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It was back.
Annika had tried to get rid of it. She’d registered a complaint. She’d mentioned a hypothetical allergy. She’d considered circulating a petition, a plan she’d quickly dropped because she knew she’d be the only person at the Lake Bittersweet Urgent Care who signed it. The only thing she hadn’t done was climb onto a chair and take it down herself. Cameras would catch her in the act, she knew, and she’d be forever after known as the Mistletoe Bandit.
Staring up at the sprig of gray-green leaves with its jaunty red ribbon, she had to admit defeat.
“You win,” she told the mistletoe. “We’ll just have to learn to coexist. But don’t go expecting me to kiss anyone.”
“Oh honey, are you talking to the Christmas decorations again?” Her friend and fellow nurse, Paula, pushed through the double doors that led to the exam rooms. She wore pink scrubs with a candy cane pattern; quite a contrast to Annika’s plain and unfestive blue ones.
Annika frowned up at the plant, which dangled from a light fixture in the ceiling. Along with the mistletoe, twinkle lights were strung along the reception counter and all the windows. A large fir tree adorned with holiday cards and wooden ornaments sat in the corner. Underneath it, the resident doctor had set up a vintage train set. The clinic wasn’t big—a reception area, six exam rooms, a small lab, and one unisex bathroom. At this point, the clinic-to-decorations ratio seemed a little unbalanced.
“Christmas isn’t for another two weeks. Besides, the tree is one thing, but I feel like the mistletoe is overkill. It’s a health hazard, isn’t it, with so many viruses going around? Aren’t we encouraging people to spread infection?”
“Didn’t you read the memo?” Paula stuck a pencil into her thick twist of hair and pulled out her phone. “I have it in here somewhere.”
“I missed a mistletoe memo?”
They both laughed at that tongue twister. “Here it is.” Paula read aloud. “New Mistletoe Policy. To maintain the holiday spirit while reducing the spread of germs, please follow the new clinic policy regarding mistletoe. Instead of a kiss, anyone who stands under the mistletoe will get a wish instead.’”
Annika laughed so hard she had to rest her hands on her knees. “I’m sorry, doesn’t Santa Claus set the official mistletoe policy?”
Paula grinned and
tucked her phone back in her pocket. She went to the reception desk and grabbed the chart for their newest patient, a teenage boy with a stiff neck and a severe headache. “What are you even doing here? Didn’t I tell you to take a day off? You’re working too much, it’s freaking me the F out.”
“It’s hard to take a day off this time of year. So many opportunities for overtime.”
“I hear that. I barely got started on my shopping. Move over, girl.” She elbowed Annika aside and took her place under the mistletoe. “I wish my shopping was all done and that Annika Scarlett would take a damn break.”
Annika made a face at her. “Only one wish, sorry. Official clinic policy.”
Paula laughed and hurried back toward the exam rooms. Annika moved behind the reception desk, where the computer awaited her. She had to update the morning charts; but first, she pulled out her phone.
What’s with the mistletoe/kissing/Christmas thing? She texted Brent. And can anything be done about it?
As she waited for his response, she worked on the charts, which needed only about three-fifths of her brain. The remaining two-fifths were occupied with picturing Brent Caldwell pulling out his phone in whatever high-powered board meeting he was in. Would he smile when he saw her name flashing on his phone screen? Would he wish it was one of the sexy shots she sometimes sent?
He’d asked her to lay off those because once he’d inadvertently torpedoed a deal because he was too distracted by a shot of her nude under-boobs.
Her phone pinged and her heart jumped the way it always did.
Brent texted: Google says the Druids valued its healing properties and the Greeks started the kissing thing at their winter festival.
Three dots followed, as he texted something else. She waited.
Are you anti-kissing?
Depends on the kisser and the kissee. I had to dodge a doc last year.
Want me to come down there and kick some lab coat ass?
A thrill flashed through her. As the older sister, with a runaway mother and a preoccupied father, she’d taken on the role of protector from an early age. No one had ever done the same for her. When Brent said things like that, it pleased her on a primal level, even though he was in Chicago and not in ass-kicking range.
I have other plans for when you get here.
So do I.
She braced herself for an eggplant emoji, or maybe a bed, but that wasn’t Brent’s style. Instead he sent a long string of flowers and wrapped present emojis. And a Christmas tree. And a crown. Luckily, no mistletoe.
I can change my schedule to pick you up, she offered.
No need. I’m bringing
the helo. Quickest and least disruptive.
Sure. Okay. That was billionaire logic, she figured. If it was her, she’d be going the most-economical-while-still-being-comfortable route. Possibly a Greyhound bus, or maybe a ride-share with someone from high school who she’d have to make awkward conversation with and argue about what music to play.
But she didn’t protest. She was just happy that he was coming.
And also, nervous. Very, very nervous. What if he didn’t live up to all the fun they had with their texts? What if they didn’t have any sparks in person? No physical chemistry? Or rather, what if their chemistry had evaporated since the summer, when they’d very definitely shared an attraction?
She and Brent had been texting back and forth since a scary incident one night in midsummer. Brent and his son Tyler had taken the speedboat belonging to Sans Souci, the estate they’d rented for a family reunion, out on the lake for some stargazing. Somehow, the engine had caught fire.
Brent and his nine-year-old son had jumped into the lake, but Tyler wasn’t much of a swimmer. Jason Mosedale, one of the local firefighters, had happened to witness the fire, and he swam out to rescue them.
Once onshore, Brent had rushed Tyler to the clinic to get checked out. That was where Annika had met them. At first she hadn’t paid much attention to the dripping-wet man hovering over his kid. She’d focused on Tyler, who’d lost his glasses in the lake and kept coughing up water.
She had a knack with kids, partly because she was helping raise her sister Jenna’s two boys. Never talk down to kids in an emergency situation. Let your own calm manner give them something to cling to. Be firm and decisive, but also respectful and empathetic. And humorous
if it felt right.
“Bet you didn’t expect to end up in the lake tonight, did you?” she asked as she checked his heart rate.
He shook his head.
“Well, let me tell you a story, then. I got thrown into the water once. I was being bullied by an older kid. He tossed me off the dock and wouldn’t let me climb onto the ladder.”
Tyler’s eyes widened. “What did you do?”
“I played a prank on him. I pretended I was drowning and then I hid under the dock. There was just enough space so I could breathe. He freaked out and ran to get help. A fire engine came. All these firefighters ran down the dock. I could hear their boots on the planks. So I took
a deep breath and floated out onto the water, face down, as if I’d drowned.”
Behind them, she heard Tyler’s dad’s muffled snort.
“But I miscalculated,” she finished up. “You can’t really fake having no water in your lungs. I got into even more trouble than my bully did. Okelie-dokelie…you’re good to go.”
“I’m fine?”
“You are absolutely fine. I’d recommend staying warm and cozy for a day or two. Play some inside games, read books, paint flowers, whatever you like to do. What do you like to do?”
“I can draw dragons.”
She held up a hand for a high-five. “That’s a wonderful skill. Dragons aren’t easy. All those scales are a nightmare. And it’s hard to get flames right.”
Afterwards, while Tyler was in the bathroom, Brent stepped in front of her before she could hurry to the next patient. “Who are you?” he’d asked.
“Excuse me?” She’d pulled back, offended, but finally giving him a real once-over. He had a look about him, a sort of quiet charisma. Dark hair with streaks of silver, intense dark eyes, an intensity she found…well, sexy.
“I’m a trained trauma nurse working as the nurse on call tonight. Who are you?”
A flash of surprise. Was she supposed to know who he was, other than Brent Caldwell, father of Tyler?
“No, I mean, really who are you? What was that story? Did that really happen? Did you grow up here?”
She frowned at him, her naturally wary nature responding to these unusual questions. “What does that have to do with anything? I assure you I’m fully competent to treat your son.”
“Of course you are.” He dismissed that comment with a wave of his hand. Still watching her with those deep, penetrating eyes. He waited patiently for her to answer. Something about his close attention drew words from her.
“I grew up here, yes. It really happened, yes. Well, most of it.”
He raised his eyebrows. ...
