Page 20

Chapter twenty

D amien

I was halfway through reorganizing files at the clinic when Hazel’s name lit up my phone. I almost let it go to voicemail—Mondays were brutal—but something about the timing made me answer.

“Hey Hazel. Everything okay?”

“Not exactly,” she said, breathless. “It’s Ruby. Her shipment of rare freesias didn’t show. She’s trying not to panic, but… you know her. She built her whole piece around them.”

I was already grabbing my keys.

“Where is she now?”

“At the competition. Trying to figure out a Plan B. But if there’s any way—I just thought you should know.”

“Thanks, Hazel. I’m on it.”

I ended the call and shot a quick text to the clinic manager: Emergency came up. Cancel my schedule today. I’ll make it up.

There are moments when logic takes a backseat, when your heart throws off the seatbelt and climbs behind the wheel. This was one of those moments.

I slid into my truck, pulled up the wholesale directory I hadn’t touched since my hospital fundraiser days, and started calling every flower supplier within a hundred-mile radius.

Most didn’t pick up. A few answered with polite rejections or out-of-stock apologies.

And then—

“I might have what you’re looking for,” said a gravelly voice from BloomCo Farms, somewhere out near Willow Bend. “Rare variety, white-edged freesia. Just came in from a delayed shipment. But I can only hold them for two hours.”

“I’ll be there in ninety minutes,” I said without hesitation.

“Cash only.”

“Done.”

I gunned it down the highway like the flowers were a beating heart that needed saving.

The drive blurred into adrenaline and purpose. My mind kept flashing back to Ruby’s face the morning she left—hopeful, brave, and trembling under it all. She hadn’t said it, but I knew. This competition wasn’t just a dream.

It was her proving ground.

By the time I pulled into the dusty lot of BloomCo Farms, my shirt was sticking to my back, and the clock had five minutes to spare.

The owner, a wiry man with sun-scorched skin and a ball cap that had seen better decades, led me into the chilled greenhouse.

And there they were.

A dozen pristine bunches of freesia, glowing in soft whites and lavender, petals curled like whispered promises.

“They’re yours,” he said as I handed over the cash. “Never seen a man drive this far for flowers. Lucky girl.”

“She’s more than lucky,” I said. “She’s unforgettable.”

I carefully packed the crates into the back of the truck, double-checked the AC vents, and floored it back toward the highway.

I had one more stop to make—a local courier hub.

With a little charm and a lot of persuasion, I convinced them to rush a direct delivery to Ruby’s venue with a hand-signed card attached.

The note read: Even without these, you’d still outshine every bloom here. But I know how much they mean to you. So here they are. All in. Always. —D

As I watched the delivery van disappear into the distance, something swelled in my chest.

Love, I realized, doesn’t always look like grand gestures or sweeping speeches. Sometimes it looks like mud on your tires, calluses on your hands, and the road behind you that you didn’t think twice about driving.

…

The loading dock behind the exhibition hall was a blur of movement—delivery trucks backing in, interns racing with carts, clipboard-wielding coordinators barking into walkie-talkies.

I stood there holding a carefully packed crate of fresh freesia, the petals still dewy from the early morning chill, and felt completely out of place.

A gruff man with a lanyard spotted me. “You can’t be back here without clearance.”

“I’m delivering for Ruby Shea. Entry number forty-two.” I held my ground, steady and calm. It was a look I used to wear like armor in the OR—unflinching, immovable, exactly when it counted.

The man squinted. “She’s up in the corner tent. Looked like she was about to throw in the towel.”

My chest tightened. Not on my watch.

I jogged across the courtyard, dodging floral arches and distracted artists with paint-splattered aprons. When I found her, Ruby was kneeling beside an unfinished installation, her hands limp in her lap, a single strand of ivy dangling from her fingers. Her face was pale, and her eyes were glassy.

She didn’t see me at first.

“Ruby,” I said softly.

Her head jerked up.

I grinned. “You didn’t think I’d let you wither, did you?”

She blinked, clearly processing the sight of me, then the crate. “Is that—how—what—?”

“You’re welcome.” I crouched and opened the lid, revealing the delicate freesia blooms in perfect condition.

Her hand flew to her mouth. “I… Damien, I was just about to—”

“Drop out?” I finished for her, gently. “Yeah. Hazel told me. And I knew if I waited for someone else to fix it, it’d be too late.”

She reached into the crate, touching a blossom like it was made of spun sugar. “I called five suppliers. None of them could guarantee a thing.”

“I called twenty. One had them, in a town three hours away.” I shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “So, I canceled my day, borrowed Brandon’s truck, and made it in two and a half. Let’s not tell him how fast I drove.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears.

“Don’t cry,” I murmured, brushing a smudge of dirt from her cheek. “You’ll ruin your ‘florist warrior’ aesthetic.”

She laughed through a sniffle. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m still a surgeon, Ruby.” I brushed her hair back and leaned close, just enough to feel her breath catch. “I know how to make sure the heart doesn’t flatline.”

Her chin trembled. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

I didn’t say anything. Just leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead—an anchor, a promise, a breath of calm in the middle of chaos.

“Go win this,” I whispered. “Show them what happens when beauty refuses to break.”

She nodded; voice stuck somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Wait—are you staying?”

“I can’t.” I stepped back, reluctantly. “The clinic’s got follow-ups, and I’ve already ducked out longer than I should’ve. Besides…” I gestured toward the flowers. “My job’s done.”

“You’re sure?”

I offered a half smile. “Ruby, I drove across the state to deliver a crate of rare flowers just so you could put your chaos on display. You don’t need me hovering. You need to shine.”

Her hand slipped into mine briefly. “You always know what to say.”

I squeezed her fingers. “No. But I know how to believe in you until you remember to believe in yourself.”

She looked like she might kiss me right there—and honestly, I wouldn’t have minded. But instead, she turned back to the installation, hands already moving with renewed purpose, like energy had surged back into her veins.

I took one last look before I turned to leave.

There was my girl—half-covered in greenery, talking to herself about negative space and line balance, her braid slipping loose over one shoulder.

Unstoppable. Unapologetically wild.

And, thanks to a box of stubborn freesia, right where she was meant to be.

…

The fluorescent lights in Cedar Springs General always buzzed too loud. But today, there was a strange quiet humming beneath it—a sense of peace. I hadn’t felt that here before.

I stood outside Room 204, a bouquet of soft pink peonies and white hydrangeas in my hand, courtesy of Ruby’s shop. The stems were neatly wrapped; the paper stamped with her swirling “Hearts in Bloom” logo. I smiled just looking at it.

Inside, the patient I’d operated on just days ago—Sophie Barnes, age thirteen, stubborn as they come—was propped up against a mountain of pillows.

Her cheeks were flushed with color now, not fever.

Her mom sat at the edge of the bed, reading aloud from a fantasy novel, but she stopped as soon as I knocked gently on the doorframe.

Sophie’s eyes lit up when she saw me. “It’s the flower doctor!”

I laughed and stepped inside. “That’s a new one. Can’t say I’ve had that title before.”

Her mom smiled. “She’s been calling you that since I brought those flowers in. She refuses to believe a heart surgeon would know a thing about daisies.”

I handed the bouquet to Sophie, who held it like a crown jewel. “Well, I’ve recently become an expert, thanks to someone very persistent and very floral.”

“Is she your girlfriend?” Sophie asked boldly, nose buried in the blooms.

I blinked, caught off guard. “She’s… more than that.”

“Like a flower wife?” she asked innocently.

Her mom gasped, “Sophie—”

I chuckled, the sound easing something tight in my chest. “Not yet. But I wouldn’t mind if she was someday.”

Sophie beamed. “Good. I like her flowers. They smell like magic.”

I stayed for a while, chatting about her recovery and cracking jokes while she proudly showed off her heart monitor like it was a new bracelet. The girl had a spark. No fear. Just curiosity.

And something about that hit me hard.

This was what medicine used to feel like. Before all the pressure. Before the politics. Before I became more headline than healer.

After I said my goodbyes and stepped back into the hallway, I found myself walking slower than usual, taking in the hand- painted tiles from the kids’ art program, the bulletin board full of community events, the nurse I’d known since my first ER rotation waving from the station.

The town was small. But the impact—it wasn’t.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out without thinking, still smiling from Sophie’s sass.

One new voicemail.

I pressed play.

“Dr. Cole, this is Christine Lannister with New York General. Your recent surgical performance in the Barnes case was reviewed by the board—and it’s unanimous. We’re extending you an offer for full reinstatement. Not part-time. Full privileges. OR lead. You’d be returning at the top. Call me.”

I stood frozen.

Full reinstatement.

I hadn’t realized how long I’d waited for those words. Maybe not consciously. But somewhere deep, that ambition, that perfectionist buried in the past—it still breathed.

And now it had a door wide open.

But instead of adrenaline, all I felt was… weight. Like someone had just handed me a crown made of lead.

I leaned against the wall, trying to hear past the voicemail echoing in my head.

Ruby’s laughter flashed through my mind—her knee-deep in tulips, yelling at squirrels in her garden like they owed her rent.

Sophie’s little voice rang again. “Flower doctor.”

This—this town, these people, that woman —they reminded me of who I was when no one was watching. The man who didn’t just save lives but stayed after to make sure those lives thrived.

I stared down at my phone, the notification still blinking.

It was the kind of offer I’d once dreamed of.

Now?

It felt like a ghost knocking.