Chapter Eleven
Gabriel
The morning meeting was supposed to be routine.
Hayden had his coffee—black, no sugar, because apparently he enjoyed punishing himself. Nathan had his tablet with the day’s schedule pulled up, stylus poised as if he were about to conduct a symphony rather than review a list of sore throats and twisted ankles. Julien sat with perfect posture, reviewing what looked like a complex neurology case with the focused intensity of someone who took everything seriously. Quinton was already grinning at his phone, probably looking at memes instead of patient charts. And Fitz had his usual smirk, the one that suggested he knew something the rest of us didn’t and was just waiting for the right moment to detonate that knowledge like a conversational grenade.
I should have seen it coming.
“Alright,” Hayden began, settling into his chair at the head of the conference table. “Let’s run through today’s appointments. Nathan, you’re starting with the Hendersons—follow-up on little Emma’s ear infection?”
“Yep. Should be straightforward. Mom’s been religious about the antibiotics.”
“Good. Gabriel, you’ve got the Morrison kid at nine-thirty. The one who stuck a bead up his nose.”
“Again?” Fitz laughed. “That’s the third time this month. Kid’s going for a record.”
“Make sure you document it properly this time,” Hayden said. “His mother threatened to switch practices if we keep judging her parenting.”
“Fascinating case study in pediatric foreign body aspiration patterns,” Julien said without looking up from his notes. “Though I’d argue it’s more behavioral than neurological.”
“It’s definitely behavioral,” I muttered. “The kid’s a menace.”
“I didn’t judge. I simply suggested that perhaps keeping small objects away from a child with a documented history of nasal insertion might be—”
“Fitz.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll be the picture of professional neutrality.”
I flipped open my own file, scanning the list of patients I’d be seeing. Mrs. Patterson’s blood pressure check. The Kowalski twins for their sports physicals. A new patient consultation at eleven—some tech executive who’d moved to the area and needed a primary care physician who could work around his “demanding schedule.”
“Unlike the time you told that mom her kid was ‘creatively self-destructive,’” Quinton added helpfully. “That was a fun complaint to field.”
Routine. Predictable.
Exactly how I liked my Mondays.
“Gabriel, you’ve got a full roster today,” Hayden noted. “How did things go this morning with the nanny? Any more issues?”
And there it was—the conversational landmine I’d been hoping to avoid.
“Fine,” I said, not looking up from my file. “She showed up on time.”
“Impressive.” Nathan sounded surprised. “Considering towel-gate.”
“Oh, she’s impressive alright.”
I looked up.
Fitz was grinning. Not his usual smirk—this was something else entirely. Something that made my fingers curl around the edge of my file hard enough to crumple the paper.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nathan asked, glancing between us.
“Oh, nothing,” Fitz said, leaning back in his chair with the casual confidence of a man who was about to ruin my entire morning. “Just that I met the hot, curvy nanny this morning.”
The room went silent.
Hayden’s coffee cup paused halfway to his mouth. Nathan’s stylus stopped mid-air. Julien looked up from his notes with one eyebrow raised. Quinton’s grin widened to shit-eating proportions. And I felt something dark and violent unfurl in my chest like smoke from a fire I’d thought I’d extinguished.
