Claiming His Labor Day Read online

  “My brother was very sick,” I paused before rushing the words. “He had cancer. Brain cancer.” I glanced at her, seeing her swallow slowly, her eyes still trained on me.

  “He, uh… He didn’t make it.” I bit my bottom lip until the pain stung too deeply. “It was obviously very difficult for my family. It was just him and me, and my parents were devastated. For many years, I just wished the doctors could have done more.”

  A red Honda Civic backed slowly out of a space and I signaled my blinker, placing the car in park as I waited to pull into the space.

  “When you’re in that kind of position, the doctors seem like gods. Only they know what is going to happen, and what they tell you is gospel. My parents hung onto every word the doctors said, following all the instructions and signing up for every trial, every hope,” I continued.

  The Honda drove away and I pulled into the space slowly, bringing the car to a stop before shifting gears and turning off the engine.

  Turning to Ingrid, I could see what I hoped weren’t tears building in her eyes. I hated how pitiful people had once looked at me when I shared the difficulty of my past. It was the reason I hadn’t told anyone in years and years about my brother and his untimely death.

  “I didn’t want that power, but I did want to be able to give families the hope the doctors gave my parents. It was the possibility of my brother’s recovery that fueled us during that time. I always thought I would be a realistic doctor, never leading families on, but in many ways, it’s impossible. You set the tone, and I will always choose optimism. You want people to believe there’s a chance, because otherwise, what’s the point?” I looked to Ingrid and she nodded in understanding.

  “Anyways, I decided then and there that I wanted to be a doctor, specializing in pediatrics. The surgeon part came later in school, when I discovered I had a knack for the specialty. But it’s because of my brother. It was a way for me to give back.”

  I couldn’t take the way she was staring at me in silence, a strange emotion coating her face. Not knowing her well enough, I felt small by what I thought was her judgment, certain she was psychoanalyzing me.

  She thought I was an overachiever, making sense of how tough I was on myself and my staff, because it was to prove something to my younger self. I could feel her pity, wanting to help or save me, but I didn’t need anyone’s saving.

  I’d vowed to never be broken like my parents, no matter what life threw my way. My brother’s death was devastating, one I was comfortable knowing I would never fully recover from. But that didn’t make me broken, and I didn’t need her thinking I was a wounded dove.

  “I’m so sorry,” she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “Ingrid, don’t pity me. I can see it in your eyes. It’s transformed you and it’s unnecessary. I don’t want you feeling sorry for me,” I looked directly into her eyes.

  “It’s not pity,” she shook her head without breaking our gaze.

  “Then what is it?”

  She twisted her lips, biting her lower lip before speaking. “I guess a mix of admiration and embarrassment. I mean, I told you this long melodramatic story about me having asthma and spending a few weeks in the hospital. I wanted to return the favor of the doctors and staff, and so I put on a bunny suit. And then you decide to open up and completely annihilate my inspirational story with this? Not only did you go into medicine, you’re the best pediatric surgeon in Los Angeles. I mean, how competitive are you, Tristan? This seems a bit over the top, even for a man with a trophy case in his office.”

  We stared at each other for what felt like an eternity before her lips curled upwards in slow motion, her eyes squinting as they did when her grin dominated her face. The laughter traveled from the depths of my stomach before shaking me with intense waves as I laughed louder than I had in months.

  How she could bring me to laughter after sharing one of the most difficult stories of my life was beyond me, but it was easy and natural, like nothing I’d ever experienced before.

  When Ingrid finally composed herself, she unfastened her seatbelt and I followed suit, climbing out of the car before walking to the restaurant together.

  “I haven’t laughed that hard in a really long time,” she said as she glanced up at me.

  “I haven’t been the butt of a joke that funny in a really long time,” I admitted. A smile spread across my face as we held the gaze longer than necessary.

  “There is something important I want you to understand, though,” I straightened, wanting her to know I was serious. “Some things are funny, and I’m glad you could make a dark topic lighter. But I need you to know that something you said didn’t really sit well with me.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she stopped walking in the middle of the parking lot, searching my eyes. “What was it?”

  “I’m the top pediatric surgeon in California, not Los Angeles, Ingrid,” I fought to finish the sentence with a straight face.

  Realizing my ploy, Ingrid playfully rolled her eyes as she exhaled loudly. “Tristan, don’t play like that!”

  “It was too easy. I couldn’t help myself,” I laughed. Ingrid joined me in laughter as we made our way to the restaurant wearing matching smiles.

  CHAPTER 9

  Ingrid

  “WELCOME TO Rounders,” the hostess greeted us as we entered the restaurant.

  It was one of my favorites, a regular recommendation for the best burgers in LA. After being seated in a booth at the back of the dining area, the tall brunette left us alone, but not before gawking at Tristan. I imagined she was an actress bussing tables to make ends meet, like every other gorgeous woman in LA. What shocked me most was how little attention he gave her, completely unfazed by her obvious attraction.

  “So, this is the restaurant you’ve been wanting to go to?” Tristan frowned. “What exactly do you do that you can’t afford a fifteen-dollar burger, Ingrid?”

  I blushed watching his grin spread across his face before explaining. “Remember I told you we couldn’t go to one of the fancy restaurants? This is just one of my favorites.”

  “I see,” he nodded before returning his attention to the menu as the brunette returned.

  “Hi, I’m Heather,” she said to Tristan. “I’d love to take care of you tonight,” she breathed, batting her eyes.

  “Excuse me?” Tristan raised his eyebrows.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll be taking care of you,” she gushed, her cheeks turning a ruby color, but neither Tristan nor I joined her in the nervous laughter. I wondered if he too thought she intended to come on to him.

  “How does this work?” Tristan asked me rather than the waitress, but she cut in, leaning over the table to point to the menu.

  “It’s all custom. So, you pick the meat, exactly how you want it done and everything you want on your burger and the side. We do whatever you want,” she said, sounding even more desperate.

  “Okay, I got it,” Tristan slid over a bit in his seat, putting space between him and the waitress. “How about you start with the lady’s order,” he nodded to me.

  Disappointed, the brunette granted me her attention as she flipped through her small notepad for a blank page. “What would you like?”

  “I’ll take the beef burger, medium well, please,” I glanced up to make sure she was jotting down my order before continuing. “For toppings I’d like cheddar cheese, a fried egg, grilled onions and avocado. And a large Pepsi.”

  “Are you serious?” Tristan gasped.

  “What?” I laughed.

  “That sounds like a heart attack,” he warned with widened eyes.

  “You’re off the clock, Dr. Hill,” I playfully rolled my eyes.

  “You’re a doctor?” the waitress excitedly asked.

  “A surgeon,” Tristan answered, his eyes still trained on me.

  “And french fries,” I added, ignoring her as I rebelliously glared at Tristan.

  “That’s going straight to your hips, honey,” the woman quietly huf
fed, looking to Tristan as she finished scribbling on the notepad.

  “Have you seen her hips? They’re flawless,” Tristan said, shocking both me and the waitress. She nodded quickly in agreement, the embarrassment clear on her face.

  “I’ll have the chicken breast burger with lettuce, tomato, light mayo and a side of celery and carrots with a glass of water and lemon,” Tristan continued with his order casually, but my words were still caught in my throat at his shameless compliment about my hips.

  “Sure thing,” the waitress scribbled in her notepad before quickly dismissing herself. Tristan watched her disappear over his shoulder before leaning across the table.

  “I hope I didn’t offend you. She was being a real bitch. I just wanted to shut her up,” he explained in a hushed tone.

  “Maybe I should have picked the healthiest options on the menu like you. She probably would have been more accepting.” I smirked, hoping he couldn’t see how flattered I was by his standing up for me.

  “No, I think she had it out for you regardless,” he shrugged apologetically.

  “Sorry, I brought you to the epicenter of unhealthy living. I didn’t even consider how healthy you must eat as a doctor.”

  “No, it’s fine. I usually eat at the hospital, and naturally they don’t serve beef burgers with fried eggs as a topping,” he teased.

  His smile slowly faded, but his attention did not. The loud conversations throughout the restaurant didn’t distract either of us. We sat in a silent gaze that was anything but awkward. It felt like I knew him, but yet I was so curious to learn all about him.

  When he barged into the conference room hours ago, I created a narrative in my mind, and every second with him was dispelling my assumptions. I had expected him to be pretentious, commanding, like many surgeons are known to be.

  At my first day of volunteering at the hospital, I was warned against expecting any type of communication from the doctors. As the other volunteers put it, they spoke a language we couldn’t understand and they often behaved as though there was nothing we could ever have in common.

  Tristan was nothing like that. Even in his office, I thought he was a bit cold to Dr. Gleeson, treating him as a subordinate although I was certain the two were peers. I’d steeled myself for combat, ready to have to defend myself at every step.

  But sitting across from me, he was different – disarmed. He’d even defended me, even if it was to an overzealous waitress irrelevant to both of us. He was empathetic and endearing, two characters I valued highly.

  “Your heart attack on a plate is coming,” Tristan broke the comfortable silence and our trance by looking over my head.

  Looking over my shoulder, I watched the waitress arrive, carrying a round black tray. She distributed the dishes like a pro, placing our plates on the table before silently dismissing herself. My mind wandered to what she possibly thought of me and Tristan.

  A flash of excitement panged in my stomach at the possibility that she thought we were here together, on a date. Tristan was not the type of man I would consider dating. He was too serious, but suddenly I had the urge to push him out of that comfortable and boring routine. Everything about him felt like a challenge, and I was constantly seeing how far I could take things.

  “You have to try one bite,” I smiled, sizing up the mountain of a burger in front of me. I knew he wouldn’t want to oblige even before his head began to shake, but I had no intention of accepting rejection.

  “Absolutely not,” he answered flatly, focusing on his petite grilled chicken breast plated with lettuce, onions and tomatoes. He took a sip of his water with lemon before dipping a carrot stick into the ranch dressing and popping it into his mouth.

  “Here,” I lifted the burger with both hands, struggling to manage the huge sandwich. “Tristan, here,” I urged, acting as though it might slip from my hand any second.

  “Ingrid,” he growled, but he still leaned across the table, apprehensively taking a bite. His jaw muscles tighten before his tongue slid across his lips, cleaning away the excess mayonnaise.

  A triumphant smile spread across my face as I watched him chew, his eyebrows scrunching together as though he was silently critiquing my combination.

  “It’s actually pretty good,” he nodded after swallowing.

  “See, I know what I’m doing,” I gloated. I’d been to the restaurant so many times, and tried more toppings than I cared to admit.

  “We’ll see about that,” he smirked, lifting his sandwich.

  CHAPTER 10

  Tristan

  THE RIDE BACK from the restaurant was quiet. I imagined Ingrid was struggling with digesting her large meal. I’d never seen someone so small eat such a big dinner. Amused by my disbelief, she made a show of finishing not only her oversized burger, but also every french fry. She even popped the last one into her mouth with a smirk as she locked eyes with me. She then picked up her napkin to daintily dab her lips and sigh with contentment.

  Most women were too concerned with how I’d perceive them eating so much when I was sitting across the table. Typically, they did everything to look as appealing as possible, much like the waitress who all but offered her phone number at the restaurant.

  Blown away by her boldness, I felt inclined to put the waitress in her place, worried that Ingrid would be offended. Women were constantly throwing themselves at me, but what really caught me off guard was how unaffected Ingrid was by the whole situation. I think she might have found it funnier than I did.

  Ingrid had a lightness about her. She didn’t take herself too seriously, which was a breath of fresh air. Everything was serious in the hospital. The somber tone was what made doctors like Robert worth keeping around. He lightened the mood with his mediocre humor and optimism, balancing out the serious professionals like myself.

  Glancing over at Ingrid, I wondered what type of career she must have to maintain such a fun attitude. She was staring out the window, allowing me to take in her features without shame. Tucked behind her ear, her blonde hair fell down her back. Distracted by her high cheekbones and plump pink lips, I failed to notice the light change, though a car behind us reminded me with their car horn. Ingrid turned to me, her cheeks blushing as she searched my eyes.

  “What do you do?” I asked, driving through the intersection.

  “For work? Oh, I’m in marketing. Why do you ask?”

  “You seem very relaxed. I wondered if your career was stress-free,” I explained.

  “Is there even a such thing as a stress-free career? If so, sign me up!” she joked, her smile spreading across her face beautifully.

  “Well, dressing up as a bunny seems to be pretty relaxing. You may want to switch careers,” I suggested.

  Ingrid paused, her blue eyes darkening before she continued. “Whenever I leave the hospital, I have a renewed sense of gratitude. To see those children smile, knowing the difficulties they’re facing… It just makes my problems seem irrelevant.”

  I nodded. It was the same way I felt, and the reason I found it so difficult to leave the hospital at all. I wanted every second to go to finding answers, learning improved techniques and testing new methods.

  “I know exactly what you mean,” I finally said.

  The rest of the ride was quiet, but it was still rather enjoyable. Driving had always been a relaxing activity for me, but with Ingrid in the passenger seat it was even more calming.

  As we approached the hospital, I felt a strange wave of disappointment I tried to bury. I barely knew the woman, but she was having a confusing effect on me. From the moment she revealed herself beneath the costume, I’d felt something deep in my chest, an emotion I wasn’t ready to identify.

  It was more than the tension in my groin that accompanied seeing a hot girl. Around Ingrid, there was something much deeper, an electricity coursing between us. Again, following her direction, I made it to her car.

  “This is yours?” I asked in disbelief.

  “Are you going to start this again?
Like I can’t know anything about cars because I’m a woman?” she challenged, though I could see from the twinkle in her eye she was amused.

  “I just didn’t expect you to drive a vintage car,” I reasoned, looking over her head to admire the red BMW 5-series I suspected to be from the mid-eighties.

  “What did you expect me to drive?”

  “I don’t know,” I paused, giving her my full attention. “Maybe a Prius.”

  Laughter rolled off her lips like a melody as her head fell back against the headrest. A feeling of accomplishment straightened my shoulders, rewarded by her unguarded amusement.

  “That was a good one. You’ve got a good memory, Dr. Hill.”

  “Tristan,” I corrected her.

  “Right. Tristan,” she repeated, our eyes again locked in this weird stare down we kept falling into.

  “Why couldn’t we go to the nice restaurant?” I wondered, a question I’d had since we arrived at the burger joint.

  “Huh?” Ingrid looked confused.

  “In my office, you said you wanted to go to a fancy restaurant, but then you said we couldn’t go. Why not?” I clarified.

  “Well, I can’t wear this,” she pulled at the red fabric of her sundress, but my eyes drifted to the cleavage at her neckline.

  “Can you get a reservation for tomorrow night?” I heard myself ask.

  “Why?” She turned in her seat to face me.

  “Can you?” I repeated with a smile.

  “Are you asking me out on a date?”

  “No.” I rushed the short sentence. “You’re a volunteer, I’m a surgeon. We can’t go out on a date. It’s unethical.”

  “Technically, Tristan, I have nothing to do with you. I mean, you’re not my boss or anything,” she shrugged as she repeated the same logic Robert had used earlier.