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“Yes, you did,” Annie said from behind me, her voice wavering on the edge of laughter as well. “So, hush.”

“Someone has to check in patients,” Lynette reminded us all as she took a pen out of the breast pocket of her brightly patterned scrub top. She clicked it open. “So, I’ll just handle that while you all deal with your single-person crisis, shall I?”

“It’s not a crisis,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.

Dr. Reynolds exited one of the exam rooms, and as she pulled her mask off her soft, round features, her eyes bounced all over our impromptu meeting. Her brows fell in irritation. “Is this the dating site again?”

“Service,” Harper clarified.

Dr. Reynolds rolled her eyes before they landed on me. “You’re the problem here, you know that, don’t you?” Dr.Reynolds looked like everyone’s favorite third-grade teacher with messy, brown hair, a soft body that had brought four kids into this world, and kind, brown sugar eyes. She had a teasing kind of attitude that put patients at ease, and she had easily fallen into the role of “office mom” for most of the employees.

“Balderdash,” I replied easily.

“You’re causing problems,” she said with a point my way before coasting across the nurses’ station in her aqua-colored sneakers. “Fix it, mister.”

“Only because he let the love doctor get away,” Annie reminded everyone.

“So, what do we do now?” Michael demanded. “This was my last shot at finding a date before I redownload Spark.” He shuddered at the mention of the notorious dating app.

“You’re all very dramatic,” I pointed out, crossing behind the nurses’ station desk and looking for my medical bag. “I’m sure they can find me a better match eventually. Although,” I paused, thinking, “I don’t know if that goes for you all.”

Groans echoed through the room. They were cut off suddenly as an older patient exited exam room three. Michael cleared his throat, turning back to his computer, and Harper hurried off to exam room one, presumably to check in another patient. Annie went back to the receptionist’s desk at the front, and shaking my head, I bent over the desk in front of one of the computers.

To my left, Dr. Reynolds—Laura—glanced down at me. “You got three new patients today. I’d say this home careinitiative of yours is going pretty well.”

“I mean, it didn’t win us any awards,” I replied with a meaningful smile her way.

Laura returned it wryly. The award ceremony we would be attending in Seattle was for her efforts to make our urgent care center the best in the area. She would be accepting the award for People’s Choice winner of this year’s “hospital” category for best local businesses. We had been up against more than 12,000 other businesses in the area, and it was really due to the locals’ love of her bedside demeanor that we had been recognized.

“Maybe not yet,” she conceded, flipping through a patient’s paper chart, “but I’m sure you will. It was a good idea to begin with, but it’s brilliant in execution. You should be proud.”

I clicked open my patient portal and spared her another glance. “Thanks, Mom.”

She grinned. “We’re the same age, you brat.”

Snickering under my breath, I brought up the list of at-home patients I had to visit that afternoon. My Compassionate Home Visits Initiative started in 2020 when COVID-19 had essentially ground preventative care to a halt, and I’d realized that even before the days of quarantine, there had been plenty of people who were unable to leave their homes for routine medical care. CHVI had started as a way to care for the elderly without exposing them to deadly viruses, but it had evolved to include a wide array of patients who didn’t have access to transportation, or for whatever reason, simply did better with home care. There weren’t many physicians who made home visits anymore, but Iwas one of them.

Battling with insurance over the necessity of the service was an ongoing struggle, of course. But I was making headway, and I was nearly at capacity with my house call hours. Dr. Reynolds looked up from her chart. “Did you visit Dottie at McKenzie-Willamette this morning?”

“Yeah,” I replied absently, trying to print off the list of patients so I would know what supplies to bring.

“Oh.” Her voice fell a touch. I straightened, raising my brows in question. She winced. “I got the call that she passed away this afternoon. Massive coronary.”

My heart stuttered to a halt. I’djusttalked to her this morning after she’d been admitted the night before for chest pains. I smoothed a hand over my mouth. “Damn.”

Dr. Reynolds squeezed my arm. “She loved you, Cal. I’m sorry.”

Nodding, I sighed through my nose and turned to the printer.

Fuck. Losing patients—especially when so many of mine were of advanced ages—should have rolled off my back, but it never did. It always hit me in the chest like a punch to my solar plexus. “I’ll find time to call her daughter later. Did they send over records?”

Dr. Reynolds patted my back as she passed. “She’ll like that, and yeah, I put them on your desk for you.”

Michael shifted a look my way from where he stood at the end of the desk. “Sorry, Cal.”

Nodding, I plucked the three sheets of paper out of the printer at the back of the station and scooped up my brown medical bag. “Onward, right?”

I backed away to go to my office, and with cheeky insistence, Michael added, “Not without dates, bro.”