Laureen woke up to the unfamiliar sensation of silence.
No pager. No alarms. No frantic voice on the other end of the line demanding his immediate presence. Just soft morning light filtering through the curtains and the faint smell of coffee drifting from the kitchen.
He frowned at the ceiling.
This felt illegal.
He rolled onto his side and checked his phone. No missed calls. No emergency messages. He had taken the day off—properly, officially, and against every instinct he possessed.
A knock sounded on the doorframe.
"Doctor Laureen?" Bianca's voice sang. "Are you alive?"
He sat up. "Unfortunately, yes."
She peeked in, holding two mugs. She wore an oversized hoodie and fuzzy socks decorated with tiny snowmen. Somehow, this was more distracting than bells.
"I made coffee," she said. "Laura told me you only function with caffeine."
"She exaggerates."
Bianca raised a brow and handed him the mug. "You say that like a liar."
He took a sip and sighed. "Okay. She doesn't exaggerate."
They sat at the kitchen table, the quiet stretching comfortably between them. Laureen told himself he was relaxed. He told himself this wasn't dangerous.
His phone buzzed.
His shoulders immediately tensed.
Bianca noticed. "You're not on call, right?"
"No," he said. "I'm off today."
The phone buzzed again.
He reached for it on reflex.
Bianca was faster.
She snatched it off the table with a triumphant gasp. "Absolutely not."
"Bianca—"
"Nope. You're home. You're human today." She stood on her toes and dropped the phone into a cookie jar on the highest shelf. "There. Problem solved."
"That's my phone," he said weakly.
"And this," she replied, clapping her hands, "is a hostage situation."
Laura appeared in the doorway. "I approve."
Bianca grinned. "We're baking."
"I don't bake," Laureen said.
"You will," Bianca replied. "It's therapeutic."
It was not.
Flour coated the counter. Sugar spilled everywhere. Bianca misread tablespoons as teaspoons. Laureen burned the first batch because he kept checking the oven like it was a patient.
Bianca laughed—full-bodied and unrestrained—when smoke filled the kitchen.
"Oh my god," she wheezed. "You look so stressed over cookies!"
"I save lives," he protested. "This should be easier."
She brushed flour off his cheek without thinking.
They froze.
Her fingers lingered for half a second too long.
"Sorry," she murmured.
"It's fine," he said, heart pounding.
They eventually produced something edible.
Bianca held up a slightly misshapen cookie like a trophy. "See? You survived a day off."
Laureen looked at the mess, at Bianca's smiling face, at the sunlight warming the room.
He laughed.
The sound surprised both of them.
Bianca blinked. "Wow. That's rare."
"Don't get used to it," he said.
But he hoped she would.