“Vitals are stable. Labs are pending.” You handed off the chart, deliberately not looking directly at her.

Addison’s fingers brushed yours when she took it — barely a touch, but enough to send a jolt through both of you. It was fast, covered up by the hum of rounds and nurses chatting, and no one batted an eye. They never did.

She stood close. Closer than she should’ve. You could smell her perfume — the one you’d teased her about last night while lying tangled up in sheets that didn’t belong to her husband.

“We’ll do an ultrasound in an hour,” she said, tone cool, professional. Only the slight shake in her voice betrayed her. “Page me if anything changes.”

You nodded and turned back to the monitor, pretending to read, pretending not to feel her eyes on the back of your neck. Your hands were steady, your face unreadable — the practiced mask of two people in plain sight, hiding everything.

But as she walked away, she whispered under her breath — low, only for you:

“Stop looking at me like that.”

You didn’t even realize you had been.