Connor
The elevator in Edinburgh Royal Infirmary smelled like antiseptic and Mel's perfume. She was still holding that Sharpie sign. "LOBDEN BABY." She'd drawn a little crown on the B.
"Alright, so," Melanie said as the doors dinged, "a little saint came around when Catydid was triaging and said, 'oh, early labor? let's get her out of the general ward.' And now she's in one of the fancy rooms. Private. Big windows. The whole thing."
I frowned. "A little saint?"
Melanie looked at Edward. Then she wiggled her eyebrows at me like a twelve-year-old.
I looked at Edward. He was pretending to be very interested in the elevator buttons.
"Edward," I said, smiling despite how fast my heart was going. "What did you do?"
He shrugged. One shoulder. That stupid, humble, infuriating shrug that meant he'd moved mountains. "My boyfriend's brother is having his first child," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "He deserves the best."
