“Lady’s a champ, no doubt,” Ariana agreed, expression all teasing humor, the way it always seemed to be. “Just not sure I’d describe what went on in that room as an experience.”
The woman had ended up being our last delivery of the day. But as soon as we’d walked into her room this morning to get her settled and do our initial check of her progress and the baby’s vitals, I’d known we were in for a treat.
From demanding we take off our shoes every time we entered the room—not that we had. To refusing to talk to us without first knowing our signs and if we felt her baby would be okay, since the last half of her pregnancy had been during Jupiter Retrograde. To her husband trying to light a dozen candles in the room once she’d thought it was nearing time to push . . .
Not to mention the crystal to my forehead and Ariana nearly getting ‘sage-d’ for making a joke that at least their baby wouldn’t be born on a Friday the thirteenth or Halloween.
“Okay, then how would you describe it?” I challenged, shifting in my seat to fully face her.
Ariana’s mouth parted as she thought. Her next breath sounding like a choked laugh as she conceded, “An experience.”
“Right?”
“Definitely the most interesting of my life,” she murmured as she turned into the parking lot of a coffee shop named Asterisk. “Guess we can be thankful it didn’t happen on your first day.”
“Hmm, yes,” I said, tone soft and serious. “Second day had me much more prepared.”
A smirk stole across Ariana’s face as she slid a glance my way. “You’re doing amazing, by the way.” She shifted the car into park, then settled back into the seat. “I know we’ve talked about it throughout the last two shifts, but you’re a great nurse and you’re just . . .” She released a tight breath, her head shaking subtly. “The way you are with people is rare. You don’t find nurses or doctors or even just people like that every day.”
Heat crept up my neck and into my cheeks.
My heart pounding harder and harder as a lifetime of doubt and backhanded criticism rushed to the surface.
“Like today . . .” Her smirk widened as her eyes locked on mine. “You knelt closer to the mom so she could hold the crystal to you like it was a routine part of the process. And when we walked in to find the dad lighting candles, you didn’t bat an eye. Just blew out the ones he’d lit, scooped them all up, and replaced them with their crystals.”
“Right, but you would’ve done that if I hadn’t. Anyone would’ve.”
“No, I’d been about to ask what idiot lights candles in a delivery room.” A breath of a laugh left her as she searched my face. “Most, if not all, of the nurses I know would’ve had something to say about it. You can’t teach what you have, Kinsley.”
The heat in my cheeks burned hotter under her praise.
Or maybe it had everything to do with the way she was watching me. Studying me. And it was only then that I realized I was doing the same.
Clearing my throat, I pulled my stare from hers and tried to keep my voice light even as confusion washed through me. “Yeah, well . . . I don’t think you can teach people to run into walls either.”
Ariana’s laugh filled the car, the sound had my lips curling into a smile and cleared the tension that had somehow filled the space and become so suffocating. “Definitely a highlight of the day.”
“It was embarrassing,” I muttered.
“You turned the wrong way and there happened to be a wall there—it happens to everyone,” she said in that way of easily brushing off anything bad as she opened her door. “All right, I don’t know about you, but I need caffeine.”
“Same.” But the word came out on a delay and sounded slightly off to my own ears as I struggled to push away the remaining confusion. “Oh, what a cute place,” I said as I got out of the car.
“Yeah, it’s actually one of Stevie’s dad’s businesses.”
“Really?” My brows lifted in surprise as I started toward the building and took it in again, trying to absorb every part of it. The industrial lighting and dark brick of the interior walls, which showed through the large windows.
It all made for a very cozy and inviting vibe.
“Yeah, he has this and a diner on Sunset called Ampersand,” Ariana answered as we stepped onto the sidewalk.
“That’s—” I hesitated as I glanced her way. “Wait . . . ‘Asterisk’ and ‘Ampersand?’” A smile tugged at my lips at Ariana’s nod of assent. “I love the names.”
“And they’re genuinely amazing,” she added as she reached for the door. “Hands down, our favorite places.”
“Then I’m excited to try it,” I said as I stepped into the shop, inhaling one of my favorite scents—coffee and pastries.
“That was cute.”
My head snapped to the side. My expression falling when I caught sight of the way Ariana was looking at me. Like she was no longer just looking at a person . . . at a friend. Like she was trying to see me.
That look she’d worn more and more in the days since I’d moved in that only ever seemed to disappear when we were at the hospital.
That look that always had my heart slamming against my ribs because I knew I needed to remind her that I had a boyfriend . . . sort of. Knew I needed to tell her to stop looking at me like that. Find a way to say the words without harming the friendship we were working toward. But that look always seemed to freeze me in place.
Breath catching. Emotions warring.
And as much as I enjoyed her as a roommate and coworker, it’s possible I was beginning to hate her for that look.
“What was?” I finally asked, tripping over the simple question.
“That little move you just did.” She moved her shoulders in a subtle, eager motion, the corner of her mouth tipping up. “Like you’re legitimately excited to be trying new coffee.”
A hum of understanding crept up my throat as I finally turned toward the counter of registers. “Oh. Well, it’s one of my favorite things. Finding new coffee shops,” I hurried to clarify, only to continue rambling to escape the tension that followed us. “Also, about my order . . . don’t make fun of me, okay?”
“Why would I make fun of you?”
“I’m one of those people who loves whipped cream,” I answered quickly, the words soft and full of embarrassment.
“Okay?”
“Like, extra whipped cream on anything that whipped cream should be put on.” My face scrunched up as I spared another glance her way to see if she was about to laugh or mock me.
And a soft laugh did leave her, but the sound and her expression were more confusion than anything. “All right. I’ll make a note of it.” She gave me another one of those looks—the one where her stare darted over me so quickly, I nearly missed the chaos of emotions behind it—before tilting her head toward the counters and saying, “Let’s see if Mia’s here.”
But I was speared to the floor all over again.
Chills erupting over my body because that look . . . it . . . because I needed to put an end to it.
I had to tell her what she was doing was making me uncomfortable.