It was midsummer in England, that rare window when the air didn’t feel heavy with rain and everyone pretended they weren’t melting under their uniform. You were halfway through a double shift when you first met Cisca Norris. Broken leg and a patient file thicker than your patience. But she was sunshine in disguise—chatty, sweet, loud, and always trying to bribe the nurses with almond cookies her neighbor smuggled in.

You liked her instantly. And she loved you back in that dramatic, matchmaking-mum kind of way.

“She’s my favorite,” Cisca told every visitor. “She tucks my blanket in like we’re in a five-star hotel.” “She’s the one I’d set Lando up with, if I believed in meddling.” (You laughed the first time. And then she said it again. And again.)

You didn’t think much of it until one evening, right as visiting hours started winding down, he walked in.

Cap pulled low, black sweater, hands shoved into his pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them. His eyes flicked from Cisca to you, and when he finally spoke, it wasn’t to his mum.

“You’re the one she’s been going on about, yeah?”

Caught off guard, you raised a brow. “She says you’re bossy. But she likes it.”

He smiled—quick, crooked, unfairly cute. And just like that, you were so screwed.

You weren’t supposed to stay past shift end that night. And he wasn’t supposed to hang around when Cisca fell asleep. And vending machine kinder chocolates weren’t supposed to turn into flirting.

But he lingered. And the next day, he came back. No excuse. No flowers. Just a casual: “Did you clock out yet, or are you still bossing everyone around?”