Aiden. Clipboard in hand, walking down the hall. He slowed when their eyes met and smiled. “Okay,” he said, “I swear I’m not stalking you.” She gave a tired half-smile. “Sure you’re not just circling me like a hawk waiting for another blood test?”
He laughed. “Nah, those are the phlebotomists. I’m more of a bump-into-you-and-charm-you type.” She arched an eyebrow. “That your official title?” He shrugged. “Unofficial. But I make it work.” This time, the conversation lasted longer—maybe five, ten minutes.