Chapter 14: A Ridiculous Idea
1010 Words
Chapter 14: A Ridiculous Idea
The following morning began like every other.
Dr. Fiona Kennigton-Harper sat in her office, reviewing patient files and sipping her now-lukewarm coffee.
Her phone rang.
She glanced at the screen.
Mrs. Peterson.
The cleaner who came to her house every week.
Fiona answered.
"Good morning, Mrs. Peterson."
"Good morning, Doctor. Sorry to bother you."
"Not at all. Is everything okay?"
"Yes, dear. I finished the kitchen and the upstairs bedrooms. I just wanted to ask about the room downstairs."
Fiona frowned.
"The room downstairs?"
"The one just before the basement. You hardly use it. Should I clean it?"
For a second, Fiona said nothing.
Then it hit her.
The spare room.
It had its own bathroom.
It was quiet.
Private.
No one ever used it.
A house.
A safe place.
A place where nobody would think to look.
Her eyes widened.
No.
Absolutely not.
The thought was ridiculous.
Utterly ridiculous.
"Doctor?"
Mrs. Peterson's voice brought her back.
"Oh. Yes. Clean it."
"Alright, dear."
"Thank you."
She ended the call and slowly lowered her phone.
Then she blinked.
No.
No.
No.
She was not considering what she thought she was considering.
Letting Lieutenant Colonel Kieran Grey Ashford stay in her house?
Impossible.
She barely knew the man.
He was mysterious.
Secretive.
Possibly being monitored.
And she had a twelve-year-old son.
The answer was obviously no.
She nodded to herself.
Case closed.
Then she returned to her files.
Unfortunately, her brain apparently hadn't received the memo.
Because fifteen minutes later, the thought returned.
He needs a place to stay.
No.
He's recovering.
No.
You have a spare room.
Absolutely not.
She groaned softly and rubbed her forehead.
Thankfully, work became busy.
Very busy.
One patient became three.
Three became seven.
Emergency consultations.
Ward rounds.
Checkups.
Questions from nurses.
Calls from different departments.
By late afternoon, she had completely forgotten about her ridiculous idea.
She was exhausted.
And starving.
She decided to head to the cafeteria.
As she walked down the corridor, she passed the physiotherapy room.
Movement caught her attention.
She glanced inside.
Grey.
He was standing between the parallel bars.
One hand gripped the railing.
A physiotherapist stood nearby.
Slowly, carefully, he took another step.
And another.
His movements were still stiff, but there was obvious improvement.
He looked up.
Their eyes met.
For reasons she couldn't explain, she smiled.
He nodded once.
The physiotherapist excused himself a few moments later.
Fiona stepped inside.
"You're making progress."
Grey looked at his legs.
"So I've been told."
"You don't sound excited."
"I'll celebrate when I can run."
She laughed softly.
"I don't think that's how recovery works."
"It should."
She folded her arms.
"You're impatient."
"I prefer efficient."
She smiled again.
Then the ridiculous idea returned.
Her house.
The spare room.
She blinked.
No.
Still ridiculous.
She quickly pushed the thought away.
"What brings you here, Doctor?"
"I was actually on my way to the cafeteria."
He looked at her.
"You haven't had lunch?"
She glanced at the wall clock.
It was nearly evening.
"Oh."
He raised an eyebrow.
"You forgot."
"I may have forgotten."
"You forgot to eat."
She sighed.
"Apparently."
A faint smirk appeared on his face.
"I didn't realize doctors required supervision."
"Oh, we're capable of taking care of ourselves."
"Mhmm."
"Don't make that face."
"What face?"
"That one."
His smirk deepened.
To her surprise, she laughed.
"Fine. I forgot to eat."
He released the bars.
"I'm hungry too."
She blinked.
Was he...
"Are you inviting yourself to lunch?"
"Yes."
She stared at him.
His expression remained perfectly serious.
Then she laughed again.
"Alright, Lieutenant. Lunch it is."
---
The cafeteria was quieter than usual.
They sat opposite each other.
Grey had soup and a sandwich.
Fiona had whatever meal the cafeteria staff insisted she eat.
For a while, they ate in comfortable silence.
Then Grey spoke.
"The money."
She looked up.
"What about it?"
"We should go tomorrow."
She nodded.
"Tomorrow works."
"I'll write down everything you need."
"Okay."
Silence returned.
Then he asked,
"Your son."
She blinked.
"TJ?"
"You talk about him often."
A smile immediately appeared on her face.
"I do, don't I?"
"Frequently."
She laughed softly.
"He's my favourite person."
"How old is he?"
"Twelve."
Grey nodded.
"He sounds troublesome."
She looked offended.
"He is an angel."
"You say that with too much confidence."
"He is."
"Doctor, every parent says that."
She smiled.
"Okay, maybe he isn't an angel all the time."
"There we are."
"But he's wonderful."
She found herself talking.
And talking.
She told him about TJ accidentally locking himself in the bathroom when he was younger.
She told him about his obsession with pancakes.
About his love for superhero movies.
About the way he still hugged her whenever she had a difficult day.
Somewhere in the middle of her stories, she realized something.
Grey wasn't saying much.
He was simply listening.
Occasionally asking a question.
Occasionally nodding.
Sometimes—
She paused.
Was he smiling?
A soft smile sat on his face.
Gone almost immediately.
Then she continued talking.
She told him about Sonya.
Her best friend.
The woman who somehow knew everything.
The same woman who could win an argument while eating fries.
Grey looked amused.
Then she talked about Eddie.
Her cousin.
The unofficial comedian of the family.
The man who somehow turned every serious conversation into chaos.
At some point, she stopped.
She blinked.
"Oh my goodness."
Grey looked at her.
"I've been talking this entire time."
"Yes."
She covered her face.
"I'm so sorry."
"You apologize often."
She lowered her hands.
"I've been rambling."
He looked at her quietly.
"I don't mind."
The words caught her off guard.
"You don't?"
"No."
A small smile appeared on his face again.
"You make interesting observations."
She stared.
Then she laughed softly.
"That's the nicest way anyone has ever called me talkative."
A soft chuckle escaped him.
She froze.
He froze.
Neither of them seemed to expect it.
Then slowly—
Very slowly—
A smile appeared on her face.
And surprisingly...
One remained on his too.
- Writer
