“Then we adjust. That’s why I’ll monitor you closely.” His thumb brushes over the edge of the chart. “This isn’t a failure. It’s just… fine-tuning.”
Relief floods me, mingling with the familiar flutter that comes whenever he speaks to me like I’m the only person in the room. “Okay… thank you.”
His gaze softens, almost tender. “You don’t need to thank me.”
I pause, fingers fidgeting with the edge of my sleeve. “And… the pill—do I just take it at the same time every day? What if I miss one?”
Simon explains it carefully, making sure I understand the exact routine I should follow. The closeness, the way he leans slightly toward me as he speaks, makes my chest tighten.
He writes out the prescription with precise strokes. “If you notice any side effects—nausea, headaches, mood shifts—I want you to tell me right away.”
“Okay,” I murmur.
He hands me the slip of paper, his fingers brushing mine. “You can pick it up at the pharmacy downstairs.”
I tuck it into my bag. “Thank you.”
His mouth lifts in a faint smile. “You’re welcome.”
There’s a pause, heavy with the unspoken memory of everything that happened between us. Then I blurt, “You lured me here with promises of ice cream, you know.”
His laugh is low and rough, a sound that slides over my skin. “I remember. And I fully intend to keep that promise. But right now, I’ve got a ward full of patients. There’s a flu going around; half the town is streaming in.”
I grin despite myself. “So, I’ll have to wait?”
He leans closer, his voice dropping just for me. “Only a little. I’ll bring you ice cream later.”
The warmth in my chest spreads. “I’ll hold you to that.”
At the pharmacy, I hand over the slip and wait while the tech prepares the medication. Behind me, a pair of nurses whisper in low tones.
“Did you hear? Dr. Hale’s seeing that new Omega.”
“They say she’s gorgeous. No one’s ever seen him with anyone before.”
“Maybe she’s the reason he’s been working fewer hours.”
My ears burn. I keep my head down, pretending not to hear, but every syllable feels like it’s aimed at me. The whole town knows—or thinks they know. And I’m standing here, cheeks hot, pretending I don’t.
I grab the little bag when it’s ready, mumble a thank you, and slip outside.
My phone buzzes as I step onto the sidewalk. The screen reads almost three p.m. I dial Norah.
“Where are you?” I ask when she picks up.
“At the Smokehouse,” she says, her voice tight. “Grabbing a drink.”
Something in her tone prickles at me. “I’ll come meet you.”
The bar is dim when I walk in, the smell of beer and fried food heavy in the air. Norah is at a small table near the window, a half-full glass of wine in front of her. Her eyes are shadowed, her shoulders tense.
“What’s wrong?” I slide into the seat across from her.
She takes a long sip of wine, then sets the glass down with a sharp clink. “Dorian’s back in town.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Simon
