Page 18 of Secret Baby for Dr. Grump

“It’s doing good. Better than I expected, honestly, which still always surprises me.”

“I don’t know why you’re even surprised. You were like this young genius doctor when you came in here years ago—a man with a drive to do so much more than surgeries. You were so hell-bent on changing the course of your field, and I daresay you’ve done brilliantly in that aspect.”

I won’t say I changed it entirely, but his words warm my heart either way.

“Thanks, James.”

He grins. “Only a few people get to do that, by the way. I might envy you now—just a bit—but I don’t envy the hardships you had to get here.”

“What is this now? Are you softening up on me, James, or is this your way of lightening the mood before you tell me you’re sick or something?”

He laughs. “No, not sick at all. Just thinking, I guess. Anyway, you’re a lucky man. You have it all going for you.”

In the career department? Sure. I’ve lucked out.

In the personal one? Maybe. If you don’t count the divorce.

And if you don’t count missing out on what might have been a good thing with Olivia if I didn’t make a mistake with one stupid digit.

At the latter thought, I sneak a peek in her direction while keeping my ears tuned to James’s chatter. I’m not stupid. He’s my friend, sure, but I know he does this praise talk to many of the doctors in our hospital to make them feel secure and boost their morale—in short, to make sure they don’t jump ship, especially the senior doctors.

I entertain James and don’t let on that I know this, but I’m relieved when he’s finally done with me and ends the chat with a hearty wave. I continue my last case study before closing that file. Normally, I head out right away, not wanting to linger at work unless there’s a surgery scheduled outside my shift.

But instead of my feet taking me out of the door, they take me to another door: the one leading to my office’s small file room, which I also use as a makeshift sleeping room with a mattress in the farthest corner. Olivia is just by the door, sliding folders in file cabinets and humming to herself.

She stops humming at my entrance, though, which irritates me.

“You can make sounds. Please ignore what I said to you that first week.”

Olivia nods, but she doesn’t hum again. When I linger and don’t say another word, she finally glances at me.

“Is there anything I can help you with, Dr. Jennings?”

There it is again—that awfully polite tone. At this point, I’m sounding like a broken record, but it just grates on my nerves and I don’t like the feeling anymore.

“You can call me Luke outside working hours, you know. It’s not that big of a deal.”

She opens her mouth to counter that we’re still at work, glances at the wall clock, and shuts her mouth. I watch her fingers trailing over the tabs of the folders she just arranged, which I’m sure are marked neatly already. I get distracted by that, mostly because I know it’s a listless movement as she probably scans her mind for something to say.

“Okay.”

I blink at the answer, expecting…I don’t know. A fight, maybe? Some resistance?

Not this soft tone that’s almost resigned. It worries me because this woman’s a fighter, and her response brings another thought to mind.

Does she truly want me to leave her alone?

A cold feeling washes over me that I might have been pushing things that aren’t there anymore. I don’t force myself on women. I won’t because that’s disrespectful and just not the type of person I am.

But have I been forcing her to feel things that aren’t there for her anymore?

It’s an abrupt wake-up call. I blink again, then take a deep breath to settle the quiver inside me at how far I might have gone without realizing it. It’s not right.

And I intend to make it right.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s obvious that my words aren’t what she’s expecting, either, as she visibly freezes on the spot. Then uncertainty enters her features, so I clarify.

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