Page 15 of Christmas at Watson Memorial
Before I can respond, she turns to cradle my face with her right hand, her thumb caressing my cheek, and my lucky pen slips from my fingers.
“Selene…”
“Tell me to stop,” she whispers, but instead, I lean into her touch.
The kiss is gentle, unhurried, perfect. Her lips brush mine with infinite sensuality, and when her tongue meets mine, my entire body trembles.
“Why did you become a helicopter pilot?” I blurt out, breaking the spell.
“Started in the military, but now, every time I deliver an organ, every patient who gets a second chance at life…” she pauses, swallowing hard. “It's like I see my sister in them,” she adds with a sigh.
I snuggle back against her body. A log cracks in the fireplace, sending sparks dancing upward. Outside, the storm rages on, wind howling through the swaying treetops surrounding us. But here, wrapped in a blanket by the fire, held in Selene's arms, something inside me begins to thaw.
Chapter 9
Alexia
The eerie glow of the snow-covered landscape casts strange shadows across my face as I watch Selene battle the ice-coated rotors. Her movements are precise, deliberate — the kind that come from fighting a thousand battles before this one. The harsh winter wind whips at her dark hair, and I find myself mesmerized by the determination etched across her features.
“This would be so much easier with proper de-icing equipment,” she grumbles, stretching on her tiptoes to reach a particularly stubborn chunk of ice that refuses to budge. “But I guess we'll have to make do. How's it going in there?”
“About as well as you'd expect when using a worn-out tool meant for scraping ice off car windshields,” I complain while clearing more frost from the control panel. The cold metal bites into my fingertips through my thin gloves. “Are you sure this is going to work?”
“Nope, but I wasn't sure about flying into a blizzard either, and here we are, still kicking,” she quips, flashing that smile that somehow makes my stomach do somersaults. “Ready to fire it up?”
The engine coughs before roaring to life, humming low in the crisp afternoon air. I watch as the ice begins to melt around the air intakes, water droplets catching the wan winter light.
Through the radio static, I hear Selene's voice shift into her pilot tone: sharp, clear, and worlds away from the woman who was teasing me just moments ago.
“Burlington General, this is Life Flight 7. We're airborne and weather conditions have improved significantly. ETA approximately one hour, possibly less.”
The response crackles through our headsets.
“Copy that, Life Flight 7. Be advised we have a situation here that Dr. Winters should know about.”
My body tenses at those words. In my experience, the term “situation” in a hospital setting rarely precedes good news.
“Go ahead, Burlington,” I respond into my mic, gripping my lucky pen tighter.
“Our cardiac surgeon, Dr. Matthews, is snowed in at his residence. Roads are completely impassable from his location, and snowplows won't make it in time. We'vemaintained the donor on life support, but we'll need you to perform the recovery, Dr. Winters.”
“Understood. Have your team prep for immediate procurement on arrival. I'll need-”
“The full cardiac team is standing by,” they interrupt. “OR 3 is being prepped to your specifications. Dr. Matthews sent over your equipment list from your last call.”
“At least someone's efficient,” I mutter, forgetting my mic is still hot.
Selene chuckles beside me. “High praise coming from you. Should I be jealous of Dr. Matthews?”
“He's sixty-four and collects ceramic cats,” I roll my eyes. “But he knows how to prep an OR.”
“Life Flight 7,” the radio crackles again, “be advised we'll maintain donor stability, but we'll need to proceed within three hours of your arrival.”
“Copy that,” Selene responds. “Dr. Winters will be ready. Life Flight 7, over and out.”
After closing the channel, she turns slightly toward me with a smile.
“Planning the procurement while we fly? That thing you're doing with your eyebrows usually means you're performing mental surgery.”