Page 4 of Morally Black Betrothal

“What do you think, Mr. Black?” I asked him. “Or does a man of your esteemed wealth and notoriety prefer to be called Niall? Should I try a ninety percent hydration, Niall? Or blend a little less Einkorn into my dough?”

A strand of spittle fell from the corner of his mouth.

Lord. Would I ever end up this way, alone and helpless?

And so chugged on the second most predictable train of thought I had during my shifts at Mass General: wondering how long I’d live. My mother died when she was thirty-two, only four years older than me, in this very hospital. I’d missed her last moments—she’d been alone while the rest of us were asleep at a hotel, thinking we’d see her again the next day. Once I’d moved to Boston, I swore at least some of these people would have someone with them in their hardest, possibly final moments. Even if they were unconscious.

Former therapists accused me of a healthy dose of survivor’s guilt. Maybe they were right.

All I knew was that, despite terrible lighting, constant beeping, and low-key terror that permeated the ICU, coming here made me feel good, and it did some good for the world too.

What was so wrong with that?

Typically, I spent less than thirty minutes with patients like this—long enough for their loved ones to arrive and take my place.

Today, I had been sitting with Niall Black for more than four hours.

Given that the man had a wife and four children who all lived in Boston, the fact that he’d been alone for so long was concerning, to say the least.

The head nurse had mentioned that he was one of the “most hated men in Boston.”

Did that extend to his family too?

I kept watching the door for someone to prove us wrong.

Nothing.

“Any change?”

I looked up to find Cameron, the nurse on duty, entering the room. He flashed the bright grin that usually preceded another attempt to ask me out.

I shook my head, causing my ponytail to tickle my shoulders. “Nope. Still sleeping.”

Cameron nodded, then went about checking Mr. Black’s vitals while giving me the occasional wink. I couldn’t help but blush. My sister would tell me I was silly—that there was no reason to act like a nun when I had the opportunity to play out a scene fromGrey’s Anatomyright here, with a hot nurse.

It didn’t help that I hadn’t had a boyfriend in, oh, years.

Selena would say my standards were too high, but that wasn’t it. The truth was, none of us knew how long we were going to be around. Some people thought that meant we should do whatever we wanted, in the guise of “living life to its fullest.” Me, I just didn’t want to hurt anyone if somethingdidend up happening to me.

It was better not to get attached at all.

“Have you tried the new falafel place by the park yet?” Cameron asked as he jotted down the current numbers on the whiteboard next to Mr. Black’s bed.

“No, is it good?”

“Don’t know. Want to go later?”

And there it was.

I shook my head again. “Sorry, I have plans tonight.”

Plans to work at my actual paying job and prep the starter for about thirty loaves of unbaked bread, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Let me know what you think,” I added as Cameron headed for the door.

“Will do.” He winked again, undeterred, and left me alone with my patient.

“What do you think, Mr. Black?” I asked. “Should I take him up on his offer one of these days? It has been a long time.”