Once he walked away, I turned to Cameron. My voice came out softer than I had intended. “We’re just friends.”
“Okay,” he said, just as softly.
“Just dinner. That’s all.”
His lips curved faintly. “Okay.”
We stood there, silence stretching between us. “Okay, I’ll see you,” I said, about to turn.
“Sloane.”
His voice stopped me. I turned back.
“Thank you for telling me.” He paused, like the next words were heavy in his mouth. “I just want you to be happy, Sloane. I want you to know that.” His gaze held mine. “But if he’s the better man... if he’s good to you...” He trailed off, swallowing hard. “I just want you to be happy. Whatever you decide, I hope it leads you there.”
He turned and walked away, hands in his coat pockets, head slightly bowed, leaving me standing there with a heart full of things I couldn’t quite put into words.
But then he paused and turned back around. “Maybe we could have dinner sometime too? Just the two of us?” he asked, a tentative smile playing on his lips. “Would you like that?”
I blinked, caught off guard, then slowly, I felt a smile tug at my mouth before I could stop it.
“I’d love that.”
“Okay,” he said, his smile growing. “I’ll find us a good place. Good night, Sloane.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cameron
“Here.”
Sloane handed me a wrapped sandwich. “You should eat.”
I turned to her and gave a tired smile. “Thanks, Sloane.”
I’d just finished three surgeries back-to-back and was running on fumes. I planned to skip lunch and get a few minutes of rest in the break room, but the adrenaline was still pumping, and I didn’t think I could sleep.
“You had three back-to-back surgeries,” she said. “That’s too much, even for you.”
“I know,” I sighed. “Caroline’s been relentless. And we’re short-staffed — the usual problem with public hospitals. It’s not like I can say no. Someone has to step up.”
Sloane nodded, then said gently, “Try to rest before the next one. You’ve got half an hour. But eat first.”
She turned and walked off before I could say anything. But I remembered what had happened that morning with her patient, so I called after her.
“Sloane.”
She stopped and looked back. I walked up to her.
“I heard about Mrs. Swan this morning.”
Her face slightly changed, and I could still see the traces of grief clinging to her expression. Mrs. Swan had been her patientfor three years. Sloane adored her, even if she never said it out loud. I saw it in the way she spoke to her, listened to her. And Mrs. Swan adored her right back.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
I braced myself.
The old Sloane would’ve brushed off the question, maybe even shut down and fired back with something sharp to push me away. But things had changed. She had been trying, pushing herself not to let fear and insecurity take the lead anymore. I had tested her on occasion, asking how she was feeling and how therapy was going, and she always answered. Not once with sarcasm or defensiveness.
