“Twenty years this past March,” Mr. Harris told Sage. “She thinks I always forget our anniversary until she nags at me, but I don’t. I have a drink with the boys after work to mourn the loss of my bachelorhood.”
“That’s . . . uh . . . nice.” Sage really had no idea what to say. If the man was that miserable in his marriage, why didn’t he just get a divorce?
“Then I come home and take her out for a real nice dinner.”
Okay, Sage was really confused now. Before she could respond, the door opened and suddenly the room shrank as Spence joined her at the table and looked down at her work. Not something unusual.
“Can I help you, Dr. Whitman?” she asked.
“No. You’re doing a great job, Dr. Banks.” Spence walked around the table and took a seat. It looked like he was planning to stay for a while.
“Hi, Dr. Whitman,” her patient mumbled, much more subdued now with a man in the room.
“Hello, Mr. Harris. Another on-the-job injury?”
“No. Christmas lights,” he said with a sheepish smile.
“We’ve had a few of those in the last few days. I bet Mrs. Harris has been anxious for those to go up,” Spence remarked sympathetically.
“Yeah, she’s real impatient. I don’t see the big deal about these lights. Our electric bill just goes up, and they’re only on for like a month. It just seems like a lot of unnecessary work,” he said, fidgeting on the table.
“Please sit still, Mr. Harris,” Sage said as she waited for him to finish adjusting before she started the next stitch.
“I don’t know, either, Mr. Harris, but my brothers and I have been hanging the lights since we were kids. We didn’t do it one year, and Dad was right—it just wasn’t the same. There’s something about those twinkling colors that lets you know Christmas is right around the corner.”
Mr. Harris smiled at Spence’s words. “I never thought about it like that. Maybe if the missus had just said that, I wouldn’t have gotten so bent out of shape,” he said, as if the good doctor had imparted great wisdom.
“Yeah, we forget to listen every once in a while,” Spence replied.
“You got that right.”
The two of them spoke about the football game next while Sage finished stitching up her patient. She tuned them out and thought about what needed to be done for the rest of the night. She wanted to ask Spence if he’d be at the party, but that would be too obvious.
All of a sudden, Spence turned his full attention back to her. She almost stumbled on her last stitch when those smoldering green eyes devoured her from head to toe—but almost was the operative word. She was far too professional to let a little thing like that distract her from doing a perfect job.
“Dr. Banks, please tell me you don’t have a date for the party tonight,” he said, a self-confident smile spreading across his features.
“I have a patient here, Dr. Whitman. This isn’t the time or the place for you to be asking me about my personal life.” She hadn’t quite snapped at him, but her voice was cold enough to let him know he was in trouble.
He decided to push it—as she knew he would.
“Ah, this is a work party, so it’s appropriate to ask while at work, isn’t it, Mr. Harris?”
“I don’t see nothing wrong with askin’ about it,” Mr. Harris replied. Of course he would stick up for the male doctor. Sage was seething now.
“Dr. Whitman, if you wouldn’t mind stepping outside, I’ll speak to you in a few moments,” she said before turning back to her patient. “Mr. Harris, make sure you spread some rock salt along the ground before you decide to climb the ladder again. I’m sure Mrs. Harris would like to have her lights on the house and a healthy husband for Christmas,” she said with a smile.
“Sure thing, Dr. Banks. You did a mighty fine job. I can tell there won’t even be much of a scar,” he said as he looked at her handiwork before she covered the stitches with a large bandage.
“See your regular doctor in about ten days to have the stiches removed. If you need a note to miss work tomorrow . . .”
“Nah, I’m a tough bird. I don’t need no medicines or anything. I’ll just drink a couple of beers and relax tonight. I’ll be right as rain tomorrow.”
“Mr. Harris, no alcohol tonight, not after hitting your head,” she said sternly, though she knew it was a waste of breath to even say it.
“Sure, sure, Doc,” he said, not looking her in the eyes.
“I really hope you will listen, Mr. Harris.”
He hopped from the table and limped only slightly as he left the room, not saying anything else to her. There was nothing she could do, short of tackling him and keeping him overnight in the hospital, which would never be allowed. Once he was gone, though, Sage’s eyes narrowed as she turned on Spence.
“How dare you come into my procedure room and talk about my personal life in front of a patient!” She whirled away from him to dispose of her gloves and wash her hands.
“I’m your boss, Sage. I can be in any room that you’re in,” he replied, leaning back as if he were enjoying their little spat.
“Yes, you are my boss. Maybe you should remember that. It doesn’t give you the right to harass me.” She couldn’t think of a time he’d ever had her so flustered.
“Are you feeling harassed, Sage?” he asked, his voice practically a purr.
“Yes!” she said, then felt guilty at the flinch that crossed his features. In reality, he was professional most of the time at work—though this was certainly not one of those times. It was really what happened after work that was causing her brain to shut down. Yes, she was mad because she was embarrassed—he’d embarrassed himself, too. But she was also angry because of how much she wanted to take him up on his invitation.