She was so not going to develop a crush on another man from work!
Look where that had got her!
And it was nice to have a friend.
They sat in her little living room, watching the ‘weigh-in’ on her favourite show, Celeste grumbling that she should be a contestant. Ben was more than a touch uncomfortable and trying not to show it—he could see the little pile of baby clothes all neatly folded on the ironing board and even though it was weeks away, there was a slight baby smell to the house—which probably had something to do with the baby lotion Celeste was rubbing into her hands, but still... So he went to get the jug of iced tea and when he came back, he poured her one into the glass she was holding, and he wouldn’t have been human if he hadn’t noticed her cleavage—would have to be blind to miss it actually, only Ben wasn’t usually a breast man. Except that they were so jiggly and voluptuous that he was suddenly kneed in the groin with an unfamiliar longing.
So he sat down. He realised he couldn’t smell that baby smell any more, just the unsettling scent of Celeste. The room was too hot, so of course she kept lifting up her arms and coiling her hair onto the top of her head as she chatted away, and then it would tumble down again, and she’d lift her arms once more.
‘I’d better go...’
‘Already?’ Celeste said, but then they got talking, oh, just about this and that, and suddenly it was after ten. As he stood at the door to really go this time, Celeste found herself thinking that she’d had the nicest night in a long time.
Too nice, even.
Because of all the stupid things to be thinking, she was wondering what it would be like to be kissed goodnight by him.
Wondering what she’d do if that lovely mouth came a little bit closer.
‘Thanks for the flowers, by the way.’ Ben broke into her thoughts. ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’
‘It’s no problem.’
‘No, you really shouldn’t have done that.’ Ben grinned. ‘They’ll be dead in two days—I’ll forget to water them.’
‘I won’t.’ Celeste smiled. ‘Just enjoy.’
It was a relief to close the door on him!
CHAPTER FOUR
THEY IGNORED EACH other at work, of course.
Well, they didn’t mention their evenings by the television or walks on the beach and sometimes as she sat in the staffroom and listened as Deb rattled on about how sure she was that Ben was going to ask her out (when Ben had already told her that he was embarrassed by Deb’s constant flirting), or when the gorgeous Belinda started talking rather too warmly about him, though Celeste sat like a contended Buddha, inside she was fuming and could have cheerfully strangled them quiet.
She liked him.
Which was okay and everything. After all, half the department liked him in that way too, she was hardly in a minority—no, there was a slightly bigger problem than that.
Sometimes, sometimes she got that nervous fluttering feeling, which could only be generated by two.
Sometimes, sometimes she got this fleeting glimpse that Ben liked her too.
She told herself she was imagining it—as surely as Deb was. Because there was no way Ben could possibly be interested in her.
So why was he acting so strangely?
Coffee break over, she headed back to Cots—and tried to tell her stupid heart to stop beating so quickly at the sight of him, except it didn’t listen. It picked up speed half an hour later, only for different reasons as a rather frantic mother handed Celeste a very floppy baby.
She pushed on the call bell even before she unwrapped him.
He was big and chubby and barely opened his eyes as Celeste swiftly undressed him and ran some obs.
‘He keeps vomiting...’ The mum was trying not to cry. ‘He saw the GP yesterday, she said it was gastro and to push fluids into him...’
No help was coming, so Celeste pushed the call bell again. The baby’s pulse was racing and his temperature was high, so she put him on some oxygen and pushed the call bell again as she pulled over the IV trolley, resorting in the end to sticking her head out of the cubicle.
‘Could I have a hand?’ she snapped, and shot a frantic look at Ben, who was showing a patient his ankle X-ray. ‘Now!’
‘Press it three times for an emergency!” Ben snapped back, when he saw the baby.
She was still learning which way was up—only yesterday she had been warned for overreacting and pressing three times for everything remotely urgent and now she was being scolded for doing too little.
Some days this job was just so hard!
‘Depressed fontanel.’ Ben swiftly examined the listless baby, as Celeste quickly lifted him off the scales and set up for an IV. She was terrified of putting an IV line in such a sick baby, but it was part of her course and something she had to learn to do. She’d started on big, strapping, muscle-bound men with veins like tram lines, and then on sick adults. She had even put IVs in a few children now and a couple of babies as well, only not one as unwell as this and not with Mum anxiously watching—and now Meg was here too! ‘Poor skin turgor.’ Ben continued with his assessment then shook his head as he saw the slight shake of her hands as Celeste held the floppy arm with one hand and poised the needle with the other. ‘I’ll do it.’ He took over without further comment and she was glad that he had. As a fat little baby, his veins would be hard to find at the best of times, but collapsed from dehydration they were proving extremely difficult and even Ben, with very steady hands, took a couple of goes to establish IV access, eventually finding a vein in his foot.
‘I’m in.’ He took some bloods and held the IV in firm place as Celeste connected it to a drip and then taped and wrapped it, carefully splinting his foot as Mum hovered close. As Ben relayed the IV fluids he wanted the babe to receive, he glanced up at Celeste with a quick addition. ‘Could you put on a mask, please?’
She didn’t see him putting on a mask, and neither was he asking Meg to. She gritted her teeth, for now she did as she was told. It was becoming an all too familiar pattern—in the couple of weeks that they had been working together Ben had become rather—for want of a word—annoying! She was already being looked out for by her colleagues and was uncomfortable enough with that, but Ben seemed to be on a mission to ensure that she saw only the safest, calmest, least infectious patients and if he wasn’t suggesting that she put on a mask he was reminding her to wash her hands!
As if she needed reminding!
Still, with Ben now speaking with the mother, it was hardly the time or place for discussion—she’d save it for later.
‘He’s nine months old,’ Ben checked with the anxious mum as Celeste sweated behind her mask. ‘Is that right?’
‘Only just nine months,’ his mum said. ‘I know he looks older.’
‘How long as he been sick?’ Ben asked.
‘He started vomiting yesterday, three, maybe four times.’
‘And this morning?’ He fired questions as he continued to examine the baby and ordered a bolus dose of fluids for him. Celeste had already put him on oxygen and the paediatricians were on their way down, but Ben was examining his abdomen carefully, concerned that it was the surgeons that they needed. ‘What colour is the vomit?’
‘Green.’
‘Okay...’ He checked the baby’s nappy and, still not happy with the abdomen, asked Meg to page the surgeons. Having spoken briefly with the mother, he rang Imaging to order an urgent ultrasound.
‘I think it’s an ileus,’ Ben said, standing on hold on the phone at the nurses’ station as Celeste pointedly washed her hands at the little sink there, yet annoyingly as she dried her hands he pushed the bottle of alcohol hand rub towards her.
‘Does that diagnosis mean I can go in there without a mask now?’ Celeste asked, and then she frowned. ‘Or is that suddenly an airborne disease too?’ She watched his jaw tighten.
‘You just need to be careful,’ Ben pointed out. ‘At that age, he could have measles, chickenpox, slap cheek...’
‘Here.’ He pushed the bottle of hand scrub to her again as she climbed onto the stool to write her notes, but she ignored it.
‘You should use this,’ he insisted.
‘Why?’ Celeste challenged.
‘Because we don’t know what’s wrong with the baby yet, because you should—’
‘Ben.’ She clicked off her pen and put it down. ‘While I appreciate your concern, I really don’t need you to look out for me.’
‘I’m not looking out for you—I’m just—’
‘Making me paranoid!’ Celeste said. ‘Ben, I can beat you on the paranoid stakes with this pregnancy any day!’
He doubted that, but bit his tongue.
‘I’m just ensuring that you take sensible precautions,’ he said instead.