Kaleidoscope Hearts (31 page)

He lets out a heavy sigh and wraps his legs over mine, his face in my neck, and his arms around my middle . . . and that’s how we spend the night. But even though I’m wrapped up in my favorite little nook, I get little sleep. The only thing I can think about is how I’m in too deep, as usual, and I know I won’t make it out unscathed.

Days later, when I walk into the hospital, I spot Oliver from afar talking to one of the doctors—a man I’ve seen, but don’t know. I don’t catch his eye before I slip into the art room, and I prefer it that way. I told myself I wouldn’t lose my head over this man, even if I never got it back from him to begin with. Still, with the talk of his interviews, I need to keep taking this one day at a time. The last time we were together, when he left my parents’ house at the break of dawn, I told him we needed to slow down. I’ve dodged the calls he’s made my way, although there haven’t been many of them. I heard through the grapevine (or really, Mae), that he’s been working non-stop these past couple of days, so I know he hasn’t had much down time.

In the art room, I lay newspaper over the long table and place transparent, empty boxes by each setting. In the boxes, I place different glass pieces, all colorful and pretty, and then put a mallet beside each box. When the kids come in with their nurse for the day (today it’s Tara), I welcome each of them and signal to the seats. Oliver walks in shortly after, shooting a lingering smile and a wink my way. He approaches Danny and checks the chart that hangs from his oxygen pump.

“Don’t tell me we’re going to break these things,” Mae says.

“Holy shit, we’re going to break things!” Mike shouts, doing a fist pump in the air.

Tara, Oliver and I laugh and shake our heads at his excitement.

“You may want to put the mallet down for now, Thor,” I say, raising an eyebrow at Mike, who smiles widely.

“Thor, huh?” he says. I roll my eyes.

“Remember the rules.”

“I don’t really like rules,” he says, and I laugh, looking at Oliver. I expect to find him laughing, but instead, he is glaring at Mike, which makes the entire thing even more comical.

“Anyway, to answer your question, yes, we are going to break things today.”

“But . . . a dolphin?” Mae says, bringing up the glass dolphin in her box. “And a surfboard?”

I smile and nod. “They’re just things.”

“Pretty things.”

“Well, we’re going to make something even prettier with them. Besides, if you notice, they’re all a little broken,” I say, pointing at the dolphin missing a tail and the chip in the surfboard.

I don’t notice when Oliver steps out of the room, but when I glance up at the sound of the door closing behind him, we’re already well underway with the project. We’re able to make very small versions of the heart, although all of them look more like a ball, but the kids are excited about them nonetheless.

“Now I have to take them home to bake them,” I say.

“Bake them?” Danny asks.

“Yeah, they have to bake, then dry, and then they’ll be done. Do you want to make them into key chains or just leave them as is?”

“Key chains!” Mae says.

Mike furrows his eyebrows at her. “We don’t even drive.”

She smiles. “Speak for yourself. I’ll be driving soon.”

“Fine. I’ll take a key chain,” Mike mumbles.

They start heading out, and while I’m cleaning up, the door re-opens and Jen walks in with a guy in a suit.

“Hey! I’m so glad I caught you,” she says, smiling. “This is Chris. He’s the head of my department, and the reason your project got the green light.”

I step back, a little stunned, because Chris looks like he’s about my age, so I’m surprised he’s in a position above Jen’s.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” I say, wiping my hands over the now dirty apron I have on. “Sorry, I’m kind of . . . dirty right now.” I let out a small, nervous laugh.

Jen smiles. “Hey, at least nobody can say you weren’t working . . .” She looks around and gasps when she sees what we were making. “You guys made these today? They’re beautiful.”

“They’re not set yet, so I have to take them home,” I say, hoping she catches the caution in my voice and doesn’t try to pick them up. Thankfully, she just looks at them in amazement, which makes me smile brighter.

“I love what you’ve done with the place, Estelle. Everybody does, actually. The rooms, the hallways . . . it doesn’t feel like a hospital anymore,” Chris says, turning his attention to me.

Jen looks down at her watch. “I’m so sorry to step out, but I have a meeting with a vendor.” She looks at Chris, who smiles and nods her away. When she leaves and the door closes, I start feeling a little awkward just standing there with this guy in a suit, and I don’t know what else to say. He’s looking around though, so I don’t feel weird for too long. I wash my hands and take off my apron, kind of bouncing from one foot to the other, before heading toward the door. He opens it for me, and we walk out together.

“How long were you thinking of continuing the program?” he asks.

“Honestly? I hadn’t thought about it. I figured Jen would tell me to stop when I wasn’t wanted anymore,” I say with a smile.

“Well, that’s why I wanted to meet you, actually,” he says, stopping when we get to the nurses’ station, which has been moved back over since this part of the hospital is open again.

“Because you want me to stop coming?” I ask slowly. I wouldn’t take it personally if he said no, because I knew this was temporary to begin with, but I definitely need to see this project through. I gear myself up to tell him that while I wait for his response.

Chris frowns and looks behind him at nurses chattering and turns to me again. “Do you think we can go somewhere and talk?”

“Sure. Your office?”

“Actually,” he says, cringing a little and looking sheepish. “Would you mind if we go down to the food court? I kind of missed lunch . . . again.”

I laugh. “Not at all.”

On our way down, Chris tells me that although he started working in the hospital while he was in college, he moved up to a higher position when he graduated, and even higher once he got his Masters.

“What do you do when you’re not here?” he asks, when he gets a tray of food and meets me at the table.

“Make art,” I say, and smile when he nods, as if making art is a hobby. “I also have an after school program for kids who have no place to go.”

“Wow. You must really like kids,” he says, wiping his mouth.

“I guess I do.”

“Do you have a lot of siblings?”

“Just one. Older brother, but we had a house full of boys growing up, so I guess I might as well say that I’m the youngest of four,” I say with a laugh. I look away as he eats and spot Oliver sitting in a table on the opposite side of the room. He’s with the same doctor guy I saw him talking to earlier. I don’t know how I hadn’t spotted him, but from the way he’s looking at me, it seems as if he saw me a while ago. I tuck my hands into my purse to fish out my phone, and notice I have one missed call and two text messages.

“I know what that’s like, sort of. I have two younger brothers,” Chris says. I make a sound letting him know I heard him as I sort through my messages.

Did you leave?

Never mind. Just saw you.

I frown.

“Everything okay?” Chris asks.

I bring my eyes to him. “Yeah, sure. So what did you want to tell me about the program?” I ask, as I type a message.

Just saw you too.

“I was wondering if you could keep coming. The program was kind of dull when the last lady was running it. I think maybe the kids couldn’t relate with her since she was older and more strict, and quite frankly, her art wasn’t as nice,” he says, smiling.

“Was she responsible for the fish on the wall?” I ask.

“You have no idea how bad I wanted to cover those walls up myself.”

I laugh at the horrified look on his face. “And here I thought nobody in the hospital had good taste.”

“My taste is perfect. Anyway, so maybe once a week? Would that work for you? We’d love to keep you here twice a week, but I’m not sure the board would be willing to pay for that.”

The mention of pay surprises me. “I didn’t really sign up for this to get compensated.”

“I know, but everybody needs something,” he says with a shrug, checking his own phone.

“Not me.” I match his shrug, and look down at mine.

I miss you.

My stomach flutters. I look up and see that he’s still sitting at the same table, by himself now, still looking at me.

Is that why you’re staring at me like you’re mad at the world?

“Those hearts that you had the kids make,” Chris says suddenly. “Is that what you do?”

I nod.

“You sell them?”

I nod again. “Yeah.”

“How much are they?”

“Well, it depends on the size, I guess.”

“Do you custom-make them, or do you have some already made?”

I frown slightly as I smile. “I have some made, but I also accept custom jobs.”

Chris breathes out harshly and rubs his forehead. “I kind of have to get my fiancée a gift for our anniversary, and I have no clue what to get her. You would think after eight years of being together I’d know, right?” He laughs. “She would love one of those hearts, though.”

“Well, I can bring some by on Thursday when I come back with the ones for the kids.”

He smiles. “That would be awesome. Do you know where my office is? It’s on the opposite side of Jen’s, same wing as you.”

“I’m sure I’ll find it.”

We get up at the same time and awkwardly looking at one another, back to our phones, and then to the other. Finally, he holds out his hand, and I shake it. “I’ll see you Thursday.”

I say goodbye and walk over to Oliver’s table, but he stands before I get there, and signals me to the hallway. I follow him into a room beside the food court. He closes the door behind us and pins me to the wall, kissing me before I can get a word out. I tug on his hair, he pulls on mine, and our hands hold the other’s face as our tongues collide. I pull apart on a breath.

“You really did miss me,” I pant. “Do you normally accost women in random hospital rooms?”

Oliver puts his forehead against mine and breathes out heavily. “Definitely not. I’m usually never this desperate.”

He groans when I drag my nails down his chest. “Tell me more about this desperation, Dr. Hart,” I murmur, leaning in and licking the seam of his lips. He pushes his hips against me, and I moan at how hard he feels.

“I need another date,” he whispers against my lips, his hands going under my shirt.

“Are you trying to take advantage of me in the middle of the workday?” I ask, arching my back when he tucks his hands under my bra.

“I clocked out over an hour ago,” he says, brushing my nipples with his thumb.

“And you stayed?”

“I wanted to wait for you.”

“Really?” I ask, gasping when his mouth dips and he takes in my nipple.

“Hmmm,” he responds against my skin.

“And then you sat there staring at me from across the room?”

“He’s not your type,” he says, licking my other nipple.

“What?” I grab his head to stop his movements, and he looks up at me.

“That guy you had your little lunch with. He’s not your type.”

I can’t help but smile. “You think I was on a date with a guy in the lunch room of the hospital you work at?”

He lets out a long breath, still cupping my breasts. “What would you call it?”

I laugh, shaking my head and cup his chin so that he looks at me again. “Calling it a date would be ridiculous. Would it bother you if it was?”

It takes everything in me not to laugh at the way he shrugs and looks away.

“Are you telling me you brought me in here because you got jealous?”

His eyes flicker to mine. “I’m not jealous.”

“So if I tell you that the guy you saw me with asked me out on a date—a real one—outside of the hospital, you wouldn’t mind?”

“Did he?” he growls.

“Would it matter?”

“Yes.”

“Because?” I ask, running both of my hands through his hair. He closes his eyes at the motion.

“Because.” He leans into my touch. “Because . . .”

“Uh-huh?”

His eyes pop open. “Because I want it to be me. I want to be that guy who takes you out all the time.”

“So be that guy,” I respond.

“I will be,” he says, leaning in to kiss me. “I will be.”

“Okay,” I respond, folding into his arms, wishing I could stay in them forever.

The reality that this may not be something I can do every day makes me ache.

As if uneasiness is seeping from me, he pulls away and touches my cheek with the back of his hands.

“It’s just an interview, Elle,” he whispers, looking at me.

I take a long, deep breath and close my eyes. It’s not really just an interview, though. It’s a life-changer. Life is short, I remind myself. Look at what happened to Wyatt. I’m not going to make Oliver feel bad for doing something he loves. I can’t be that girl—the one who demands someone give up their dreams in exchange for my happiness. When I feel calm again, I reopen my eyes. “I know. Go kick ass on your interview, Bean. Do what you need to do.”

I reach up and kiss him on the cheek. He grabs for me again, but I stop him.