“Go. Have dinner. Let yourself feel it. You don’t owe anyone anything beyond that.”
I take a deep breath, and for the first time in a long while, I walk toward the door, not out of duty or routine … but possibility.
I smooth my dress one last time before stepping out into the hallway. My pulse is loud in my ears as I head toward the elevator. By the time I reach the lobby, my nerves are buzzing beneath my skin, like I’m standing too close to something electric.
I spot him immediately.
Colton is leaning casually near the front entrance, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone. He’s dressed down compared to the hospital, but somehow, that makes him more dangerous. Dark jeans. A crisp white button-down, the top button undone. A gray sports coat that fits him like it was tailored with intention.
He looks … effortless.
Not Dr. Fisher. Only Colton.
My body reacts before my brain can catch up. A slow, unmistakable pull low in my stomach that makes me inhale sharply. I’ve seen him command rooms, deliver devastating news, shut down entire wings of the hospital with a look. But this version of him? Relaxed. Waiting. Watching the door like he’s been counting the seconds.
His gaze lifts and locks on to mine.
His expression shifts. I can feel the look of appreciation ashis eyes rake my body. The heat between us is unmistakable.
“There you are,” he says, pushing off the wall as I approach.
His voice is softer than it is at work. Less controlled. And somehow, that makes my knees feel weak.
“Hi,” I manage, suddenly aware of everything. Of the way my dress moves when I walk, the sound of my heels against the floor, the fact that this is really happening.
He opens the door for me, his hand hovering behind my back. Not touching, but close enough that I feel the heat of his hand.
The night air is cool, grounding me for half a second—until I see the car.
It’s sleek and dark. No doubt expensive. The kind of car you don’t accidentally own. The kind that whispers money instead of shouting it.
My steps slow before I can stop myself. Colton notices immediately.
“You okay?” he asks, his tone careful.
“Yes,” I say quickly. “I…” I stop, then force myself to be honest. “It’s … a nice car.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “It’s just a car, Mel.”
I nod, even though it doesn’t feel that simple. Because it’s not just the car. It’s what it represents. The reminder that our lives don’t move through the world the same way. Still, I let him open the door for me.
The interior smells faintly like leather and something clean. I settle into the seat, suddenly hyperaware of my hands, my breathing, and the quiet hum of the city around us.
When he slides in beside me and starts the engine, the space feels charged. Smaller than it should be, like the air itself has thickened.
“You look beautiful,” he says quietly, eyes forward but voice unmistakably sincere.
Heat blooms in my chest.
“Thank you,” I reply. “You look … different.”
His brow lifts slightly. “Good different?”
“Very,” I say, surprising myself with the admission.
His jaw tightens a fraction, like the compliment hits somewhere deeper than he expected.
As he pulls away from the curb, I watch the city blur past the window, trying to calm my racing thoughts. I tell myself this is simply dinner. Two people getting to know each other.
