She checked her watch again as she stepped up to the coffee bar. Son of a biscuit. She needed to hurry. Shoving her cup underneath the spout of the large silver dispenser labeled Medium Roast, she filled it to the brim, nearly spilling it in her haste to step sideways and grab a lid. She swiveled on her heel, but instead of dashing to the exit as planned, crashed face first into a hard, broad chest.

The loose-fitting lid popped right off, and coffee splashed out of the cup, all over her hand and onto the shirt of the person she’d run in to. Instinctively she jumped back, as did the stranger, and she set the dripping cup onto the counter.

“William Shatner,” she hissed in the same way a normal person might say dammit, and swiped several napkins to clean her hand. Thank God it didn’t feel like she’d been badly burned, though her hand would no doubt be red for several hours. “I’m sorry—” she started, and looked up into a set of chocolate-brown eyes.

Of course. It had to be the hot guy. His lips pressed into a tight line, but he didn’t seem angry. He leaned in to take a few napkins, and his chest passed in front of her face, along with a wonderful scent of cedar and soap.

“I’m so sorry,” she said again.

“It’s fine.” He pressed the napkins to his heather-gray T-shirt, but at this point there really wasn’t much to be done.

Lauren wondered how firm the stomach underneath his ministrations was.

Shrugging, he gave up and tossed the squares of paper in the trash. He pulled the sides of his navy hoodie to the front of his body and zipped it up to cover the wet portion of his shirt. “It’s the perfect start to this day.”

An odd thing to say, but Lauren didn’t have time to ask what he meant by it.

“And did you just curse with Captain Kirk?” he asked.

She also didn’t have time to explain that right now. She resisted the urge to look up at him again and pretended not to hear, wrapping a napkin around her half-empty cup. “I hope your day gets better. I have to go, but again, I’m sorry.”

She ignored the ding of an incoming text message and rushed out of the shop.

…

Two hours later, Lauren exited the elevator on the fourth floor of the Coleman Cancer Center. The sixth-floor conference room had been packed with physicians and residents, and now that the stressful part of her day was over, she could relax.

And think about other things…like the guy from the coffee shop.

It was a good thing muscle memory took her to the leukemia and lymphoma clinic, because her mind was definitely elsewhere when she entered the room where she’d spent the last several weeks.

“How’d it go?”