I laugh softly. “What is?”
“You two,” he says. “You look … lighter.”
I think about the way Colton’s wink felt like a secret. A shared understanding. A secret only for us.
“Maybe it’s Friday,” I say.
Frank hums. “Or maybe someone finally stopped pretending.”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to.
Later, when Colton passes me in the hall, his hand brushes mine, not accidentally, not lingering long enough to draw attention, but deliberate.
He leans in close enough to murmur, “You okay?”
I nod. “I am.”
His gaze holds mine for a beat longer than necessary.
“So am I,” he says.
And for the first time since I stepped back into this hospital, I believe it.
It’s the end of my shift. I go into the locker room to retrieve my purse, coat, and change shoes.
With my coat over my arm, I walk down the hallway andhead for the elevator. I press the button and wait patiently for the doors to open.
Once they do, I step into the elevator and press Lobby. As the doors begin to close, an arm appears between them and pushes them back open.
Colton is standing on the other side, slightly out of breath. My eyes open wide in surprise.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He keeps his hand on the door to keep it open. “Have dinner with me tomorrow.”
He says it more like an order than a request. I should care, correct him in his assumption that I’ll say yes, but I find that I don’t care. I like his bluntness. His control. It’s exciting. It’s opposite of what I thought I could ever be attracted to.
“Umm … okay,” I reply.
He smiles. “Give me your number.”
He pulls his phone out and hands it to me. I type it in his Contacts and hand it back to him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mel,” he says, then lets his hand go and slowly disappears behind the closing doors.
My heart is thumping rapidly in my chest.
Saturday arrives too quickly and, at the same time, too slowly. I spend the morning pretending I’m calm, but by noon, my nerves are screaming.
I stand in my bedroom, staring at my closet like it’s personally betrayed me. Dresses hang neatly on one side, jeans and sweaters on the other, and none of them feel right. Everything is either too much or not enough, too date-y or not date-y at all.
This isn’t just a date. It’s my first one.
Since Bryce.
The thought tightens in my chest.
A knock sounds on my door before I can spiral too far.
