Chapters 8 & 9

Thanks for tuning in as I post chapters of my new novel When Ivy Met Adam: A second chance, forced proximity, sexy, queer love-triangle romance. Your feedback is everything. Please post comments here or email me. I’m so excited to hear what you think.

Read earlier chapters here:
Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Chapter 8 - Ivy

My whispers are hoarse and faint as I try to answer Dr. Lopez. I’m slurring my words and they’re jumbled. I can hardly move my tongue to talk.

*

Ambulance now. I’m so grateful there’s someone here to help me. I should send this paramedic a thank-you note. His name tag says Lawrence. I wonder if that’s his first name or his last name. Don’t they usually put last names on name tags? Lawrence. Lawrence. I’ll remember that. Lawrence. 

*

Dr. Lopez looks familiar. Wait. Did he tell the paramedics we’re engaged? Why don’t I remember being engaged? Is this amnesia?

* 

I open my eyes slowly. It is blindingly bright in here, wow. I close them again. I’ll just rest a minute. 

*

When I finally truly wake up, the first thing I see is the hot doctor from the beach. Dr. Lopez? 

So, I didn’t dream all that. The bearded doc with the World’s Sexiest Forearms taking my pulse, giving me a shot. Telling the paramedic (whose name is Lawrence, by the way) we’re engaged. But wow, do I feel woozy. 

*

Dr. Lopez stays by my side every minute. The nurses come in and out, checking my vitals and charting on the computer. It’s constant, but I can’t tell what the time is, or how long I’ve been here. Or how many nurses have been in? There are other doctors, too. They all check in with Dr. Lopez. I’m glad he’s here.

Chapter 9 - Adam

Ivy is finally looking like herself. The result of excellent medical care—well, and really, just time to heal. 

She’s awake. Looking so vulnerable in her hospital gown and in her hospital bed. All my protective instincts are on high alert. She smiles shyly at me. I had forgotten her bottom teeth are just a tiny bit crooked. Somehow, this minute flaw makes her that much more perfect to me.

“Hi, Ivy. Your doctors want to keep you for a couple more hours for observation,” I say. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck,” she says, wincing. “But better? I guess?” These come out as questions. I remember that too, how her voice rises when she’s unsure of herself. 

“You’re on all kinds of good drugs.” I point to her IV with a smile. “You should at least not be itching or swelling anymore.”

“Yeah,” she looks up at the bag of Benadryl-and-more. “What happened? What was that, doctor?”

Shit. She doesn’t recognize me at all. Not from college, I get it. But also not from Bumble? I guess I get that too. Out of context in the extreme.

“Are you allergic to pomegranates?” I ask.

“I don’t know. That was the first time I ever had pomegranate,” she says as she wrinkles her nose in the most adorable way. “And I guess the last.”

I laugh softly. “Yeah, I hope that will be your one and only experience with that particular fruit. You are severely allergic to pomegranate, Ivy Gardiner.” 

Confusion crosses her lovely face. “Do I know you? You look so familiar,” she says.

Here we go. “Adam Lopez. We matched online?” Now I’m the one asking a question. I reach out to shake her hand like it’s a formal introduction. 

Her huge green (gorgeous) eyes go round and wide. “No way,” she gasps. “Really? On Bumble.” She’s smiling. Thank God. 

“One hell of a first date you took me on, Ivy.” I can’t stop saying her name. It feels so good to say it. It is so good to see her. Even better: it feels amazing for her to see me. Finally. 

“I’m so confused. How did you—? Am I still in Hawaii?” She furrows her brow. 

“Yes, we’re still in Hawaii. That is simply fate bringing us together.” I wink at her. 

She smiles. “You are here for Christmas, too? Hiding from your family? How is that possible?”

I shake my head and chuckle at her. (Who chuckles? This guy. That’s who. I am chuckling at this darling, delightful woman.) “No, not hiding. I have a temporary job here on Oʻahu. I’m the substitute on-site physician for the resort where you’re staying. Crazy coincidence, right?” 

She looks skeptical. “Is it?”

“Crazy, yes. A coincidence? Absolutely,” I say with authority. “When we met online, I was between gigs. I was staying in Los Angeles with a buddy who rents me a room when I’m not working. This posting came up, and I flew here last week. It was just serendipity that I was here to help rescue you.” I stop myself before I say anything embarrassing. Like, “I was here to rescue you, princess.” Not a good look, Adam. Infantilizing a woman is never flattering. 

“Oh.” She looks exhausted by this conversation. 

So, I rescue her again. “I’ll get out of your hair. Let you rest.” I get up and grab my bag.

“Please don’t go,” she blurts. Almost sharply. “I’m all alone.” Less sharp, more pleading. 

I sit back down. “You’re not alone, Ivy. I’m here.” I reach for her hand and she slips hers into mine. Her skin is so soft. Her hand is warm despite the perpetually freezing temps of the emergency department. “I won’t go anywhere. Just rest.”

A few hours later, we get a heads-up that they plan to release Ivy soon. 

“I’ve got a car. I can drive you back to the hotel,” I offer. I am nervous. This feels like asking her out on a date, not like offering her transportation. 

“Oh, you’ve already done so much, Dr. Lopez,” she argues. “I can’t impose on you anymore. You’ve been here all day. It’s Christmas Eve. You should get home…” she trails off. It just occurred to her that I don’t have a home to go to in Hawaii any more than she does—I can see the dawning realization on her face. She sighs. “Yes, please. I’d like that.” She smiles wanly. 

“Happy to. I’ll be back in less than an hour.” Pulling my phone out, I rush out of the room and request a Holoholo ride. I’ll just go back for the car, grab her some clothes. Wait. I turn on my heel and rush back into her tiny little space in the crowded emergency department. “Want me to grab you a change of clothes, Ivy?” I ask like it’s the most natural thing in the world, this offer to let myself into her hotel room and go through her things and bring her something comfortable. No, dumbass. They don’t have to be her clothes. Anything will be better than her bikini and sarong currently stuffed in a plastic bag and hanging off the foot of her bed. “I could bring you a sweatshirt? Some scrubs?”

A million thoughts race across her face. It’s like watching her have an entire conversation with herself. I imagine she wants to refuse any more help from me. Finally, she says, “That would be very nice. Thank you.” 

I love that she doesn’t even try to argue with me. “On it.” And I’m racing out the door again.

*

I’m back with my own Mount Sinai sweatshirt, socks, and some scrubs in her size from my office in record time. Not that anyone was counting. In true hospital fashion, there has been absolutely no progress toward getting this poor woman checked out. “Ivy, while you get dressed, I’ll find out why you’re still here. Okay?” 

She accepts the bag of clothes with a grin. “Thank you. That would be great.”

I find the attending. She tells me they were simply waiting on me, her fiancé, to come back for Ivy. They’ll send her home with me now. My stomach twists to hear my lie repeated back to me. It made so much sense to me in the back of the bus. Now, it feels slimy. Like I’m trying to take advantage of Ivy. Or at least of the very efficient (but also overworked and probably underpaid) carers in this busy hospital. But that is reason enough to keep up with the charade, right? Don’t want to annoy these nice folks who are working so hard. Right? “Thank you, Dr. Lee. I appreciate that. We appreciate that.” Oof. Making it worse, Adam. Settle down, man. 

Paperwork in hand, I wheel Ivy out to the waiting (and completely illegally parked) car. She looks exactly like she did the day I met her in a far-too-big-for-her college sweatshirt. Adorable. “Your chariot awaits,” I say. As cheesy as I can possibly be. What is wrong with me?

Thank God, she giggles. “Why, thank you, kind sir.” 

I lock the wheels and help her stand. She’s really probably feeling much better by now, but I want to touch her. Want to help her. Want to be close to her. When I’ve got her situated in the passenger seat, I turn to run the wheelchair back up to the building. An orderly about the size of a Volkswagen is there. “Oh, hi.” 

“Neva mine. I got this, Dr. Lopez. Yeah, no?” he says in a thick Hawaiian accent. 

“Mahalo,” I say. Like I said, I could get used to this. 

The thirty-minute ride back to the resort is silent. I’m trying to concentrate on the road and on my patient. (Seriously? Dude. Is she your patient or your fiancée? What the fuck, Adam?) She is looking out the window, sitting as far to the right—as close to the door and as distant from me—as she can get. She looks uncomfortable, but I understand. She’s had such a long and trying day. 

It got dark at about six and it’s almost eight now. 

“Not much to see in the dark, huh?” I ask. I’m trying for polite conversation but I fear I’ve missed the mark when she doesn’t answer. 

As we pull up to the resort, I realize I need to drop her off and return my car to the employee parking lot. This is it. I have to say good-bye. Fuck, this feels supremely awkward. I may have made some poor choices getting to this point in the evening. Shit.

Just as I’m running through the logistics in my head, she interrupts my thoughts.

“This is kind of awkward,” she says exactly what I was thinking. 

“Yeah. A little.”

“I was going to text you on the twenty-sixth, Adam.” This is the first time she’s used my name. It’s been Dr. Lopez since the beach. I like hearing her say my name. 

“Yeah?” I ask. “I was going to message you a Merry Christmas tonight. But your little brush with death made that something I can now do in person.” I pull the car up in front of the main doors of the hotel. The valet sees my employee parking tag and gives me a wave. I hold up my hand indicating five minutes, I promise. He holds up two fingers. Okay… I’ll make this quick. I hop out and run around to her side of the car. “Here, let me help you,” I say, reaching again for her hand. Speaking of things I could get used to.  

“Thank you,” she says. “I’m exhausted. Is that normal? Wait. Don’t answer that. I’ll google it. I need to stop thinking of you as my doctor.” She smiles. Is that a sexy smile? I mean, her smile is always sexy to me. But is she trying to smile sexily? With those perfect heart-shaped lips. At me? God, I hope so. 

“I owe you an apology about the ‘she’s my fiancée’ thing, Ivy. I didn’t want to let you go without me. I panicked,” I say.

“I thought I dreamt it,” she says. “Did you recognize me? From Bumble?”

“Not exactly. Not yet, anyway. Not at first.” Get it together, Adam. “But by the time the paramedics arrived? Yeah. I knew it was you.”

“I’m glad you stayed with me. Thank you for rescuing me.”

“May I hug you?” I ask. Not the question I thought I was going to ask, but okay. 

She wraps her arms around my waist in a tight embrace. 

“Oh. Yes. Okay,” I say into her hair. Even after ten hours in the emergency department, she still smells amazing. Warm, smooth, and just a tad sweet. Like her skin feels. Like her soul feels. “Merry Christmas, Ivy.”

“Merry Christmas, Adam,” she says into the fabric of my polo shirt. “Good night.” She pulls away. She still looks so small and vulnerable. 

“Are you going to be okay?” I ask.

“Will you please have breakfast with me in the morning?” 

Best answer ever. Yes. “It would be my honor,” I say with a huge, stupid grin on my face. 

“Then, yes, I will be okay,” she says. Then she walks into the huge hotel lobby which swallows her up, makes her look even tinier. Nothing more I can do for her tonight, I’m afraid. So I hustle to move my car.