More like herself than the CEO. Too peaceful. Like none of this is touching her, but I know that’s not true.
I climb out of the car, coffees and doughnuts in hand, and as I approach, she looks up. Her lips split wide in a smile, lighting up her face.
Framed by the flowers behind her, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in years.
“You’re early,” she says. Her eyes move to the drinks and food in my hands. “But you have your uses.”
She plucks out her earbuds and wraps her arms around my neck, popping a kiss on my lips. For a second, I forget everything. Whatever may be coming for us.
Hell, despite everything looming over us, I’m so fucking happy.
Which makes all this seem even more fragile.
We just stand there for a few minutes, staring at each other, fluttering odd kisses on each other’s lips.
“I assumed you’d be hungry,” I say.
She grins. “I’m always hungry.”
The undercurrent in her words is not talking about food or drink. I laugh then.
Her eyes narrow. “Are you okay?”
“More than okay,” I tell her. “We’re here, we’re together, and the sun is shining.”
I guide her over to the nearest bench, and we sit. They’re scattered throughout the gardens, each one dedicated to a patient of mine who lost their battle.This one’s Jeannie’s.
Antonia sips her coffee.
“It’s actually still warm,” she says. “I don’t know how they manage it. Normally, I’m always complaining about them going cold.”
I laugh.
“I gave them instructions to make it super-hot because I know how much you hate cold coffee.”
I take a bite of my doughnut. “Oh, that’s good,” I say louder.
“That’s what you always say,” she murmurs. Her eyes move to the plaque behind us. “Jeannie. I wonder who she was.”
“She was another name that needed more time. And deserved it,” I whisper. My eyes stay on her. Not the name. And I’m terrified she’ll become one of them.
“That’s why we’re doing this,” she says.
We both fall silent. Because we both know exactly what we’re not saying. That we’re sitting in the same place both of us have sat separately before. That time may run out again.
I try to ignore it, pushing the thought down.
My eyes scan the gardens.
“All these people are here to help us,” I say. “Most of them touched by the same illness as we’ve been touched with. So it’s as important to them as it is to us.”
She nods but doesn’t respond, just continues to eat her doughnut silently and sip her coffee, making little noises of pleasure. Like nothing’s wrong.
As she pops the final bite into her mouth, she drains her coffee and stands.
“Come on then. We’ve got some flowers to plant. You didn’t come here just to eat doughnuts.”
I chortle.