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by Stacy Borel

  I used my security card to go through the door of the NICU. I wasn’t familiar with this area of the hospital at all, but it wasn’t that hard to see everything. The room was open with babies in incubators spread throughout the space. I scanned the room for her strawberry blonde hair. Sure enough, there she was. In the back corner, Annabelle sat in a rocking chair, holding quite possibly the smallest baby I’d ever seen. I approached her slowly, like you would walking up on a lion, unsure if it will attack or allow you closer. The air around her screamed protective. She cradled the baby to her chest and if anybody would get too close she looked like she would pounce. I was only a few feet away from her and she still hadn’t seen me. I observed her. She rocked back and forth, and soothingly rubbed his naked back. His fragile body swam in the too large diaper on his lower half, and her other hand held him under his bottom. A few wires kept him connected to the machines that monitored his oxygen levels and pulse. Annabelle whispered words to him that I couldn’t hear. This wasn’t what I expected to walk in to when I caught up with her.

  When she spoke about the baby she helped deliver and she would check in on, I assumed she would peek in on him, ask the nurses what his progress was, and would leave. This wasn’t what was happening at all. It was clear as day to me. This baby meant something to her. She felt for him. She was caring for him as if he were her own. My presence became known when she heard a nurse coming up beside me. When her aqua colored eyes met mine, I saw several emotions flash across her face—shock, uncertainty, anger, and embarrassment. I did my best to express understanding without words. I wasn’t judging her. No, I didn’t get what was going on here, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t empathetic and wouldn’t try to understand.

  “Turner.” She said my name almost like a question.

  I walked closer to where she was rocking ‘til I was directly in front of her. “Hi.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I went to your floor to surprise you, but you weren’t there.”

  “How did you know I was here?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It was a guess.”

  She watched me with a very calculated look upon her face. I could tell Annabelle had no idea what do to or say, but she was in defense mode. Instead of making a big deal out of seeing her like this, I decided it was best that I shift the subject and mood toward what I intended on asking her before I came down here.

  “So I was thinking, dinner at my place might be a good idea.”

  “Your place?”

  “Yes. I’m kind of a good cook. No worries though, nothing cheesy like candles and Marvin Gaye or anything. I’ll still keep it simple, but I thought another easy and relaxing date would be nice while I think of something else to get you questioning why you say yes to me.” I tossed a smile in her direction, hoping she’d enjoy the tease.

  Even though she was holding such a small little person in her hands, her attention was on me and that adorable eyebrow went up. “Dinner at your place, because you’re still thinking of other dates to take me on to make me question my life?”

  “Well, that’s one way of thinking of it.”

  “Doctor Brooks, you’re not funny.”

  “Actually, I am.”

  “No, not really.”

  “I think I’m hysterical. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

  “I don’t believe you actually asked me a question.”

  Touché, sassy girl. I guess I didn’t phrase it like a question. There she goes again, keeping me on my toes. “Would you like to come to my place this evening, so I may cook you dinner, and we could talk and drink wine?”

  She cracked a smile at me. “I thought you said there would be no cheesiness?”

  I put my hand up to my chest. “There was no cheese in that question.”

  She looked at me long and hard, her hand mindlessly patting the infant’s back. “What time do you want me there?”

  “Seven. We’ll make it a late dinner.”

  “Text me your address and let me know what you need me to bring.”

  I winked at her. “Yes, ma’am.” I took a step toward her and bent down. My lips met her forehead and I kissed her. “And we will be talking about this.”

  When I pulled away her eyes were huge on her face. I wasn’t trying to scare her, but we’d gone out enough that I should be able to ask some questions and get answers. If she didn’t want to tell me the depths of her feelings that was fine. She would eventually. I was ready for more from Annabelle. I wanted to pick her brain and learn how she ticked. I wanted her physically and in every way possible. I craved her like no other. Tonight, I would get from her what I wanted.

  Never had I anticipated Turner coming to the NICU. Him seeing me like that was almost too much. Had I not been holding the baby, I probably would have gotten more upset than I let on. First his mom asking too many questions, now him. And what did he mean we would be talking about this? There was nothing to talk about. It wasn’t any of his business, either. If he thought we were talking about anything relating to this, he was going to be disappointed.

  I didn’t have time to think about Turner during the last half of my shift. We had three moms arrive in active labor and all three delivered within an hour of each other. When I finished my portion of the paperwork, I clocked out and headed home. I had thought about when the time would come that I would be stepping foot in Turner’s space, but I figured I would be more nervous than I currently was. I chalked it up to exhaustion. I was dead on my feet and his idea for wine and food sounded amazing to my tired brain and body right now.

  When I got home, I changed into comfortable jeans, a loose tank top, and took my hair out of the ponytail it had been in all day. I pulled it half up, and let some pieces on the side fall around my face. There was no need for make-up but I did add a little bit of gloss to my lips before I got back into my car and made the drive to his place. Turns out he lived on the tenth floor of a building not far from the hospital. He had instructed me to pull into the parking garage and what number space to park in. When I got into the elevator the butterflies started their fluttering. I didn’t know what I to expect from Turner tonight, but I was stepping foot into his space. It was his domain and his rules. Was tonight going to turn into something more than just a kiss? Would I allow it? I decided before I raised my hand to knock on the door, that I would just let things flow and see where the night took us. It went against the grain for me, however I couldn’t deny that I wanted Turner Brooks. He intrigued me in every sense of the word. I desired him like no other, and at some point I needed to admit to myself that I honestly had no control with him. He held me captive when I got too close, and if he wanted something from me, I was going to let him take it.

  I knocked softly. He opened the door and my mouth gaped. Wearing a pair of worn jeans, and a tight fitted t-shirt, not a single muscle wasn’t on full display and open to my viewing. Even better, he was traipsing around without shoes or socks. He saw me checking him out and I made a show of closing my mouth and giving him a “fuck you, I may have been caught but it doesn’t matter” smirk.

  “Evening, Annabelle.” He stepped to the side allowing me to come in.

  “Doctor Brooks.” I regarded him formally.

  He shook his head as I walked past. Our banter and flirting was already starting and the evening was young. Following behind me, he closed the door and allowed me to scan my surroundings. It was a very modern, chic apartment, and exactly what I expected from him. Clean lines, black leather furniture, and an open floor plan. There was no true entry way into the space. I walked right into the living room where a large couch sat at an angle over the top of a gray area rug. A massive television covered a portion of the wall, and a very nice surround sound system hung in every corner that I could see. To the right was a kitchen that had gray cabinets and a black granite countertop. Stainless steel appliances rounded off the modern kitchen. It smelled amazing in here—an
aroma of fresh herbs and spices with a touch of garlic. Stepping toward the kitchen, I saw the two wine glasses and a bottle of white and red wine next to them. Something was simmering on the stovetop, and two plates sat beside it.

  I turned to look at him. “What’s for dinner?”

  “Chicken piccata over linguine, and garlic bread is in the oven.” He skirted past me, barely brushing my bare arm. I shivered. “I wasn’t sure if you liked red or white, but reds usually go better with Italian.”

  “Red is fine,” I concurred.

  He poured me half a glass, while he did the same for himself. “Feel free to relax and make yourself at home. There are stools on the other side of the bar if you care to sit there.”

  I did as he suggested. He went to the stove and stirred what was cooking. I took a seat on a silver stool that had no backing. It was slightly uncomfortable but for conversation sake, I’d stay here until it was time to eat.

  “How was work?” he asked.

  “Quite busy actually. Three deliveries.”

  “Were you in on all of them?”

  “I was for two, the last I came in after baby was born and did some clean up.”

  “Do you ever get to go in during C-sections?”

  “No, not really. I’ve seen a few, but there are other nurses on staff, that are trained for those.”

  Small talk, or genuine interest. Either way, the conversation flowed from one subject to another. I’d been there for about twenty minutes when he said the food was ready. He made my plate and carried it over to a black table. He stuck to his word. No candles were lit, and no weird music was being played. There was a clicker on the table near his chair and he picked it up and pushed a couple buttons. In a moment I heard Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get It On“ start playing throughout the house.

  I looked at him and raised a brow. “Really?”

  He chuckled. “I’m totally teasing. Set that one up.”

  I laughed. “Well played.”

  He pushed another couple buttons and some low key country came on.

  “I promise no more ‘cheese.’ But I had to tease.”

  I smirked. “Wasn’t sure where you were going with that one.”

  He shook his head and dove into his food. I followed suit and silence ensued. It was still comfortable though. It felt like we’d done this many times before and it was natural to enjoy each other’s company. Something I’d never felt with someone else before.

  “You ever consider moving up to my floor?”

  I paused with my fork midair. “I suppose I have.”

  “If a position opened up, would you consider it?”

  I thought about it. “Maybe, but I’m enjoying where I’m at more than I expected too. The other nurses are quite nice and seeing the deliveries day in and day out, is very gratifying to me. No two births are the same, and it keeps me on my toes.”

  He pondered my words. Taking his last bite, he set his fork down and sat back in his chair. Blue eyes were staring me down and I swallowed my food almost whole. He had the ability to make me feel so comfortable one minute, and completely unglued the next. And could his shoulders be any wider?

  “Chew your food a little better, Annabelle. I may know the Heimlich but that doesn’t mean I want to perform it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I see you.” His voice got deeper.

  “You see me?”

  “Yes. I see everything.”

  Enough already. Shake it off, Annabelle. He was taking control and I needed it back. “Interesting.” I broke eye contact and poked at my food. “So not only are you a comedian, we can add psycho stalker to your list of qualities. Noted.”

  He barked out a laugh. “And there you go again.”

  “What did I do?”

  “I may see things about you, but one thing I can never figure out is what is going to come out of your mouth next. It keeps me on my toes.”

  “Glad I keep you entertained.” I took his advice and chewed a little more thoughtfully.

  He tilted his head to the side regarding me. I expected him to shoot back, but he didn’t. Instead he stood, and picked up his plate and glass. “Finish up. I’m going to start the dishes and then we can sit and relax.”

  Relax. Riiight. Whatever that was with a man like him sitting next to me. Such a contradiction. I was able to feel at ease next to him, but also edgy. I only had a couple more bites to finish and I was stuffed. Like, certain my stomach was hanging over my pants and I’d be much more comfortable in yoga pants, stuffed. I’ll give him credit, the man could cook. Certainly a quality his mom instilled. Mimicking what he’d done, I took my dishes over to him. I expected him to step out of the way so I could rinse mine off and put them in the dishwasher, but he took them from my hand instead.

  “Thank you.”

  He eyed me curiously. “You’re welcome. Go make yourself comfortable on the couch. I’ll be over in a minute.”

  I did as he asked. Even though my heart was wanting to take a little galloping stroll in my chest, I took a couple deep breaths and reminded myself that I didn’t have to do anything that I didn’t want to. I could, in fact, control the situation. Lies. That was a bald faced lie I would continue to tell myself up until Turner came and sat down next to me. Good God, the man smelled divine. It was a subtle soap scent mixed with a light cologne. How bad would it look if I closed my eyes and inhaled?

  “Alright I’ve fed you, given you drinks, and now it’s time to talk.”

  I raised my brow. “About?”

  “Annabelle.” He said my name in warning.

  “Turner.” I dished back.

  He sighed exasperated. “The baby. Tell me about the baby. It’s obvious he means something to you.”

  Kind of hoped I could dodge this one tonight, but clearly he wasn’t going to let me. Now to decide how much to tell him. Would it really hurt if he knew? Turner hasn’t shown me any ill will or done anything to make me believe he doesn’t want the best for me. He’s shown that he just wants to make me happy. Maybe letting him know and actually talking to someone about it would make me feel better and understand a little more myself about these emotions I had.

  “Well, you already know about his traumatic birth experience. His mother completely abandoned him not long after she had him, and I just . . . I don’t know. I felt bad for him.”

  “Okay, but you go and see him every time you’re on your shift.”

  I nodded in agreeance. “Yes, sometimes more.” I looked down at my pants and picked the lines in the fiber. “It started off as me just wanting to check in on him and making sure the kid was being given a fighting chance. But then, next thing I knew I found myself wandering back in and asking the nurses how he was doing. I felt awful for him that there was no family for him to be held by. The only human contact was what the nurses were capable of giving, and even then, their time has to be split amongst other infants that demanded the same, if not more, of their attention. It just didn’t seem fair to me. The way my parents were taken from me so young, I know what it’s like to be alone.”

  He was listening so intently. “Okay, I get that much. So you wanted him to feel love. But do you love him as well?”

  I could only answer honestly. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

  “He’s a fragile little person. What you’re doing is so beyond selfless, it’s admirable. Do you understand how big of a heart you have? We are taught throughout our residency not to get too attached to our patients. It’s okay to be empathetic toward them, but getting close was frowned upon. Most of us shut it off. We go in, get the job done, and walk out. I’m sure you’ve seen that with several doctors that come in to catch the baby, and leave the rest up to you nurses. But this is so much more than that.” He put his hand on the hand that was fidgeting. “Annabelle, look at me.”

  I couldn’t fight him asking. I gave him my eyes. “It’s commendable.”

  A lump was forming in my throat and I swallowed. “Is it? Or is it stupid?”


  “Why would it be stupid?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe because he isn’t mine. I mean I did get attached. I really have. He has machines helping him breathe, he has tubes pumping food into his stomach so he doesn’t have to work so hard to digest anything, and none of it seems fair. I don’t know why I chose to spend time with him like I have. It just sort of happened.”

  He leaned forward and placed a kiss on my forehead. It was sweet. “If it’s what feels right, then keep doing it. Besides studies show, that the kind of contact you’re giving him helps the healing process.”

  “I know.”

  “Then don’t question it.”

  I paused and thought for a second if I should tell him the rest. “I’ve named him.”

  “What?”

  “I haven’t told anybody that, but when I talked to him and I sang to him, I decided he deserved a name instead of just ‘Baby March’ that is on all his charts. I named him Noah. Seemed fitting.”

  Aqua blue eyes beamed down at me. “That’s a good, strong name.”

  Totally not the reaction I was expecting from that little confession. Most men would hear about babies, and baby names and get the hell out of dodge. Turner was surprising the hell out of me by not doing what I figured he would when any of this came out. I didn’t know whether to hug him for being so understanding, or to question his own sanity for not thinking I was crazy.

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For having enough gumption to ask. It’s not like it’s an easy subject for a typical man.”

  He put his hand on his chest. “Ouch. I’m typical?”

  This time I reached out to him. No clue where the bravery came from, but it seemed appropriate. My palm cupped his cheek. “You are anything but typical.”