The Nightshift Before Christmas

At least she knew Josh showing up out of the blue wasn’t some clever plot to see her. It was a fluke. A needle-in-a-haystack chance of Yuletide torture. Just terrific. She’d spent two entire years patching the shredded remains of her heart together, and just when she’d come to terms with her play-it-safe, hiding-out-in-Idaho lifestyle, Josh had parachuted in and undone years of exacting damage control.

Adrenaline began to surge through her. She tugged at the high ribbing on the neck of her sweater, suddenly wishing she had scrubs on. Why hadn’t one of her patients thrown up on her? Then she could have missed this nauseating scene of mistletoe magic. She checked herself. Wishing patients ill wasn’t her style, and thankfully the two gastro cases had turned out to be overindulgence rather than food poisoning.

Who ate massive portions of something called Chocolate Decadence and didn’t expect a sore stomach? People who weren’t careful. People who were reckless. People who made decisions on a whim—like Josh.

She made a beeline for the doctors’ locker room and grabbed her winter coat before pushing through the heavy door into the stairwell and pounding up step after step toward the roof, letting out an involuntary wail of relief when she found it was empty.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

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