Scandalous Scotsman

One trip down the stairs, caused by a lone Lego, while wrapped in a towel, spewing a plethora of profanities, and my cell phone went flying. I landed on my ass, and then the ER. Between those two occurrences was a FaceTime call, placed by a bouncing phone, to the number of a man I didn’t even truly look at, who had now seen more of my body than anyone had since my Tinder days, over a year ago. Three declined calls later, I limped out the door to get myself to the ER before starting my hectic day. The ER was packed, but when I saw Nurse Bridget, one of my students’ mothers, I pleaded my case, and she hurried me into an examination room. An hour later, I left on crutches with a bruised ass, a fractured ankle, and an appointment to see an orthopedic surgeon at four p.m. Arriving 15 minutes late for that appointment, I heard the sexy yet very brash accent of a man who clearly had an obsession with punctuality and had, apparently, no bedside manner. Dr. Ethan Stewart, tall, copper-haired, s