“I’ll start in the guest room.” The maid moved into the hallway where his private gym was located, along with the guest room where Tucker had stayed.
I carried the bags into the kitchen and started to put them away.
Footsteps sounded behind me.
I turned around, knowing it wasn’t the maid. I just hoped it wasn’t another stupid bimbo who needed to wash out her mouth with alcohol so it wouldn’t be so filthy.
But it was Deacon.
He turned to the coffeepot, ground his fresh beans, and then got the drip going.
I was surprised to see him because he was usually at work by now…and he was also wearing light blue scrubs.
I stared at him, seeing the deep vee in the front of his shirt that showed some of his hard chest, the stethoscope around his neck, the way the front of his shirt was slightly tucked into his trousers, the string tied into a knot.
He poured himself a mug then leaned against the counter as he looked at me.
I realized I was staring—a lot. “You’re at the hospital today?”
He nodded.
“When did that start?”
“Monday.” One hand gripped the counter while the other held his mug at waist level, the steam rising to the ceiling.
He looked good in everything he wore, but he looked particularly good in those scrubs. Maybe it was because it was the first time I’d seen him in a color besides black and gray. The blue was phenomenal on him. “I didn’t think you were still home.”
“I don’t start until ten.”
“At least you get to sleep in.”
He drank his coffee as he continued to look at me.
I realized I was there for a reason, so I got back to work and put his groceries away. “I got everything you asked for, but just to remind you, we have good chefs on call, so if you ever get tired of cooking, someone can do it for you.”
He was quiet.
It was the second time I’d asked him and his answer was the same, so I assumed he had his reasons for wanting to cook for himself. “I just got some of the inspections back last night. Looks like the cabin is in great shape.”
“Good.” He took another drink.
“It should be ready in a few weeks, but I might need some time with the designer to make it homier for you. Is there a specific time you intend to make your first visit?”
He shook his head. “I have too much to worry about right now.”
I nodded. “Of course. It’ll be ready for you whenever you are.” I understood his tastes well, so I knew I could make that place into a home away from home. I closed the cabinets and folded his reusable bags before I tucked them under my arm. “Anything else before I go?”
“Yes.”
I waited for him to elaborate, knowing he was considering how to say it.
“I don’t like the hospital food. Could you bring me lunch every day?”
“Absolutely.” I was happy to do something to make his life easier, to make his time at the hospital better, to give him something to look forward to while he did such a difficult job. “Do you want your usual? Or do you want me to surprise you?”
“Salads and seafood.”
“Alright. When do you take your lunch?”
“Three.”
“What hospital are you at?”
“Mercy. Fourth floor. Cancer treatment center.”
I nodded. “Got it.”
He took another drink of his coffee before he set it in the sink.
“What time will you be home?”
“Sometime around eight.”
“I can have dinner ready for you as well—just for the next few weeks.”
He considered it before he nodded. “Alright.” He left the kitchen and grabbed his satchel from the dining table.
I walked past him on the way to the door. “Text me if you need anything. I’ll make sure your scrubs are washed separately from your other clothes.”
He turned to look at me, but instead of saying anything, he just nodded.
“Have a good day.” I walked out.
Instead of sending Matt or Anna to take care of Deacon’s lunch, I did it myself. I wanted to make sure it was there on time, make sure it was delivered to the right place. I cared about doing all our tasks with absolute flawlessness, but I particularly cared about the things that Deacon needed.
I entered the busy hospital, took the elevator to the fourth floor, and then entered the station where the desks were located, the patient rooms along the outside. I didn’t have to check in with someone at the desk because Deacon was sitting alone at one of the desks, a monitor in front of him. He had a pile of charts around him along with his own laptop, and his head was bowed as he stared at the paperwork, his eyes shifting back and forth as he read whatever was in front of him.
I quietly approached his desk and set the bag down, pulling out the containers of food without disturbing him.