Miss Matched [COMPLETED]

10. Simon

Weird to admit, but dressed in her scrubs, meeting me at the front door, Tayla is straight out of my best memories. After we split, I dreamed about her for months. Dreams so real I would wake disoriented, sure I didn't turn my life upside down over a phone call.

Maybe not just a phone call—a storm of circumstances weakening my resolve—making me second guess too much. If I could go back to that bathroom and grip my own shoulders, I'd look myself in the eyes and say, "Trust your gut," because my head wasn't leading me anywhere good.

"I brought your favorite fish and chips," I say, holding up the insulated bag.

"That's really far from here," she says, a small crease forming between her brows before she heads down the hallway.

"Hence the bag." I follow her back to her office.

While I unpack everything, she watches me, clearly wary. As I would have expected, her desk is free of clutter, and her textbooks are organized in neat, alphabetical rows on the shelf above.

"You woke up early, drove there, put the food in an insulated bag, and then came here?"

"It's not a big deal," I say, passing her the Styrofoam container with her portion in it. She said there wasn't a bridge between us for all that murky water to flow under. I intend to build it brick by brick, so strong that nothing can blow it up. If that means driving across town to do something for her I know she wouldn't do for herself, that's what I'll do.

"I haven't been here in a long time." Her brown eyes are full of curiosity. "Did you sleep yet?"

Being on midnights this week would normally mean I'd be passed out at home for six to eight hours with Rex curled up next to me. "A bit." I dump the ketch and utensils on the desk. "I'll go back to bed when I leave here. Go for a run with Rex before my shift."

"We didn't have to do lunch," she hedges, opening her container and sitting in one of the steel armed chairs.

I chuckle and pop a fry into my mouth. "Oh yes, we did." I wink. "Gotta eat, right? Why not together?"

She narrows her eyes as she cuts into a piece of crispy fish with her fork. "Well, then you didn't have to go to the other side of the city to get this. We could have eaten from the restaurant just down there." She points to her right in the direction of the health food shop.

"Oh, yeah? You're into eating that sort of thing now? I always find the salads from that chain are weird combinations, bordering on disgusting." I dip a piece of fish in my ketchup. "What's your favorite meal there? I've got two other Tuesdays."

She sucks her teeth and purses her lips. "Okay, truthfully, it's my least favorite place to eat. But it's convenient."

"Convenience sometimes has to trump taste." I grab another fry. "What's your favorite place to eat now?"

"I don't go out much." She keeps focused on her lap of fish and chips. "I work a lot, so, it's just as easy to grab something at home."

We eat in silence for a minute before I break it. "I've been burying myself in work a lot lately too. It's just easier, I guess, than having to think about why work is easier." My reusable water bottle is on the desk and I pop off the top. "While I'm being run ragged by emergency room patients, there's not a lot of time for thoughtful introspection." Up until now, that's been how I've liked it. Any time a girlfriend complained I worked too much; it wouldn't be long until we broke up.

When Tayla and I were together, I wanted a work life balance because being with her was better than anything else. Why had I ever thought that feeling might fade? This last week, she's been all I can think about. I've already rearranged shifts so I can meet our three dates a week commitment. No one can dump extra work on me.