Page 8

Chapter eight

D amien

The rain had finally stopped, but the stillness outside my window didn’t bring peace—only questions.

I sat in the leather armchair in my home office, the familiar hum of the desk lamp buzzing faintly overhead. My laptop cast a dull glow across the room, highlighting the neat rows of patient files I’d pulled up out of habit. Open cases. Past procedures. Heart rhythms I could still feel in my hands.

My inbox pinged.

I clicked out of the surgical records and leaned forward, squinting at the new message.

Subject: Opportunity: Lead Role in NYC Cardiac Research Initiative From: Dr. Whitaker – Chief of Cardiology

I didn’t open it at first. Just stared at the bolded subject line like it might detonate.

Of course it was him.

Whitaker had been my mentor at St. David’s—brilliant, hard-edged, exacting. He used to pace outside my OR like a hawk, waiting for the moment he could praise me or tear me apart depending on how the procedure went. The man didn’t believe in comfort. He believed in outcomes.

He once told me, during one of our late-night debriefs after a near-impossible valve repair, “One day, Cole, you’ll have to choose between saving lives... or living yours. Most men like us can’t do both.”

At the time, I thought it was poetic nonsense.

Now I wasn’t so sure.

I clicked the message.

We’ve been following your sabbatical from afar and were excited to hear you’re still in practice, even if unofficially. We’d love to discuss a leadership opportunity in our next cardiac research initiative. Full autonomy. Funding. A chance to shape the next generation of medicine. Let’s talk.

-W

I let out a long, slow breath and leaned back, rubbing a hand over my jaw.

It was everything I’d once wanted. A future designed by precision. Structured. Predictable.

And yet—

All I could see was her face.

Ruby, barefoot in her shop, twirling with a garland of peonies in her hair. Ruby, lip bitten in concentration as she tried to decipher my clipboard. Ruby, wide-eyed and furious when she spilled coffee on my shirt, then bold enough to throw sass right back at me.

Chaos.

Light.

Heart.

I dragged a hand through my hair and stood, walking to the window. Outside, Cedar Springs slept under a blanket of mist. The streetlamps glowed amber. Eleanor’s bakery sign flickered gently across the square.

This place had a rhythm I hadn’t understood at first.

It pulsed slowly—like a heart at rest. Like recovery.

And somehow, without meaning to, Ruby had become the beat that kept it going for me.

I wasn’t sure when it had shifted. Maybe it was when she fell apart in that riverside moment and didn’t hide it. Maybe it was when she said she didn’t need rescuing but still let me stand beside her.

Maybe it was the way she made me laugh. The way she challenged me without fear. The way she looked at me like I was more than just a man who used to hold lives in his hands.

I hadn’t smiled like that in years.

Not in New York. Not at the hospital.

Certainly not in a lab.

I turned from the window and looked back at my laptop.

The cursor blinked in the reply box. Waiting. Expecting.

I could type three words and launch the next phase of the life I used to want.

Let’s do it.

Instead, I closed the lid and sat back down.

Because the truth—the one I didn’t want to admit but couldn’t ignore—was this:

I didn’t want New York.

I didn’t want sterile rooms and conference talks and endless nights chasing a version of myself I didn’t even recognize anymore.

I wanted the flower shop on Main Street that smelled like wild lavender and hope.

I wanted the chaotic woman who spilled glitter and opinions like confetti and somehow made me want to be better without saying a word.

And that terrified me more than any surgery ever had.

Because I could control a scalpel.

But I couldn’t control her.

And maybe that’s exactly what made her worth it.

…

The clinic was nearly dark when I heard the soft knock.

I’d just finished locking up, the last of the patient charts tucked away, when the front door creaked open and Ruby stepped inside with a pastry box balanced on one hip and a bouquet in her hand.

“Bribery,” she said, lifting both with a hopeful grin. “In the form of carbs and color.”

I blinked at her, surprised—and more affected than I cared to admit. “I don’t usually accept bribes from florists.”

“Liar. Hazel told me you practically devoured that cherry tart she brought you last month.”

“She blackmailed me with it. Different situation.”

She shrugged, strolling further in. “Well, this one comes with gratitude. You saved my shop. Again.”

I glanced at the flowers—bright, cheerful things. Sunflowers, daisies, tiny sprigs of rosemary tucked between. “You didn’t have to.”

She arched a brow. “Let me do the nice thing, Damien. I don’t do it often, but when I do, I go all in.”

I took the box and bouquet, nodding toward the back. “Come on. Porch’s quiet.”

We stepped out onto the back porch where two mismatched chairs faced the woods. The stars blinked above, unbothered by deadlines or decisions. She sat first, curling her legs beneath her like it was second nature, and I followed suit, more awkward in the motion.

We sat in silence for a beat, the only sound the occasional chirp of crickets and the creak of old wood beneath our chairs.

Then Ruby spoke, her voice softer than usual. “I was five when I planted my first flower.”

I glanced at her. Her gaze was distant, fixed on the trees.

“I stole a packet of daisy seeds from the hardware store,” she continued, her tone both guilty and proud. “I didn’t even know what daisies were, just that my mom used to wear them in her hair. After she passed, I remember sneaking into the backyard and digging into the dirt with a spoon.”

I stayed quiet, letting her words settle.

“I planted them right over where we’d buried her ashes. I didn’t even know what I was doing, just... needed to give her something. Something pretty. Something alive.” She gave a soft laugh. “Most of them didn’t grow. But one did. Just one. And I swore I’d never stop growing things after that.”

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. My throat had tightened, and there wasn’t a medical chart in the world that could explain it.

Ruby looked down at her hands, then turned them over and smiled faintly. “I know I’m a mess sometimes. Too loud. Too... much.”

“You’re not too much,” I said, before I even realized the words were out. “You’re... more than most people can handle. But that’s not a bad thing.”

Her gaze flicked to mine, searching. “Do you want to kiss me again?”

My breath hitched.

“Because I’ve been thinking about it. A lot.”

I leaned in slowly, letting the weight of her question anchor me to the moment. “More than anything.”

And then I kissed her.

It started slow. Careful. Like we both knew we were playing with something delicate. Her lips were soft, trembling slightly against mine, but the moment I deepened it, she leaned in with a quiet sigh, threading her fingers into my shirt collar and pulling me closer.

Her kiss was everything I hadn’t known I needed—wild and soft, fierce and aching. I lost myself in it. In her.

She pressed her forehead to mine, breath mingling with mine in the space between us. “Damien,” she whispered, like it was both a question and an answer.

I kissed her again, slower this time. “Stay with me tonight.”

She didn’t answer with words.

The clinic was silent as we stepped inside. The lights stayed off. Only the moon watched as the door clicked shut behind us.

—The next morning, I stood alone in my office, the dawn just beginning to color the edge of the window. A mug of cold coffee sat forgotten on my desk, and my phone glowed in my hand.

The email from St. David’s was still open. A single line blinked at the bottom, waiting for my reply.

We’re eager to hear your answer. Let us know by Friday.

My thumb hovered over the “Reply” button.

Somewhere behind my ribs, my heart beat loud enough to drown everything else.