Page 74 of Once Upon A Second Chance

I skim through the piece again, grinning like an idiot.

It’s got everything: a breathless parent quote (“He just jumped in without a second thought!”), a shaky cell phone picture of Richard half-soaked with the kid clinging to him like a life raft, and even a closing paragraph about how the mayor is "considering" an honorary mention at the next town council meeting.

I’m still shaking my head when the clinic door swings open.

Speak of the devil—and apparently, local legend.

Richard walks in like he hasn’t just made the town’s collective heart grow three sizes.

Jeans, sneakers, a slightly damp baseball cap shoved backward on his head. He’s carrying two coffees and a bakery bag like it’s just another Tuesday.

I cross my arms and lift a brow. “You planning on mentioning anything about the whole ‘rescuing a child from a raging river’ thing? Or were you just going to sneak in here three hours later and pretend nothing happened?”

He smirks and sets the coffees down. “I figured you’d hear about it somehow.”

“Oh,I heard.” I grab one of the cups, inhaling the blessed scent of caffeine. “Along with the rest of the tri-county area, apparently. The story is already online and it looks like it’s trending.”

He looks mildly embarrassed, which just makes it worse—or better, depending on how you view your boyfriend becoming accidental hometown royalty.

“You’re impossible,” I mutter around the rim of the cup.

“You’re impossible,” he says, bumping my hip lightly as he passes.

I roll my eyes, but my chest feels about three sizes too full.

By midmorning, the buzz has fully set in.

It starts with a patient I’ve been treating for a torn rotator cuff—Mrs. Henley—who spends her whole ultrasound session fishing for details.

“He just leapt right in?” she asks, wide-eyed, as I work the probe over her shoulder.

“Apparently,” I say, trying to keep my voice professional even as my cheeks tug upward.

“And he’syourRichard Hogan, right?”

I hum noncommittally.

She beams. “My granddaughter says he looked like a superhero coming outof that water.”

By noon, half the waiting room is chattering about it. Darlene’s already printed the article and tacked it to the front desk corkboard, complete with a glittery star sticker and the words"OUR VERY OWN HERO"in bubble letters.

Even Simmons, who’s been pretending Richard doesn't exist for the last two weeks, claps him on the shoulder in the hallway and mutters, “Hell of a thing you did.”

The shift is almost palpable.

Patients who used to give him the side-eye now stop him in the halls, shaking his hand, thanking him.

Moms schedule appointments for no real reason other than “just wanting a checkup” and maybe a glimpse at Mount Juliet’s newest folk hero.

It’s ridiculous.

And also a little bit perfect.

Richard takes it all in stride—modest, quiet, the same way he handled the real emergencies when the tornado hit. Like being a good man is just what you do even when no one’s watching.

I catch his eye as I finish up my last patient before lunch. He’s standing by the reception desk, coffee in one hand, rolling his shoulders like he’s trying to get used to all the attention.

I wink.