her in his arms.
“Jo Micheals, I think you need to put me out
of my misery. I’ve been stranded in a blizzard with you, I’ve
nearly been stabbed over you. I think you should do me the honour
of agreeing to be my wife, don’t you?”
The room held its breath, all attention on
Jo, waiting for her answer. She smoothed her hands over his shirt,
ironing out the wrinkles as she pretended to think. But she
couldn’t contain the surge of love and joy filling her heart, a
broad smile breaking over her lips as she nodded.
The whole A&E erupted into cheers as Drew
pulled her closer, his lips a bare whisper away from hers as he
whispered, “Good, because Santa didn’t just buy a pair of earrings.
He brought a ring to match. Just in case.”
Collision on 550
By Doug Brown
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or
are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright© 2008 Doug Brown
All rights reserved. No part of this book may
be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written
permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in
reviews.
Doug Brown is a writer who works as a
programmer in South Carolina. He is in the fiction certificate
program at Gotham Writers' Workshop and is married to his high
school sweetheart. You can learn more at doug-brown.net
Gavin hurried down the hall, the present
knocking his ankles in the overly large department store bag. The
woman at the desk told him it was all they had, Christmas time was
good for that sort of thing, and put his size small box in a sack
big enough to park a car in. Now he was cursing himself for not
depositing it in the trash outside of the mall.
The hospital was buzzing. Visitors sulked
through the halls and bumped elbows with over-caffeinated nurses
and techs. Gavin looked like one of them, his wrinkled scrubs
clinging to a muscular frame he earned playing college football
before breaking his knee in three places. Now it was a shell of the
pro athlete he was going to be, not the OR assistant he was. His
cheeks were peppered with wiry stubble, his hair a thick black
shock atop a charming face.
One of the administrators came up with the
ridiculous idea of throwing the entire hospital’s staff into the
pot for secret santa drawings. There was a new face in the upper
echelon, and they unanimously agreed it was a great way for the
staff to get to know each other cross-department. He got an e-mail
with an attached form, filled out with a nameless female’s favorite
favorites. He wanted to vomit. Instead, he waited until the day
before he was supposed to drop his gift off on the fifth floor to
go shopping.
The elevators opened on a bustling fifth,
filled with more zombie visitors. He pushed through a pack that was
motioning to ask him something, the giant bag and present almost
getting stuck, and propped himself on the nurses’ station.
“Hey, where do we drop these off?”
A plump woman with bloodshot eyes and a
crooked nose looked up from her chart, narrowing on him. “You got a
secret santa gift?”
He paused, took a quick breath, and nodded.
Stupid questions ranked pretty high on his pet peeve list.
“On the 560 hall.” She blurted, going back to
her chart immediately.
Gavin nodded and gathered the sack for a
better grip. He turned to read the hall numbers and the woman from
the pack of visitors flagged him. He pointed her to the nurses’
station, feigned a terribly busy look, and scurried toward the
560’s.
He was almost there, crossing the 550’s, when
the blur of a woman in a jog collided with his right side. The pro
athlete Gavin would’ve instinctively rolled away and prepared for a
long pass. The OR tech Gavin hit the floor tangled in the bag, the
woman, and whatever she was carrying.
They stood and smoothed their
“Jo Micheals, I think you need to put me out
of my misery. I’ve been stranded in a blizzard with you, I’ve
nearly been stabbed over you. I think you should do me the honour
of agreeing to be my wife, don’t you?”
The room held its breath, all attention on
Jo, waiting for her answer. She smoothed her hands over his shirt,
ironing out the wrinkles as she pretended to think. But she
couldn’t contain the surge of love and joy filling her heart, a
broad smile breaking over her lips as she nodded.
The whole A&E erupted into cheers as Drew
pulled her closer, his lips a bare whisper away from hers as he
whispered, “Good, because Santa didn’t just buy a pair of earrings.
He brought a ring to match. Just in case.”
Collision on 550
By Doug Brown
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or
are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright© 2008 Doug Brown
All rights reserved. No part of this book may
be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written
permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in
reviews.
Doug Brown is a writer who works as a
programmer in South Carolina. He is in the fiction certificate
program at Gotham Writers' Workshop and is married to his high
school sweetheart. You can learn more at doug-brown.net
Gavin hurried down the hall, the present
knocking his ankles in the overly large department store bag. The
woman at the desk told him it was all they had, Christmas time was
good for that sort of thing, and put his size small box in a sack
big enough to park a car in. Now he was cursing himself for not
depositing it in the trash outside of the mall.
The hospital was buzzing. Visitors sulked
through the halls and bumped elbows with over-caffeinated nurses
and techs. Gavin looked like one of them, his wrinkled scrubs
clinging to a muscular frame he earned playing college football
before breaking his knee in three places. Now it was a shell of the
pro athlete he was going to be, not the OR assistant he was. His
cheeks were peppered with wiry stubble, his hair a thick black
shock atop a charming face.
One of the administrators came up with the
ridiculous idea of throwing the entire hospital’s staff into the
pot for secret santa drawings. There was a new face in the upper
echelon, and they unanimously agreed it was a great way for the
staff to get to know each other cross-department. He got an e-mail
with an attached form, filled out with a nameless female’s favorite
favorites. He wanted to vomit. Instead, he waited until the day
before he was supposed to drop his gift off on the fifth floor to
go shopping.
The elevators opened on a bustling fifth,
filled with more zombie visitors. He pushed through a pack that was
motioning to ask him something, the giant bag and present almost
getting stuck, and propped himself on the nurses’ station.
“Hey, where do we drop these off?”
A plump woman with bloodshot eyes and a
crooked nose looked up from her chart, narrowing on him. “You got a
secret santa gift?”
He paused, took a quick breath, and nodded.
Stupid questions ranked pretty high on his pet peeve list.
“On the 560 hall.” She blurted, going back to
her chart immediately.
Gavin nodded and gathered the sack for a
better grip. He turned to read the hall numbers and the woman from
the pack of visitors flagged him. He pointed her to the nurses’
station, feigned a terribly busy look, and scurried toward the
560’s.
He was almost there, crossing the 550’s, when
the blur of a woman in a jog collided with his right side. The pro
athlete Gavin would’ve instinctively rolled away and prepared for a
long pass. The OR tech Gavin hit the floor tangled in the bag, the
woman, and whatever she was carrying.
They stood and smoothed their
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