Forget Me Not

Chapter 4

" – it's the Florence Nightingale effect."

Emma glanced up in confusion at Scout, who simply flashed her a serene smile before returning her attention to the pot of pasta. "What're you talking about?" asked Emma, after a few seconds of trying but failing to make sense of her friend's words. She'd told Scout everything that had happened in the hospital the day before, but Scout had a knack of saying the most unexpected things that left her entirely befuddled.

"You know, Florence Nightingale?" Scout shrugged, still stirring the pasta with a ladle. "When the caregiver develops romantic feelings for the patient? I'm just saying – that might be what's happening."

"Between Dylan and Flo?" Emma clarified, feeling a painful twinge in her chest as she thought about the mere idea of it.

"Between Dylan and Flo," Scout repeated, before letting out a soft chuckle. "That's one hell of a coincidence, by the way. Flo's name," she added, when Emma glanced over in surprise. "Flo, Florence – see the link?"

Bittersweet coincidence, indeed. Emma thought briefly about the interactions she'd seen between her boyfriend and Flo the day before. It was – sweet, intimate, all too familiar; and it was the latter that frightened her. Plain infatuation she could handle; but familiarity, the way Flo seemed to know what calmed him and how to handle him in his worst moods – that unnerved her.

She tried to force a smile on her face but failed miserably, and went back to mincing the beef instead. But she didn't miss the way her friend studied her for a moment or two. After a long pause, Scout finally sighed, turning down the fire and setting aside the ladle.

"Okay," began Scout, reaching up to tuck an errant lock of hair behind her ear, "so what if Flo's got a little crush on Dylan? That's normal. Dylan's attractive, she's single, she probably thinks something could happen – but it doesn't mean that anything would."

Emma dragged in a deep breath and mulled over Scout's words. Put that way, it did make a lot of sense. Made her feel a whole lot better too. "She doesn't know him the way I do," said Emma at last, a tiny smile playing on her face.

"Exactly," Scout pointed the ladle in Emma's direction, her eyes bright. "All's fair in love and war. And until Dylan makes a choice, you're still as much a part of his life as Flo is. In fact, given your history – you are an even bigger part of his life than she will ever be."

* * *

Emma still remembered that very first time he kissed her.

It was cold; the frost had nipped at her nose and cheeks until she felt nothing but numb all over. She was standing out on the sidewalk with her hands tucked firmly in the pockets of her coat, scuffing her boots against the snow lining the ground.

He had stepped out onto the pavement moments later, and she felt him before she saw him – he was the kind of warm sunlight on the coldest of winters. "Cold?" He asked, lips quirking up in a brief, amused smile when he saw her shiver. She never liked winters.

"Yeah."

"Here, take this," he handed her the cup of coffee that he'd bought in the café earlier. With her fingers wrapped around the foam cup, she froze when he reached up to adjust her scarf. He was gentle, tentative, and careful – like he was afraid he'd make a wrong move at any moment. Wrapping her scarf around her accordingly, he knotted it loosely at the end and Emma held her breath, waiting for that inevitable chill she'd feel the moment he pulled away.

He didn't pull away.

Instead, he drew closer, closer, until he was all she could see. "Emma," his voice was quiet when he said her name, and it was all she could hear. The expression in his eyes was indecipherable but he was looking at her lips and her breath caught in her throat. He hadn't kissed her yet but she was already breathless.

Slowly, anxiously, she shut her eyes and waited. Felt her heartbeat stutter when he pressed his warm lips to hers, felt her chest tighten and toes curl when he wrapped his arms around her waist to pull her flush against him. She remembered how it was one of the coldest winter days back then, but she'd never felt warmer before.

Emma opened her eyes now and looked down at the white scarf in her hands. It was hers, her favourite one, and now it was going to be with him. Like Morgan had texted earlier, the hospital room was empty and she knew that Dylan was at one of his physiotherapy sessions.

Quietly, she made her way across the room. The basket of muffins was gone now and she had no doubt that he'd eaten them all. Other get-well-soon gift baskets scattered the room, some tampered with, and others still in pristine condition.

And her flowers – they were in full bloom.

Maybe it was Morgan who'd been taking care of the plant, maybe it was him; but Emma took that as a good sign. Manoeuvring her way past his bed, she pushed back the glass of water and laid the scarf on the table. Her fingers automatically brushed the creases lining the fabric and, for a moment, she felt a stab of nostalgia as she remembered every little bit of the past. She was so caught up in the past that she didn't hear the door open, not until someone cleared their throat behind her.

When she turned, she saw Dylan glaring at her with nothing but hostility on his face. And his voice was nothing but frigid when he demanded, "What the hell are you doing?"