falls to the ground and my compact and lip gloss spill out of it.
“You’re not going to get arrested,” he laughs as he condescendingly bends down to retrieve my bag and its contents, and then settles the strap onto my shoulder. “It’s called a ride-along. We do them all the time. And our morning has been pretty slow, so I’m hoping things pick up and you get a real show.”
“You’re sick, Ran. Wishing tragedy on people just so you get a little more action.”
Ran’s face goes white, the usual rosy-pink pigment drained from it. “That’s not what I meant,” he says, his eyes suddenly crammed with emotion.
I instantly wish I could retract my words after seeing that look on his face. Why do I always feel like the bad guy when I’m around him? “I’m sorry.”
“I just meant that since it’s been slow, things will probably pick up. I’d never wish for someone to sustain an injury for the sake of entertainment.” Ran looks me up and down, and the hurt in his eyes is still present, though he’s regained a hint of his color on his skin.
“I know.” I change the subject. “Let’s go get my bag.”
“Already did. Cora let me in.”
I roll my eyes. “So now I’m adding intruder to the list. Stalker, kidnapper, hostage holder, ransom demander, and now intruder.”
“I think you’re forgetting amazing kisser, chef, backrub giver, and guitar player.” Ran slips his fingers in mine and tugs me toward the ambulance. It’s the second time we’ve held hands and though my immediate reaction is to shake him loose, I find my fingers returning the playful squeeze that his give.
“I have yet to experience that list.” I grip on tighter to avoid slipping from his clasp, because the sweat from my palms is becoming increasingly apparent.
“If you’re lucky, you can experience all of those things tonight.” His ruby red lips curl upward again. “And since I know you’re envisioning it right now, let me add sweet-nothing-whisperer to the list.” We’ve edged our way across the parking lot and are at the ambulance now, and he opens the back door and motions for me to go through. “Just try not to think about them all at once, because that would take some serious skill. Cooking dinner while simultaneously serenading you with the guitar, all while I rub your shoulders and kiss your mouth, as well as whisper sweet nothings in your ear?” He stares into the void behind me and releases a burst of laughter. “On second thought, yes, please think about that, because that sounds pretty damn amazing.”
“Nice to see you again, Maggie,” Trav calls out from the front. I lift my head in a nod.
Ran hands me a clipboard with several sheets of official looking papers. “Sign this.”
“What is it?”
“A waiver. Basically saying you won’t hold us responsible if you, you know, die.”
I thumb through the sheets and scribble my signature where appropriate. “So now I’m signing my life over to you.”
“Essentially.” He slips a navy blue jacket onto my shoulders that has OBSERVER embroidered in white thread on the chest. It’s at least two sizes too big and swallows me whole. “And it hurts that you’ve forgotten so soon that I did a pretty decent job saving your life once already.” Ran clutches his heart as though I’ve dealt him an injurious offense.
Some transmitted voice echoes through a two-way in the cab and Trav calls out a list of numbers and words I don’t know the meaning to. As he speaks, the driver turns the key in the ignition and the engine rumbles. My breath quickens.
“Ran.” I grip my seat. When I look down at my hands, my knuckles are white, like the sheer skin covering them is stretched nearly to its breaking point. “I don’t know if I want to do this.”
“Don’t be scared, Maggie. It’s a Code 2. Not life threatening.”
“Oh,” I say. “Well that makes it better. Never mind then. Bring on the emergency.”
Ran leans toward me and squeezes just above my knee. If he’s trying to get me to relax, he’s going to have to stop doing things like that. “Just sit back and watch me work. Our shift is almost over. This will probably be our last transport and then you and I will have the night to ourselves.”
And luckily it was the last call of the day. After assessing and driving a twelve-year-old boy with a broken—and by broken meaning bone-pushing-so-far-through-the-skin-that-it-threatened-to-split—forearm, Ran’s shift was over and we were