Page 25 of Healed By the Grumpy Elf

From the corner of my eye, I catch Lorian watching us. His tall figure is perfectly still, his expression unreadable as always. But something in the intensity of his gaze makes my skin prickle with awareness.

"Dr. Reizenhart!" Millie turns to him and chews enthusiastically. "Look, I can eat crackers now! No more laughing!"

Lorian smiles at the child and makes notes in his file, his movements precise and controlled.

"I see that, Millifred," he says, his voice formal but not unkind. "Your symptoms appear to be improving."

Today he wears a crisp white shirt under his white coat. The way his white coat fits his formidable shoulders makes my belly quiver and dance and I force my gaze away from him and back to Millie.

"Nurse Maeve's magic ice pop is wonderful," Millie explains, holding up the now half-eaten pop. "Now my dad can make some more ice pops at home for me."

"It's not magic," I correct gently. "Just herbs that help calm your tummy so you can eat without laughing."

Lorian's eyebrow rises slightly. He nods, and I can practically see the thoughts churning behind those ice-blue eyes. Skepticism, curiosity, maybe even a grudging respect?

"Mr. Primrose," he says, his voice softer than I've heard it before, "Millie is cleared to go home now. The symptoms should peak within three days, then gradually subside." He pauses, then adds, "Don't hesitate to bring her back if you have any concerns."

I blink at this unexpected display of caring. It's not exactly warm and fuzzy, but for Lorian, it's practically a hug.

We all walk out of the examination room together, Millie skipping ahead despite her father's gentle reminders to stay close, her occasional giggles causing her to float a few inches off the ground before settling back down. Lorian leads the way with his long, purposeful strides, while Rylan and I follow behind as Millie bounces between us like a glowing, giggling balloon. Just as they are about to leave, Millie turns around and runs back to me.

"I made this for you," she says, pressing a folded piece of paper into my hand. Her small fingers glow faintly against mine as she passes it over. "It's a gift for you and Dr. Elf."

I unfold the drawing to find a colorful depiction of what appears to be me, recognizable by a wild red scribble of hair, standing next to a very tall, stern-looking figure with pointed ears. Between us is a small pixie girl floating above the ground, surrounded by yellow lines I assume represent her glowing freckles.

"This is beautiful, Millie," I say, genuinely touched. "Thank you."

I turn toward the wall where children's artwork used to hang. Dr. Wells' patients had covered it with colorful drawings over the years. Now it's freshly painted stark white, like everything else in Lorian'sclinic. No decorations, no plants, no personality. Just clean, sterile, and impersonal.

We'll see about that, you grumpy elf!I think in a flash of defiance.

"This drawing deserves to be seen," I declare, holding up Millie's artwork with deliberate provocation.

Lorian opens his mouth, likely to object, but I don't give him the chance. I pull a roll of tape from the reception desk, walk straight to the wall, and affix Millie's drawing right in the center of his pristine white wall.

The bright colors stand out like a flower blooming in snow. I step back, satisfied with my small rebellion.

Lorian's jaw tightens, but he says nothing.

Millie giggles, a real laugh, not the symptom-induced kind, and turns to her father.

"Can we go home now, Daddy? I want to show Aunt Evelyn my glowing spots."

"Yes, sweetheart." Rylan nods, holding the bottle of my herbal remedy close to his chest. "Thank you, Nurse Callahan. Dr. Reizenhart."

He shakes Lorian's hand formally, then turns to me with a warm smile.

"Those ice pops are miraculous. The other parents will be thrilled. Assuming you're okay with me telling them about it?"

"Happy to help," I say, walking them to the door. "I'll bring more bottles to school tomorrow. As for the ice pops, give her one before every meal and she should be able to eat and drink normally."

After they leave, I turn back to find Lorian still staring at the drawing on his wall. Mrs. Beckham, the clinic receptionist, watches us with undisguised curiosity from behind her desk.

It's now or never, I tell myself. Still, there's a quiver in my belly as I look at him.

"Dr. Reizenhart," I say, keeping my voice professional despite the pounding in my chest. "Could I speak with you? Privately."

He hesitates for a moment, then nods. "My office."