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Gianna’s alarm blared as she blindly smacked around the mattress searching for her phone.
Once she finally silenced it, she rubbed at her eyes and stared up at the ceiling for a second.
It was always freezing in the basement at six in the morning before the early summer heat had a chance to clock in for the day.
The chill sat deep in her bones.
Gianna ripped the duvet off herself like a Band-Aid because it was the only way she wasn’t immediately falling back asleep.
A pair of neatly folded scrubs sat on the ottoman beside the bed alongside a plain white long-sleeve underscrub she’d laid out days ago in preparation for today.
Normally, she wouldn’t dare wear white to the hospital, knowing she’d somehow stain it within the first hour of a shift.
But since today was technically just orientation, she decided to risk it.
She pulled her hair back with a gold metal clip shaped vaguely like a butterfly.
Gianna had always loved butterflies. She never really knew why, only that she’d been fascinated by them since she was little.
During her first semester of nursing school, she’d impulsively bought herself a butterfly badge reel covered in tiny blue gemstones and gold detailing.
At one of her med-surg clinicals, she’d been assigned a ninety-six-year-old retired nurse as a patient.
The woman spent most of the morning admiring the butterfly clipped to Gianna’s scrubs.
Eventually, the conversation drifted toward nursing.
Her patient talked about long shifts, difficult patients, and what it felt like going from the nurse standing beside the bed to the patient lying in it.
The woman admitted she hated feeling helpless now. Hated needing people to take care of her after spending decades being the one taking care of everyone else.
So Gianna stayed in the room longer than she probably should have, asking questions and keeping the woman talking whenever she had downtime during clinical.
At the end of the shift, Gianna stopped back in to say goodbye.
Without really thinking about it, she unclipped the butterfly badge reel from her scrubs and placed it into the woman’s hand.
“I just wanted to say thank you,” Gianna said quietly. “For letting me learn from you.”
The woman’s eyes filled almost instantly.
Then she squeezed Gianna’s hand tighter.
“Darling,” she said softly, emotion catching in her voice, “you are going to be such a wonderful nurse.”
Gianna felt the lump rise in her throat immediately.
“And if I’m still around,” the woman continued with a watery smile, “I want to come to your graduation.”
Gianna blinked hard against the sting in her eyes.
“I’d like that very much,” she managed.
That day, for the first time since starting nursing school, Gianna stopped wondering if she truly belonged there.
Somehow, she already knew.
After applying just enough makeup to make herself look vaguely alive, Gianna grabbed her bag, a subpar cup of black coffee, and accepted the knot in her stomach as she headed out the door.
Ten, maybe fifteen minutes tops.
She turned on an emergency medicine podcast she’d found the night before, like somehow fifteen minutes of listening was going to magically provide her with every piece of medical knowledge she’d ever need.
Unfortunately, the crash course ended the second she pulled into the Orange Lot.
Gianna shifted the car into park and glanced toward the ambulance bay across the street.
Of course, she was thirty minutes early.
Just in case she spilled coffee on herself, took a wrong exit, or got randomly taken out by a meteor on the drive over.
For the next fifteen minutes, she tried distracting herself by scrolling through mindless videos and articles on her phone.
Because no matter what she looked at, her brain kept circling back to Jack Abbot.
Now, alongside the normal first-day anxiety, she also had the deeply unfortunate problem of being attracted to someone who just found out her name yesterday.
Gianna glanced at the clock on the dashboard.
Five minutes to walk in, find the nurses’ station, and still be fifteen minutes early.
Just like her father had drilled into her growing up.
If you’re early, you’re on time. If you’re on time, you’re late.
Gianna grabbed her things and climbed out of the car.
She crossed the white-striped walkway toward the entrance marked by giant red letters spelling:
The automatic doors whooshed open immediately.
The waiting room was already full.
Exhausted, frustrated faces. People curled into plastic chairs, looking uncomfortable enough to make Gianna’s chest tighten.
A few heads turned toward her scrubs hopefully, like maybe she’d somehow be the answer to getting called back faster.
She kept her head down and approached the front desk.
“Hi, I’m Gianna. I’m a nursing student from PCON. I’m here for clinical orientation,” she said, attempting confidence.
The woman behind the desk glanced up from a granola bar mid-bite. Her badge read:
“Okay, sweetheart. Parking ticket?” Lupe asked after swallowing. “Let me stamp that before you forget. Big day ahead of you.”
Gianna dug through her bag for the crumpled parking slip from the Orange Lot machine and slid it under the glass divider.
Lupe stamped it aggressively before handing it back.
“Tell the security guard you’re a student and he’ll let you through,” she said. “Once you get through those doors, the nurses’ station is straight ahead. You can’t miss it.”
Gianna nodded quickly. “Thank you.”
Then she turned toward the secured doors leading into the ER.
She offered a small smile to the security guard stationed at the entrance. He was already pushing the door open for her before she even reached it, giving her a quick nod to head through.
Immediately, the chaos of the ER hit her all at once.
Frustrated patients. Exhausted doctors staring down at charts. Nurses moving fast enough to make Gianna dizzy just watching them.
The pace of it weirdly reminded her of a slammed weekend shift at the diner.
Everyone knew they were deep in the weeds, but there was also this silent understanding that the only way out was through it.
Gianna passed patient bays with curtains half drawn, snippets of conversations and monitor alarms bleeding into the hallway as she searched for the nurses’ station.
A small part of her had hoped maybe one of her classmates had picked the ER too.
But as she looked around, she knew she was the only student from her cohort taking on the ER.
A few strides later, she spotted the nurses’ station and approached cautiously.
A woman in gray scrubs stood behind the desk typing rapidly into a computer, her hair clipped back loosely at the nape of her neck.
Late forties. Maybe early fifties.
Gianna immediately prepared her ‘nice’ voice.
The woman barely glanced up. “Hey, hun. Can I help you?”
Gianna cleared her throat quickly.
“Hi, um… my name is Gianna DeLuca. I’m a nursing student from PCON. I’m shadowing Emma Nolan today.”
The woman’s expression brightened instantly.
“Emma!” she called over her shoulder. “Your mini-me is here!”
Then she turned back toward Gianna.
“I’m Dana. Day shift charge nurse.”
Gianna reached out automatically. “Nice to meet you.”
Even while shaking her hand, Dana’s attention somehow stayed split between Gianna, the computer screen, and two separate conversations happening behind her.
Gianna found herself immediately fascinated by it.
The confidence. The speed. The way Dana moved through the chaos like she’d already memorized every possible emergency before it happened.
Then suddenly another woman appeared from behind one of the curtains nearby.
Bright smile. Long braids bouncing against her shoulders.
“Hi! I’m Emma,” she said warmly. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Gianna. Nice to meet you too” Gianna pointed to the wrists’ of Emma’s longsleeve. “I like your underscrubs.”
Emma glanced down at the tiny pastel colored butterflies looping around her wrist.
Before she could answer, another voice chimed in behind her.
A dark-haired woman in navy scrubs leaned against the counter holding a chart.
Dana didn’t even look up this time.
“What?” Dr. Santos snorted. “The last one fainted seven minutes into an LP.”
Emma frowned. “Vivian… she tried… I think.”
“I’m kidding,” Dr. Santos said, grinning. Then she looked Gianna over once. “This one looks like she could survive at least fifteen minutes.”
Gianna smiled despite herself.
That earned a quick laugh out of Dr. Santos.
Dana finally glanced back toward her and gave a tired huff.
“Welcome to the Pitt, Gianna.”
—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The day mostly consisted of meeting the day shift crew, getting her badge, sorting out her parking permit, and trying to memorize where everything lived in the supply closet.
Because one of Gianna’s top three greatest fears was being sent to grab something urgently and then standing in front of the supply shelves completely blanking while someone actively coded down the hall.
Emma was kind. The kind of reassuring that only came from someone who still vividly remembered being terrified themselves.
She promised Gianna that eventually, no matter where she ended up after graduation, things would start feeling a little less overwhelming. That one day she’d walk into a shift and realize she actually knew what she was doing.
Or at least knew how to pretend convincingly enough.
Emma had been in Gianna’s position barely over a year ago, and the empathy radiating off her made the entire department feel slightly less intimidating.
After saying goodbye to Emma and Dana and promising she’d see them next Tuesday, Gianna gathered her things and headed toward “chairs,” as she’d quickly learned everyone in the ER called them.
Oddly enough, she left feeling lighter than she had walking in.
Still nervous, obviously.
But underneath the anxiety was something else now too.
For the first time since starting nursing school, becoming a nurse actually felt real.
Not just something she told people she’d be someday.
Something she could finally see for herself.
As the automatic doors opened toward the ambulance bay, her phone vibrated in her scrub pocket.
Gianna pulled down the butterfly clip and shook out the tension headache already building at the base of her neck.
Gianna smiled and typed back:
Never for you. Just got out of clinical. Why, what’s up?
Almost instantly, Sierra called her.
Gianna answered with a laugh. “Aren’t you at work?”
“Ugh, yes,” Sierra groaned dramatically. “But it’s actually slow for once, and I don’t know if I can survive another hour listening to Brent complain about how you’re not here to make his coffee.”
“And even though he’d ‘never tell Gianna this to her face,’ apparently you make it better than the rest of the bar staff,” Sierra continued. “He has such an embarrassing crush on you.”
“Yeah,” Gianna sighed. “I should probably figure out how to capitalize on that somehow.”
Sierra gasped loudly. “Come visit me.”
Gianna hesitated immediately.
Tomorrow she was scheduled to bartend open to close. Normally, spending extra time at the diner after clinical would’ve sounded like voluntary imprisonment.
“Pleeeeease?” Sierra begged. “There’s only like…” She pulled the phone away for a second. “An hour left!”
“Fine. But only if you read me my OB flashcards.”
“Deal,” Sierra said quickly. “But no making fun of the way I say ‘Premie-gravity.’”
“Primigravida, Sierra,” Gianna corrected automatically. “Primigravida.”
Gianna smiled all the way back to her car.
A few minutes later, she pulled her Volkswagen out of the Orange Lot, rolled the windows down, and let the warm Pittsburgh air blow through her hair.
For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel quite so terrifying.
—-------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Oh, thank God,” Sierra huffed, rushing over to hug Gianna.
“It really is a ghost town in here,” Gianna said, glancing around the mostly empty diner.
A teenage couple sat all the way in the back corner sharing a hot chocolate like they were starring in an indie coming-of-age movie.
“Yeah,” Sierra sighed dramatically. “Lucky me. I’ll probably walk out with like fifty bucks if I’m lucky.”
She sighed and dramatically rested her chin in her hand, “Not all of us have handsome doctor sugar daddies funding our lifestyles.”
Gianna felt heat creep into her face, and tried to stop the pull she could feel at the corners of her mouth.
“Nursing school unfortunately still isn’t paying for itself,” she deflected.
A familiar nasally voice suddenly cut in behind them.
“Wow. I was joking about the gold-digger thing, but okay.”
Brent appeared beside the espresso machine.
“Anyway,” he continued, abandoning the bit entirely, “can you make me a coffee?”
Gianna looked at him blankly.
“I’m doing great, Brent. Thanks so much for asking. How are you?”
Brent scoffed and shoved a paper to-go cup toward her across the counter.
Gianna snatched it from his hand and started making his painfully predictable order: an almond milk latte with two pumps of vanilla and cinnamon shaken into the espresso before adding the milk.
A loud metallic crash echoed from the kitchen.
Without missing a beat, Brent pointed vaguely toward the sound.
“You know,” she muttered while securing the lid onto Brent’s cup, “I genuinely thought you were joking about the whole Brent-having-a-crush thing, but the man literally knows how I make his coffee.”
“He’s either just lazy or—”
“Gi,” Sierra interrupted quietly.
“And another thing, he seriously needs to stop with the whole gold-digger—”
“Gianna,” Sierra whispered more aggressively, kicking lightly at her shoe.
“What?” Gianna asked, finally looking up with mild irritation.
Sierra subtly motioned toward the barstools behind her.
“Um… you have a visitor.”
He leaned against the counter casually, forearms resting against the edge of the bar, looking far too entertained by the situation unfolding in front of him.
Gianna took him in quickly.
Gray Under Armour T-shirt. Black sweats. Slightly damp hair like he’d just showered recently.
Somehow, he still looked unfairly attractive without the hospital scrubs.
“Sorry,” Jack said, although he didn’t sound particularly sorry at all. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Oh please,” Sierra jumped in immediately. “I was actually just leaving.”
She grabbed Brent’s coffee off the counter.
“Gianna was sweet enough to make this for me before I go check on…” Sierra paused dramatically. “Something in the kitchen.”
Then she looked between the two of them with a grin that was entirely too knowing.
And with that, Sierra disappeared toward the kitchen, abandoning Gianna alone at the bar with Jack Abbot.
“Apparently I don’t have everyone’s jobs memorized,” Jack said, nodding toward her scrubs.
Gianna glanced down and laughed softly.
For some reason, she still occasionally felt embarrassed admitting she was almost twenty-eight and technically still in school.
Before the insecurity could settle too deeply into her chest, she quickly changed the subject.
“Weird seeing you out of yours,” she said before immediately realizing how that sounded.
“Your scrubs,” she corrected quickly.
Jack looked down briefly at his clothes before glancing back at her.
“Ah, I don’t usually work Tuesdays.”
His eyes noticed how the waistband sat on her hips before returning to her face.
“Wow,” Gianna teased lightly. “I didn’t know you actually got days off.”
Jack huffed out a quiet laugh.
“The kitchen’s still open if you want something to eat?” she offered.
“Actually, I just came in for a coffee, if that’s alright.”
“Oh. Yeah, of course.” Gianna nodded quickly. “For here or to-go?”
“To-go,” Jack answered. “As much as I’d love to stay, I have a haircut in…”
His voice trailed off as he checked the watch on his wrist.
Gianna glanced toward the slightly overgrown silver curls falling around his forehead.
Honestly, she liked it longer.
Even the scruff along his jaw somehow looked intentional enough to belong in a cologne ad.
“…eight minutes,” Jack finished, shaking his head at himself.
Gianna let out a small laugh as she prepared his drink, watching the drip coffee drown the two shots of espresso at the bottom of the cup.
Then she walked toward the mini fridge and grabbed one of the fresher oranges from the backup container.
Because suddenly she realized she had absolutely no idea how someone was supposed to package a to-go orange slice.
Finally, gathering what little courage she had left in her body, she asked:
“Can I ask what the orange is actually for?”
Jack smiled immediately and looked down at his hands.
“I swear it’s not as weird as it sounds.”
He motioned for her to bring it over.
Gianna carried the coffee toward him with the orange slice balanced carefully on a small plate.
Jack popped the lid off the cup and grabbed the orange by the rind.
“So,” he started, “a friend of mine in college swore espresso and orange juice cured hangovers.”
He squeezed the orange directly into the coffee.
“I thought it sounded disgusting.”
Gianna laughed softly and sort of nodded in agreement.
“But one night before a final,” he continued, “I may have made some questionable decisions involving tequila.”
He shrugged as he glanced up at her briefly.
“And annoyingly enough, he was right. It actually works.”
Gianna watched him with quiet amusement, trying not to picture twenty-something Jack at frat parties.
Which, of course, only made him more attractive.
“It heightens the taste of the espresso,” Jack explained. “The heartburn afterward is a bitch though, so now I stick to one orange slice.”
“You should try it sometime.”
He pointed toward her lightly with the squeezed orange peel before setting it back down.
Then he reached for his wallet.
“Come on, I’ll pay for it.” Jack said. “I don’t want you getting in trouble.”
“Well,” Gianna sighed dramatically, resting her hands against the counter, “when they count each individual espresso bean later, I’ll just tell them the missing coffee was mine.”
Jack lowered his gaze briefly, lifting the cup toward his mouth to hide the smile pulling at the corner of it.
Then he looked back up at her.
And with a grin that sat more in his eyes than anywhere else, he said:
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