what your office hours looked like back then.” Her gaze went to the desk, and she picked her handbag up from a nearby chair and hitched it on her shoulder. “I didn’t stay to argue with you. I just wanted to make sure you had a decent meal for once. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Wait.” He put a hand on her arm, the shirt just as soft and silky as it appeared. He let go once she looked up at him. She’d said she was trying to help, and all he’d done was gripe and complain. “At least stay and eat with me. It’ll be good to have a conversation that doesn’t revolve around malignancies and treatment options.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think … There’s only one plate.”
“Then we’ll improvise.” Why was he insisting? Because her thoughtfulness had touched him? Because the perks of not having anyone waiting for him at home came with a hefty—and lonely—price tag?
He had no idea, but he knew he wanted some company. He didn’t want to sit here by himself and dwell on his patients. What he’d said was true. There were times he craved conversation that had nothing to do with his job or his struggles—something his sister had intuitively known. But she wasn’t here to make him smile anymore.
“Okay. Wait here.”
The ease at which she’d given in surprised him almost as much as it had earlier. He smiled. He noticed she hadn’t once said his name again, though.
She would before the meal was through. He’d see to it.
Punching the buzzer that unlocked the back area, she dragged a chair over to the door and propped it open, then disappeared for a few minutes. When she came back, she was holding a pink emesis basin.
“You’re kidding.”
She shrugged. “It’s clean. I’ve eaten chili out one of these more than once.”
Greg’s lip curled half in disgust, half in amusement. “Have you ever thought of bringing in a package of paper plates and stashing them somewhere?”
“Yep, but I never got around to it. You said to improvise.” Her head tilted, a quick smile forming. “This is me, improvising.”
Okay, she had him there.
“And silverware? Are we supposed to share?” The thought made something heat in his chest.
She pulled a clear plastic package out from behind the desk. “Nope, the girls always keep their leftover plastic ware in case of an emergency.”
What kind of emergency, other than eating, required sets of plastic knives and forks? He didn’t think he wanted to know. “I guess we’re all set, then.”
Greg helped her dish out the food, noting she took the emesis basin for herself and gave him the plate and silverware provided by the restaurant. Besides the manicotti, there were two kinds of sauce, white and red, as well as a Caesar salad and garlic rolls. She’d expected him to eat all this himself?
“I see I owe you some money.”
She shook her head, spooning white sauce over her own portion. “I took money out of the petty-cash drawer.”
His brows went up. “We keep that much in there?”
“Fifty bucks.” She dropped the spoon back into the container. “But this pretty much cleaned it out.”
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent that much money on a meal for himself. The warmth in his chest grew, bringing with it the uncomfortable awareness that he was in a deserted medical building with a woman he couldn’t begin to understand. One he found dangerously attractive.
She was also one of his employees. Asking her to stay and eat with him had been a big mistake. Huge!
But he couldn’t very well ask her to leave now.
So he sat on one of the brown leatherette chairs in the waiting room next to her, balancing a flimsy plate across his knees.
Hannah, on the other hand, looked perfectly at home, cutting into her manicotti with a plastic fork and popping a piece into her mouth. “Mmm.” Her lids came down for a brief second as she seemed to savor the food.
He swallowed, despite the fact that he had nothing in his mouth other than the lump that was currently stuck in his throat.
Incredibly long lashes swept back up, and green eyes regarded him. “Aren’t you going to taste it?”
The only thing he wanted to taste were her lips.
Ah, hell.
He forked up a big bite and shoved it past his teeth, dumping the food onto his tongue before he could do or say anything stupid. He chewed. Swallowed. His stomach gave another fierce rumble.
Okay, so she’d been right. He was hungry. And evidently that fact was going to trump any other urges for the moment. He relaxed into his seat, figuring he could eat and then get the hell out of there before his belly figured out it was full and let his other instincts out of their cage. “It’s good.”
“I know. It’s my go-to place for takeout. I order from there at least once a week.”
He didn’t like to think of Hannah at home alone, eating from disposable metal containers. But it wasn’t much better than what he did day in and day out. He was content with it, so why would he assume someone else wouldn’t be?
Greg just couldn’t imagine her having weekends free, figuring she’d be out making up for the year she’d lost. There was something inside her that burned brightly. That glow could have been snuffed out in an instant. Not something he wanted to think about right now.
He covered by saying, “I normally just grab something from the hospital cafeteria.”
“I know.”
She did?
Before he could ask, she added, “I used to see you walking down the corridor with a sandwich container in your hand.”
“When …?”
“When I was getting my chemo infusions. I saw you sometimes.” Her hand went to her collarbone area and fingered the pale scar where her port had once been. Greg was so used to seeing those that he hadn’t even noticed it.
He also hadn’t realized she’d been in that treatment room. Had seen him. How many other patients had he walked by without noticing? Another brick of guilt settled into place. “I’m sorry. I’m normally so busy, I don’t stop in there all the time.”
Putting her fork into her bowl, she reached out and touched his hand. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. I’ve just learned how important it is to eat a balanced meal.”
She was right. Again. He often preached to his patients that they needed to strengthen their bodies as much as possible to help during the chemo treatments as well as to aid in the fight of their disease. That meant making healthy choices when it came to food. And yet, just like a pulmonologist who indulged in the occasional cigarette, Greg was unwilling to abide by his own advice.
“I
