Page 78 of The Love Operation

“I’m just asking you to tell me—one way or the other—so I can either focus and do my job or go turn in my resignation.”

I let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “You’re being dramatic.”

His jaw tightens. “Cord, I’m in love with you.”

The world stops. The hallway narrows. The background noise fades.

It’s just me and him—and this.

“I know it’s too soon,” he says, quieter now. “And I’m probably hurting myself instead of helping by telling you now, but . . . it’s the truth.”

For another couple, this might be premature. But our relationship has been concentrated, weeks packed with months’ worth of connection. So no, it doesn’t feel too soon. Not to my heart. And that’s what matters.

I should say something, tell him I think I might be in love with him too. But I don’t. I can’t. My ribs quake as my heart works overtime, but my mouth won’t form the words.

His eyes search mine. “Just tell me I didn’t lose you.”

The plea wrecks me.

A long beat passes.

“You didn’t lose me.”

The relief on his face is instant, palpable—like a deflated lung taking its first breath—and I can’t help but feel special, knowing I’m the thing that just put him back together.

I swallow past the tightness in my throat. “I have to get to afternoon clinic.”

Isaac nods. Steps back. “Okay.” Then, softer, “Thank you.”

I told Dahlia I wanted Elizabeth with me in clinic today because if I’m teaching someone how to practice good medicine, I’m not thinking about Isaac.

Isaac, who told me he loved me.

He texted right after I walked away, asking if he could come over tonight.

I said yes.

I want to see him. I want to tell him that I love him too.

It didn’t feel right in the hallway, not after I’d just been so cold. But now that the adrenaline’s worn off, and the weight of the fight has settled, I know. And I want to say it.

It feels like we just passed a test, one I hope makes us stronger.

“Excuse me, Cord.”

I look up to see Katie’s ogre-like face—she’s actually beautiful, but so marinated in mean-girl energy that my brain registers her as ugly. She’s standing next to Dr. Emilia Sharif.

“Dr. Sharif is here to observe you,” Katie says with a plastic smile. “I brought her back for you.”

Well, aren’t you just a gem?

“Thank you,” I say, managing to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. I also manage—valiantly—to resist asking if she’s seen Dr. Lambert’s wife lately.

“Hello, Dr. Wren,” Dr. Sharif says, holding a clipboard like an extension of herself. “I’m Dr. Sharif. I’ll be observing your clinic today for the chief selection.”

Yeah, that’s what venomous Katie just said.

I don’t know Dr. Sharif well, but I know of her.