Page 88 of Yours to Keep

She shrugged, pretending to examine her nails, but I could see the smile she was trying to hide. “You always picked chocolate muffins at the breakfast buffet in the Bahamas.”

I blinked hard, genuinely surprised. “You remember my muffin preferences?”

“You remember I like my coffee with one sugar and too much cream,” she shot back. “Don’t act shocked.”

“I’m not shocked,” I said. “I’m impressed.”

I took a bite and groaned at the rich gooiness of the chocolate. Her mouth curved into a small, pleased smile.

“Where did you get this?” I asked once I’d swallowed. “I know this didn’t come from the cafeteria.”

“Worry not, Mr. Scrooge. The hospital cafeteria’s muffin budget is still razor thin.” She smiled a little to take the sting out of her words. “This one is from the good bakery two blocks over.”

“You left hospital grounds for baked goods? Walked two whole blocks? To get me a muffin because you heard I was stomping?”

“I wasn’t on the clock, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

I shook my head and looked into her eyes. “You know that’s not what I was asking about.”

“Don’t make it weird,” she said quickly. “I was already going to grab a coffee.”

“Sure you were.” It was my turn to smile.

She tilted her head. “You’re saying I shouldn’t walk two blocks for a man I’m secretly dating?”

I choked slightly on the muffin. “You just said that out loud.”

She froze, then winced. “I said secretly.”

“It still counts.”

“Relax.” She smiled and leaned back in the chair again. “No one heard me except you, and you’re terrible at gossip.”

“Incorrect. I hoard information like a dragon hoard’s gold. It’s more that no one here would listen to me even if I shouted it from the rooftops.”

She laughed and I took a sip of the coffee she’d brought without asking my order. It was exactly how I liked it.

“You’re busy,” she said after a moment, nodding toward the laptop. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“I’m always busy, and no, you’re not.”

“You look like you’re planning world domination.”

“And you’re suspiciously calm about sitting in my office in broad daylight. You’re not worried about what would happen if anyone finds out you’re here?”

She shrugged. “I’m dipping a toe into reckless life choices.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Thrilling.”

“Don’t read into it,” she said. “If anyone asks, I was delivering baked goods to upper management to prevent workplace rage incidents.”

“That sounds medically responsible.”

“Exactly.”

We fell into an easy rhythm after that, her telling me about a patient who insisted his broken wrist was caused by gardening while I told her about a contractor who tried to expense a massage chair as ergonomic infrastructure.

She snorted. “Did you approve it?”