A/N: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight, not me.

Chapter 2: He's Making A List And Checking It Twice

The next day I mentioned the note to Dr. Whitlock over lunch, thinking it would be a funny anecdote. I'd spent hours trying to figure out who'd left it. There was no signature, and I didn't recognize the handwriting or the stationary. A few names came to mind—a couple of nurses at the hospital who liked to flirt with me and the new girl who'd just moved into the basement apartment of the triplex—but none of them seemed like the right fit. Very few people at work knew where I lived, and I knew for a fact that the new tenant had a boyfriend. It had been well after 3:00 AM before I'd finally succumbed to my exhaustion.

"It was probably some random drunk dare or something. Why else wouldn't she sign it?" Jasper asked. "Unless she's ugly, of course."

"Shut up! Maybe she's just shy."

"Or maybe she is really a he."

I threw my crumpled up sandwich wrapper at his face. "You're twisted, man. And you're sucking all of the fun out of this. It's my stinking note. Let me believe she's the woman of my dreams, if I want to. It doesn't hurt you one little bit, if I do."

"Maybe it wasn't even for you," Jasper suggested with one eyebrow raised accusingly at me.

"It was taped to my door," I defended.

"So? There are two other apartments in the building. How do you know it wasn't for one of your neighbors?"

"I don't, I guess." That idea hadn't even occurred to me.

"Hell, for all you know, the person who left that note could have completely fucked up the address; wrong apartment, wrong street number, maybe even the wrong street."

The realization that the sentiment might not have been meant for me bummed me out, and I wasn't even sure why. It had been years since I'd had someone in my life, especially someone I really cared about, and I wasn't looking for a girlfriend. With one hundred hour work weeks not uncommon, free time was sort of a foreign concept at this point in my career. Subjecting a woman to those sorts of time constraints wasn't exactly fair. I hoped that I'd be lucky enough to fall in love someday. I wanted a wife and family of my own, just not right now.

Admittedly, I liked the mystery and overture of the note. It had given me hope and made me dream about the future. The holidays made people nostalgic, and since this was my first Christmas without my family, the idea of having someone to spend the time with was appealing on a very basic level. However, I was being ridiculous, and I knew it. It was one anonymous note, not the promise of love or even connection.

"Cheer up, big guy." Jasper clapped me on the back supportively. "It's not like you'd have a problem getting a lady, if you wanted one. I can think of a half dozen nurses and doctors who'd gladly bump uglies with you."

"That's not really my style, Jazz, but thanks."

I didn't want to tell him that despite not knowing a thing about the woman who'd written the note, she'd already intrigued me more than anyone in my acquaintance.

~8~8~8~

I dragged myself home when my double shift was finished, feeling like a disappointed fool. To make matters worse, my nameless, faceless note-writer haunted my dreams, so I woke the next afternoon no better rested than the last time I'd slept. It was ludicrous that one silly note could screw with my life this badly, but it had.

After a quick shower, I put on a fresh pair of scrubs and headed out. I had plenty of time to grab a bite to eat and a coffee from Starbucks, before my shift started. As I slid the key into the deadbolt to lock up the house, I saw my name staring back at me from a piece of heavy weight cardstock that was taped to my door. The familiar, elegant script made my heart skip a beat.

The message read: On the first day of Christmas, my lover gave to me: a Santa bra that comes off easily.

The note wasn't romantic or subtle like the first one was, but at least my name was on it. That substantiated that the first note was intended for me. It also sent one of Jasper's suggestions down in flames. My admirer wasn't male, not unless he was a gay cross-dresser.

Much to my frustration, the message was anonymous again, and I was dying to know why. She was going to a lot of trouble if all she wanted to do was write me flirtatious notes. Was she simply shy or was she hiding something?

I went to work wearing a shit-eating grin that stayed put for most of the day. Nothing could wreck my mood, not even when my senior resident threw me under the bus for a mistake he'd made—I would have made the same error in his position—or when the attending all but forced another shift on me.

Aside from the x-rated Mrs. Claus fantasies my mystery girl's note had inspired, I was on top of the world.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the first chapter. This is update one of three planned for the day. I hope you enjoyed it!