Page 11

Chapter eleven

R uby

I ducked behind the velvet curtain at the edge of the stage, heart pounding like I’d just sprinted barefoot across Cedar Springs with nothing but a daisy crown and a bad idea.

The gala buzzed on the other side of the curtain—laughter, clinking glasses, the faint hum of the quartet. But back here, it was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet where thoughts multiply like dust bunnies and regrets come to party.

My heels wobbled on the uneven floorboards, and I clutched the edge of a folding chair like it might save me from the weight of what I’d just done.

“I told him,” I whispered to no one.

The curtain rustled.

Hazel popped her head in, eyes narrowing as she spotted me. “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere—” Her gaze took me in: wild hair, flushed cheeks, trembling fingers. “You look like someone who just ran naked through town hall.”

I barked a laugh, equal parts hysterical and heartbroken. “Feels about right.”

She crossed over, sat beside me, and tilted her head. “You okay?”

I inhaled too fast, then exhaled all at once. “No.”

She waited.

“I told him I loved him.”

Her eyebrows shot up.

“And he said…” I shook my head, eyes burning. “Nothing. He just stared at me. Like I’d dropped a live grenade in his lap and asked him to cuddle it.”

Hazel didn’t gasp or pity me. She just reached out and pulled me into a hug, her arms warm and grounding.

“You were brave,” she said softly, her hand stroking my back like I might bolt otherwise. “That’s more than most people ever manage.”

“I feel stupid.”

“Of course you do. You cracked your ribs open and handed him your heart. That’s terrifying.” She leaned back to look at me. “But stupid? Never.”

I stared at the floor. “What if I ruined everything?”

“Ruby.” She waited until I looked up. “You didn’t ruin anything. You told the truth. That’s not a crime. That’s courage.”

A shaky breath left my lips. “But I didn’t plan to—like, at all. It just came out. My mouth went rogue. I was standing in that courtyard and then—bam—confession of eternal feelings like it was some finale of a Hallmark movie.”

Hazel smirked. “With a bit more cursing and better shoes.”

I laughed again, softer this time. “Why does love always feel like either a victory lap or a car crash?”

“Because it’s both.” Her tone gentled. “Sometimes in the same hour.”

I leaned my head against her shoulder. “I thought he’d say something. Anything. Even if it wasn’t what I wanted to hear.”

“Maybe he didn’t know how.”

I blinked. “He’s a heart surgeon, Hazel. He’s literally trained to handle pressure.”

“Not that kind of pressure.” She nudged me. “There’s no textbook for ‘woman you love just admitted she loves you back after weeks of emotionally constipated flirting.’”

Despite myself, I smiled.

“Look, you did the hard thing,” she went on. “You said the words. You put your heart out there with no guarantee he’d catch it. That’s real. That’s messy. That’s… you.”

“I hate messy.”

“No, you don’t,” she said, eyes sparkling. “You just don’t like messes you didn’t decorate.”

I groaned into my hands.

Hazel stood and tugged me up with her. “Now come on. You still have a gala to close out. And cupcakes with your name on them.”

I hesitated. “You sure I shouldn’t crawl under the nearest table and fake a sprained ankle?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Ruby Shea, if you can survive a surprise flower shop flood, three public arguments with a grumpy ex-doctor, and one very public almost-kiss, you can definitely survive a few townsfolk and a tray of mini lemon tarts.”

I wiped under my eyes. “Fine. But if anyone tries to slow dance with me, I’m pretending to faint.”

“Deal.” She looped her arm through mine. “But if Damien walks over, maybe give him five seconds before you hit the floor.”

As we stepped back into the warm glow of the gala, the music lifted and twirled around us like possibility. My eyes swept the crowd instinctively—seeking tall, brooding, emotionally unavailable figures in tailored suits.

But Damien wasn’t there.

Not yet.

Still, my pulse steadied.

Because for the first time in a long time, I hadn’t run.

And maybe—just maybe—that was the beginning of something.

Even if it wasn’t the end I’d pictured.

The gala was still in full swing when I ducked out the side door of the community center, heels clicking against the cobblestone path.

The night air was cool and scented with roses from the flower arch Eleanor insisted we build near the entrance.

Somewhere behind me, laughter rippled, music drifted, and someone shouted about a silent auction bid war on a pie.

I just needed five minutes. Maybe ten. One bouquet. That’s all I was here for.

The shop lights glowed soft and golden as I stepped inside. The familiar scent of lavender and eucalyptus wrapped around me like a welcome-home hug. My heels sank into the worn rug by the counter, the hush of the space a stark contrast to the energy pulsing just a block away.

I headed to the cooler for the special arrangement—white lilies, purple freesia, and a single orchid tucked in the center. It was meant for the final award reveal of the night. Eleanor had insisted on something dramatic. “We’re celebrating heart and beauty,” she’d said. “Make it sing.”

As I reached the counter, I stopped short.

Damien’s suit jacket was draped over the stool. Abandoned like he’d tossed it there without a second thought, like this place had become casual to him. Familiar.

Comfortable.

The thought stirred something sharp and warm in my chest.

I reached for the bouquet—but my eyes landed on his phone, resting face-up on the counter.

It buzzed.

I froze.

The screen lit up with a preview of an email:

“RE: Final Offer—Cardiac Research Initiative, New York”

Still starred. Still unread.

I stared.

I knew I shouldn’t. I knew it.

But my fingers moved anyway, picking up the phone like it was radioactive. I tapped the screen.

The message opened instantly. No password. Just... there.

Like he wasn’t hiding it.

Dear Dr. Cole,

We’re thrilled to extend this final opportunity. The position includes full research funding, private surgical privileges, and a six-figure signing bonus. Travel accommodations to Europe for cardiac conference keynote presentations have been confirmed. Your leadership would be invaluable.

We await your decision.

Warm regards. Benjamin Harris, Chief of Staff, St. Luke’s Medical Institute, New York

I blinked.

Six-figure bonus. Europe. Keynote presentations.

Prestige. Power. Purpose.

The kind of offer people dream of. The kind that doesn’t just knock—it kicks the door down and hands you the keys to a different life.

A better life.

The phone trembled in my hand.

Of course he was going to take it.

Why wouldn’t he?

Why would a man like Damien Cole stay here, in a sleepy town filled with gossiping retirees and duck parades, when he could be flying across the world fixing hearts and saving lives?

Why would he choose this?

Why would he choose me?

I looked down at my reflection in the glass countertop—my cheeks still flushed from earlier, mascara smudged at the corners of my eyes, curls slightly wilted from the humidity.

Messy. Emotional. Complicated.

He had kissed me like I was oxygen. Held me like I was something precious. But kisses fade. Passion flickers. People leave.

He had the perfect escape route sitting right there, blinking on his screen.

My fingers tightened around the bouquet stems.

I shoved the phone gently back down and pulled his jacket off the stool, folding it carefully over my arm like it might crack if I handled it wrong.

My throat burned.

Maybe love wasn’t enough. Maybe it never was.

He almost chose me. But the job? That was certainty. Status. Purpose. A clean, controlled world he could command.

I was none of those things.

I was messy flower petals on the floor, impulsive confessions in garden courtyards, dreams that didn’t always add up to something polished.

He’d kissed me, yes.

But he hadn’t chosen me.

And that was all I needed to know.

I picked up the bouquet with shaking hands and walked back toward the door, forcing my spine straight, my chin high.

If he was leaving, I wouldn’t beg.

And if he was staying… he’d have to prove it.

Not with whispered words or aching glances.

With action.

With truth.

With staying, even when it was inconvenient.

Even when it was me.

By the time I returned to the community center, the sound of clinking glasses and soft jazz wrapped around me like a well-meaning but slightly smothering hug.

My fingers tightened around the bouquet, the weight of Damien’s jacket still lingering in the crook of my arm like an echo of something I’d almost let myself believe in.

The crowd had gathered in front of the stage, murmuring in excitement as Eleanor adjusted the mic stand. Her smile was bright, but when she spotted me walking in, it softened with something more tender. She gave me a quick nod and stepped aside.

Showtime.

I climbed the stage steps slowly, aware of the eyes on me, the hush that followed. Somewhere near the back, I felt Damien’s presence before I saw him—still in shirtsleeves, jaw tight, hands at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.

I didn’t look directly at him.

Couldn’t.

Instead, I turned to the podium, set the bouquet down, and adjusted the mic with fingers that trembled for reasons I didn’t want to name.

“Good evening, Cedar Springs,” I began, forcing brightness into my voice. “Thank you for being here tonight—and for helping make this gala something truly magical.”

Applause echoed back, warm and kind. I smiled through it, even as my chest threatened to cave in.

“We’ve had music, dancing, donations that broke our wildest goals,” I continued. “But more than anything, we’ve had heart. And that’s what tonight’s awards are about—recognizing the people who pour theirs into this town every single day.”

I listed the names of the volunteers, the organizers, the business owners who gave time and resources to make the night happen. Their cheers and gratitude filled the room, and I let their joy prop me up like scaffolding.

“And finally,” I said, my voice dipping, “I want to say something that’s not on the script.”

The room stilled.

I swallowed hard and pressed forward.

“Sometimes, success isn’t about accolades. It’s not about titles or fancy job offers or perfect timing. It’s about showing up. For your neighbors. Your community.” My gaze swept the crowd. “For the people who see you—even when you’re falling apart.”

And then my eyes found him.

Damien stood in the back corner of the room, perfectly still, his eyes locked on mine like we were the only two people left in the room. Like he knew. Like he felt it too.

I took one breath too many.

“Thank you,” I said quickly, stepping back from the podium as the applause surged again, polite and genuine.

But I didn’t stay to bask in it.

I walked offstage before Eleanor could hug me, before anyone could stop me for a photo or a glass of punch or a cheerful “wasn’t that lovely?”

Before he could get to me.

Because he was moving—through the crowd, parting it like he always did, not with force but with presence. Intent. That doctor’s gait, confident and steady.

I saw it.

I felt it.

But I didn’t let it reach me.

I brushed past him at the edge of the dance floor, my heels clicking against the polished wood, my fingers curled into my palms to keep from touching him.

“Ruby,” he said behind me, voice rough. “Wait.”

I didn’t.

I kept walking, past the strings of fairy lights, past the floral arch I’d once imagined we’d walk through together.

Not because I didn’t want him to follow.

But because I wasn’t sure I could survive it if he didn’t.