The weekend ends up being a disastrous time at work, and after the night at the bar, I don’t see Noah for three days. I can’t pretend the space isn’t a little welcome after that awkward moment at the party.

I think I’d expected it to be less easy. Being on a date with Noah. A pretend date, I remind myself. I’ve had to remind myself of that a lot this weekend. Maybe it’s because I got so weird after my tipsy moment on the dance floor. It’s just that he really had smelled so good, and with the liquid courage that had been sloshing around in my belly, it was easier than it should have been to forget that it was all fake.

I blame my misstep on my lack of any good real dates lately. That had to be what it is. At least Noah had been gracious about it. Although . . . I can’t pretend some part of me hadn’t been a little miffed over him brushing it off. I blame that on hormones. Maybe if Gran wasn’t always trying to set me up with Mr. Hell No, I might have been able to find someone actually suitable to bring back to my place and bang all this confusion out of me.

Speaking of Gran.

I know it’s her before I even check the caller ID, rolling my eyes as I pull my phone out of my scrub pocket to answer it. This is the eighth phone call from her in three days, and every single one of them has amounted to the same thing, which is:

“So when are you bringing him for dinner?”

I close my eyes as I continue down the hall from the cafeteria, repressing the urge to sigh. “Noah’s schedule is crazier than mine, Gran. It’s not like either of us gets a lot of free nights.”

“Oh, surely you could sneak away for an evening to have dinner with your poor grandmother,” she pouts. “You haven’t been to see me in ages.”

The hallway is blessedly empty right now, and I’m grateful that no one is around to listen in. “I was just there last week.”

“And now you’re dating someone, and you didn’t even tell me.”

“I told you, it’s new. It isn’t my fault that—”

“Besides, it’s important for couples to make time for each other outside of work,” Gran stresses. “You can’t only see each other at the hospital. I know how you are.”

“We do make time outside of work,” I protest. “We went to a bar on Friday.”

“A bar,” Gran huffs. “You can’t have quality time at a bar.”

There is a spark of memory that involves Noah’s body pressed to mine while his scent made me dizzy—and I think to myself I could make a valid argument against that. I keep quiet since it would most likely just have her picking out flower arrangements and venues though. Also, it still makes me feel a little funny when I remember touching Noah as casually as I did.

“I just don’t have a lot of years left, you know?” She sighs. Dramatically, I might add. “I always hoped to see you settled and happy before I kick the bucket.”

“We both know you’re likely to outlive me.”

“Not if my granddaughter keeps breaking my heart.”

“Fine!” I shake my head, watching the floor numbers change from three to two and willing the elevator to move faster. “Okay. I’ll ask him when he’s free.”

“Oh, wonderful. I’ll make my pot roast. Or is chicken better? Maybe I could—”

“I don’t think it matters what you cook,” I assure her, tapping my foot. “You don’t have to do anything special.”

This is going to be a disaster. I had hoped to ease Noah into all that is Moira Carter, but it looks like that’s not an option, since she’s apparently going to hound me right up to the altar. I’m starting to wonder if this is better than all the blind dates.

I have an errant thought about model trains, and that quickly puts the matter to bed.

“Of course I do! This could be my future grandson-in-law—”

“Gran.”

“—and first impressions are incredibly important.”

I round a corner, hardly paying attention to where I’m going now. “I’m sure Noah is going to think you’re perfectly wonderful as long as you don’t insist on acting batshit craz—”

I forget what I was saying as a familiar body comes into view—and I’m thrown by the person standing in the hall outside the ER.

“Noah?”

He looks frazzled, his arms crossed and his mouth taut as he looks up at me from the floor, his brow furrowed.

I can hear Gran’s voice distantly, my body having a weird reaction to seeing him after so many days. It’s like I forgot how to move all of a sudden. Did he smell this nice three days ago, or is it only because it’s been so long since I’ve been this close to him that’s making his scent seem more delectable?

“I have to go, Gran,” I tell her absently. “Lots to do. I’ll let you know soon.”

I’m not even sure she hears me hang up, still muttering about a menu for a dinner that hasn’t been set in stone yet.

I’m still just standing there. “What are you doing down here?”

“I was . . .” He looks me up and down, his eyes darting toward the way I’ve just come. “Were you having lunch?”

“Yeah. Over in the cafeteria.”

“Oh.”

“Were you looking for me?”

“I . . .” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, almost like he’s uncomfortable. “Yes. I probably should have texted first.”

“No, that’s okay. I mean, I would have saved you the trip if you had and come to you, but it’s totally fine.”

“Right.” He nods down at the floor, still frowning. “Good. Okay.”

The expression on his face is still one of almost worry, and I push away the distraction of his scent as I reach out to press my fingers to his arm in concern. “Are you okay?”

His eyebrow quirks as he looks back up at me. “Okay?”

“Yeah, I mean . . . You don’t usually come down to my floor. Plus, you look super stressed. Did something happen? Because I can—”

“No, Mackenzie,” he interjects. He scrubs a hand down his face, his eyes darting down the hall. “It isn’t anything that—”

“Shit.” I follow his gaze, noticing an RN who’s turning the corner while perusing a clipboard. “Right. We shouldn’t talk about it here.”

“Mackenzie, I don’t think—”

I’m already scoping the area for a place we can talk since, unfortunately, I am not yet high enough on the ladder to have my own office. “Let me just—” I spot a utility closet down the hall, grabbing his arm a little tighter and dragging him with me. “Come here.”

He’s still half protesting as I pull him the extra ten feet and shove him inside the cramped space, reaching to flick on the light and peeking back down the hall to make sure no one noticed us before I shut the door.

“Okay,” I say, turning to regard him. “My bad. You probably didn’t want to be overheard.”

“No . . . There’s nothing really to—Shit.” He blows out a breath, looking more stressed than he did even a minute ago. “I really should have texted you.”

“What’s wrong? Just tell me.”

“Nothing’s . . . wrong,” he manages, not really looking at me now. “I just . . .” He sighs, seeming almost embarrassed. “I just haven’t seen you in a few days.”

I tilt my head, not quite understanding. “Okay?”

“I just . . .” I swear, if this weren’t Noah Taylor I was talking to, I might think he was blushing. “I haven’t scented you in three days.” He says the words very quietly, like it’s difficult. “I was starting to worry people might notice.”

“Oh.”

At first, there’s a tiny part of me that preens at this information. Some faraway omega hormone that does a little somersault as it parades through my bloodstream. Then I remember what we are, and I feel silly.

“That makes sense,” I say almost too quickly. “I’m sorry. It’s been so busy. I didn’t even think about people getting suspicious.”

“Suspicious,” he echoes woodenly, eyes fixed on my face now. “Right. Don’t apologize. It’s been busy upstairs too.”

“Still.” I shuffle my feet, feeling odd about the whole thing. Which doesn’t make any sense. Surely I can’t be disappointed that he only came to find me to do some maintenance work on our charade. That’s the whole reason we’re even talking right now, after all. “Wow,” I laugh. “Probably weird that I pulled you into the closet then.”