Page 18 of Healed By the Grumpy Elf

I've typed "Reizenhart" instead of "Reinhardt."

I'm pretty sure if I'd been holding a paper, I would have doodled a little heart around it.

"You have got to be kidding me," I hiss, jabbing at the delete key with more force than necessary. The keyboard makes an alarming cracking sound, and I immediately ease up. My dad's words from my nursing school graduation float through my mind.

Healing isn't just fixing bodies, Maeve. It's about making people feel better, inside and out.

This makes me even angrier, both at Dr. Lorian Reizenhart for his offensive attitude and at myself for wasting so much mental energy on him for two whole days.

The lunch bell rings, startling me from my thoughts. I check my watch and groan when I realize I've only completed half the records I planned to finish by now.

"Coming through!" Harriet's voice rings out as she bursts through my office door without knocking in a whirlwind of flowing skirts. "Hide me from the tiny monsters!"

She collapses dramatically into the chair across from my desk, throwing an arm over her eyes.

"This morning has been a complete disaster."

"What happened now?" I ask, grateful for the distraction.

"What didn't happen?" Harriet drops her arm and fixes me with an exasperated stare. "Tommy Fangsworth asked if the 'mean elf man' was going to come back and make them eat broccoli or they'd die. Then Zinnia tried to force Angelina to eat a carrot and stuck it in her nose instead."

Despite myself, I burst out laughing.

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes!" Harriet nods solemnly. "I had to explain that doctors don't actually kill you for not eating vegetables, which led to a twenty-minute discussion about what doctors can and cannot do. Did you know that according to five-year-old logic, doctors can see through walls but can't fix broken toys?"

"The mysteries of medicine," I say, still chuckling. "At least they're not traumatized anymore."

"Speaking of our doctor friend…" Harriet leans forward, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Are you finally ready to admit that he's quite handsome? In an I-don’t-know-if-I want-to-punch-you-in-the-face-or-kiss-you kind of way."

I roll my eyes, ignoring the warmth creeping up my neck.

"Sure, if you're into the whole 'I'm superior to all of you mere mortals' vibe."

"Still, I saw the way he looked at you." Harriet taps her chin thoughtfully. "Like he could just eat you right up. Yum!"

The warmth creeping up my neck spreads to my face and I know I'm red as a tomato. Thanks to my ginger genetics for that.

"He was not," I correct her, though my stomach does a little flip at her words. "Probably wondering how someone so intellectually inferior managed to get a nursing license."

"Mm-hmm." Harriet's knowing smile makes me want to throw my stapler at her. "Keep telling yourself that. The scrumptious elf wanted to play doctor with you, I’m telling you!"

Before I can formulate a suitably cutting response, a knock at the door interrupts us. Ms. Killington, one of the lunch aides, stands in the doorway with a tiny figure who can't seem to stop giggling.

"Nurse Maeve," Ms. Killington says, her brow furrowed with concern. "Millie here couldn't eat her lunch. She keeps breaking into fits of laughter for no reason. She hasn't eaten a thing!"

I rise from my desk and approach the child. Millifred Primrose, Millie to her friends, is a usually inquisitive pixie kindergartener with wild dark curls and bright-violet eyes. Her delicate iridescent wings flutter rapidly behind her as she struggles to contain her giggles. It seems that she can barely stand straight, her small body shaking with suppressed laughter.

I frown. This isn't something I see every day.

"Come in, Millie," I say, guiding her gently toward the examination table. I notice with growing concern that the freckles scattered acrossher fair skin seem to be shimmering slightly. "Thank you, Ms. Killington. I'll take care of her."

The lunch aide nods and hurries away without another word. Harriet rises from her chair, giving me a quick nod.

"I should get back to my classroom as well. Catch up later?"

"Definitely," I agree, already focusing on my young patient.