familiar surge of adrenaline through me. I’ve been wakened from a fitful half-sleep by that sound so many times, it always makes me feel like I have to jump out of bed, no matter what I’m doing.

I’m needed in the ER for a surgical consult, so I head downstairs. The attending and I decide to admit the patient for overnight observation before resorting to surgery. The rest of my morning goes by quickly. I have more patients to check up on. The intestinal perforation is stable and doing well, and the cholecystectomy looks like he’ll be ready to be discharged in the morning. His wife is with him, so I spend some time answering her questions.

Seeing the gratitude in her eyes reminds me why I got into this field in the first place. Sometimes I wonder if I chose the right specialty. Being a trauma surgeon can be intense and stressful, and the hours aren’t great. I look at Weston with his cushy office and flexible schedule and wonder if I should be doing something else.

But trauma surgery is so rewarding. It’s like a puzzle. If a patient comes to me, they’re in bad shape, and it’s my job to figure out what’s wrong with them. Time seems to slow and all my senses sharpen. I have to think fast and act quickly. Very often the patient’s life is in my hands. I don’t get that kind of a rush from anything else, and I have to admit, it’s addictive.

And I’m good at what I do. I’ve always been cool-headed under pressure. I’m able to stay calm, assess the damage, and take decisive action.

I know I wouldn’t be as happy doing something else. But I always have to consider my family. Before Linnea came, I was seriously thinking about finding a different job. My schedule made it so hard to find good childcare, and I couldn’t keep relying on my sister. But with Linnea, everything seemed to fall into place.

My pager beeps again, but it’s just a question about a patient. I walk over to an empty nurse’s station and use the phone to call downstairs and answer.

Kyle, the on-call anesthesiologist, wanders over to the station. “How’s the appendectomy doing?”

“Acceptable,” I say. “I discharged him.”

“I wasn’t happy with his oxygen levels,” he says. “I included that in my notes to the attending. I hope he gets that sleep apnea under control, or we’ll have him back in here before too long.”

“Yeah.” My phone buzzes again. It’s probably Linnea. “Just a sec, Kyle, I need to check this.”

Linnea: We’re downstairs. Can you still get away for lunch?

Me: Yep. Meet you in the main lobby.

I pocket my phone. “I’m heading downstairs for lunch. My daughter is here.”

“Nice,” he says. “Who’s bringing her? Your sister?”

“No, Linnea,” I say. “Her nanny.”

He nods. “I’m heading that way too. I’ll ride down with you.”

Kyle and I take the elevator downstairs. Hopefully I won’t get called out on an emergency, although that’s more likely to happen at night. Days tend to be quieter in an ER.

The elevator doors open and I spot Charlotte standing near the front entrance. I glance at Linnea and almost stop in my tracks. She’s wearing a pale green sleeveless shirt, form-fitting black pants, and tan wedge heels. Her wavy blond hair is down and she tucks it behind her ear as she smiles at me.

And yes, her boobs look amazing.

“Whoa,” Kyle says under his breath. “That’s your nanny?”

“Eyes on her face, Kyle.”

He clears his throat.

“Hi, Daddy,” Charlotte says when we approach.

“Hi, Bug.” I pick her up and nod to Kyle as he heads down the hall. I can practically feel him trying not to stare at Linnea.

“I’m glad you could get away for a little bit,” Linnea says. “It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, it’s good to see you too.”

Her face flushes, and I think I might have just done a very unmanly thing and blushed a little bit too. Shit.

“I can’t go very far when I’m on call, but there’s a deli just across the street,” I say.

“That sounds great,” Linnea says.

“Can I have mac and cheese?” Charlotte asks.

“Let’s go see what they have,” I say.

We head outside and across the street. The deli is busy, but there are a few open tables. I help Charlotte find what she wants—they do have mac and cheese—and we all order at the counter. The guy gives us a number to take to our table and says our food will be out soon.

Just as we sit down, Charlotte announces she has to go to the bathroom. Linnea grabs her purse and starts to get up, but I put a hand on her arm to stop her.

The feel of her skin sends a jolt of electricity racing through me. I try not to let it show on my face.

“I can take her.”

“You sure?” she asks.

“Yeah, happy to. Come on, Bug.”

The bathrooms are single occupant, so it’s no big deal to take her in the men’s room. She chats with me as she goes potty—telling me all about their bus ride downtown. When we come out, there’s a guy sitting at our table, directly across from Linnea.

I’m instantly angry. Who the fuck is this guy? I roll my eyes at his hipster-stache. Dude, if you can’t grow real facial hair, just shave.

He nods to something Linnea is saying—I can’t see her face—but the smile he gives her makes my back stiffen. I know that smile—every guy does. Predatory. I scoop up Charlotte so we can move faster and walk across the deli.

I stop next to the table and glance at Linnea before leveling the guy with a stare. “Hi.”

He looks up at me, blinking in surprise. “Oh. Is this your table?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh, sorry.” He doesn’t look at Linnea again, just gets up.

I keep my eyes on him until he leaves out the front door, then set Charlotte down.

“Who was that?” Charlotte asks.

Linnea starts to answer, but I speak first. “Someone who had the wrong table.”

“Oh,” Charlotte says.

Linnea bites her lower lip and glances away.

Shit. Maybe she wanted to talk to him. She doesn’t know many people yet. I know she’s met a few people at the music store where she started teaching piano but that’s about it. My schedule makes it hard for her to get out and have much of a life. I just acted like kind of a dick, chasing that guy off. It’s not like I have any say in who Linnea talks to.

And why should I let it bother me? She’s Charlotte’s nanny. That’s all. It’s not like I could date her, even if I wanted to.

Who am I kidding? I want to. I’ve been entranced by her since the moment she came down that escalator in the airport. But it’s just not an option.

“Sorry about that,” I say. “I, um, assumed he was bothering you.”

She lifts her eyes to meet mine. “It’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. He kind of invited himself to sit down and then asked me if I drink milk.”

“If you drink milk? What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

Linnea smiles and rolls her eyes. “He said it did my body good.”

That makes me laugh. “You’re kidding. That’s a terrible line.”

“It was pretty bad,” she says.

The waitress brings our lunches, setting our plates down in front of each of us. I need to get a handle on myself. It’s inevitable that Linnea is going to meet people—start dating. She should be dating. She’s beautiful and fun, and she’ll make some lucky asshole one hell of a girlfriend. Some really lucky asshole one hell of a wife someday.

I’ve never been a jealous guy, but every time I think of her with someone else, it pisses me off.

We eat lunch and I glance up at her a few times. Keeping things professional with her is more difficult than I thought. But I guess that just means I have to try harder.