John pulled up one of the smaller--and more uncomfortable--visitor's chairs and sat down, close enough that their knees brushed, his green scrubs looking drab against her robe.
"You're looking good," he said.
And she did. A little pale, but that was to be expected; she'd just had surgery. But her cap of hair shone blue-black in the light, and it caught the line of her cheek. She'd always had the prettiest, smoothest skin. He could remember how dark his hands had looked against its paleness.
Not a thought to be thinking now. He opened one of the juice containers and offered it to her.