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“Well, someoneshouldcare, don’t you think?” I asked with an angry glance.

“Why?” she grunted, pulling hard on the seal.

I reached over, and with one fast tug, broke the seal in half before tossing it to the floor. She turned a surprised look my way. I met it briefly before looking back at the road. “Because it’s okay to ask for help sometimes.”

She reached up like she wanted to press her glasses against her face, but they weren’t there. Her hand halted, and then she laid it back on the fruit tray lid. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” I paused, then asked, “Wait, you hate doctors?”

She pulled an “oops” face. “I didn’t mean that. I just mean, I lived with my grandmother growing up, but she passed away in my early twenties. Cancer. And hospitals and stuff make me feel… I don’t know.”

“Faintly nauseated?” I guessed.

She nodded. “She was so miserable the whole time she was in there.”

“I get it.” I reached over again and popped open the lid for her. The fresh scent of pineapple and cantaloupe filled the air-conditioned car. “I have patients who lost loved ones inhospitals and hospices who get crippling anxiety at the thought of attending something simple like a checkup. It bothered me that something like that would be a barrier to preventative care, so I travel to them.”

“Do you really?” Ruth took a bite of a green melon wedge. “Like, old school?”

I smiled faintly. “Like old school. It takes longer, and we have to fight tooth and nail with insurance to approve it sometimes, but it’s worth it for the patients who can’t get into medical centers.”

“I’m sure they really appreciate you,” she said softly.

I shrugged. “I certainly hope they do. But I mean it,” I gave her another hard look. “Don’t go to Rook. I think he’s a Wendigo in disguise.”

She laughed, putting her hand to her mouth, which was full of melon. “You dislike him that much?”

“I’m pretty sure he eats people’s organs,” I said seriously.

“Which is why he’s a doctor?” she guessed.

“Exactly.” I cracked a grin.

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “Okay, but I’m not making you my PCP.”

“Why not?” I asked, offended.

“What, seriously?” she laughed.

I tossed a scowl her way. “Seriously.”

“Um,” she coughed out a laugh. “Cal… no way.”

“Why?” I pressed. “I’m pretty fucking good at my job.”

“I’m sure you are,” she replied, her voice thin. “But… no. Noway.”

A slow smile crept up my face. “Shortstop, are you worried about me touching you?”

“No,” she lied unconvincingly.

In my head, I indulged in a maniacallaugh. She did like me. “Hm,” I hummed, sliding another playful look her way. “Interesting.”

“It is definitely not interesting,” she huffed. She popped another piece of fruit in her mouth. “Do you have like… a podcast we can listen to or something?”

Still smiling, I tapped my car display. “Lots. You choose.”

“Something long,” she muttered under her breath.