The Night Ward – Part 2: Handover
Workplace·EN·2 min read·Published 2026-11-07, updated 2026-11-07·Part 2 of 2
They had breakfast every morning for a week.
The café was a tiny place near the hospital, open from six, with steamed windows, chipped mugs and a cat on the counter. They ate eggs and sausages and toast in a corner booth, still in their scrubs, too tired to talk. Gradually the talking came. About their families, their patients, the stupid funny things that happen at night. About why he'd stayed on nights for ten years. About why she'd chosen medicine.
On Saturday, after a bad shift, they walked out into a perfect morning.
The sun was low and golden over Arthur's Seat. The Meadows lay green and glittering with dew. Joggers ran past in bright jackets. A man walked a pair of whippets. A blackbird sang in a hawthorn.
"I've never seen it," said Erin.
"Seen what?"
"The morning. I always go straight to bed."
"It's good," said Callan. "Sometimes."
They sat on a bench under a cherry tree. The petals drifted down around them in slow pink spirals. She leaned her head against his shoulder. He didn't move. The shift had been hard: a cardiac arrest, a long resuscitation, a night of fear. But the sun was warm on her face.
"You were wonderful," he said.
"I was terrified."
"That's when it counts."
"Can I ask you something?" said Erin.
"Yes."
"May I kiss you, Callan?"
"Yes," he said, quietly. "And if you say stop, you must sleep for twelve hours."
"That's a wonderful punishment."
"I thought so."
She kissed him, tired and tender, a hand rising to his shaved head. He kissed her back with a warm, grave care, tasting of tea and shortbread. The petals fell around them. The sun climbed. A distant trumpet practised scales.
When they parted, both of them were smiling.
"Green?" he asked.
"Green," said Erin. "Very green."
They still have breakfast after nights. The café cat has been named Handover.
More workplace romance stories: The Late Shift · Night Shift · The Personal Trainer
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