Page 57 of The Clinch
I could take it off. Slip it into my pocket. I’m going to work, not a photo shoot.
But taking it off feels wrong.
I don’t know when that shifted.
He pulls upto the ER entrance like always. I point across the street.
“I’m grabbing coffee first.”
“Hold on.” He parks and we get out.
I huff. “You know I can buy coffee without supervision, right?”
“Or,” he says mildly, holding out his hand, “maybe I just like spending time with you, Flash.”
I roll my eyes and take his hand.
The coffee shop is packed. Leo hangs back while I order—large iced coffee with oat milk for me, black for him.
The barista’s eyes catch on my hand as I reach for my wallet. Her smile softens.
“Congratulations.” She draws hearts on both cups.
Deeply unnecessary.
When I turn, he checks my hand first. Not my face. Long enough to show he caught it too. He doesn’t comment.
Outside, the heat is already climbing, thick and impatient. We cross back toward the hospital, my coffee sweating through the sleeve.
He stops beside his car. “See you at five, Flash.”
“You’re not my handler, Brooklyn.”
“Good. I’d be terrible at it.”
I shake my head and go inside, glancing back once.
He’s still there. Waiting until I disappear.
Like it’s his job now.
I make it halfway through triage before Marco catches my wrist, firm enough to stop me beside the desk while a monitor chirps somewhere down the hall.
He clocks the ring before I can angle my hand away.
“Well,” he drawls. “That answers that.”
I pull my chart closer against my chest. “Answers what?”
Marco gives me a look. “Whether the internet finally got something right.”
Great. Now I’m blushing.
“You read page six now?”
“Please. My sister does.” He lets go of my wrist and leans a hip against the counter. “Also, a six-foot-something hottie in a black Rover keeps dropping you at the curb like clockwork. We’re an ER, Liz. Pattern recognition is kind of our thing.”
“It’s not?—”
