Page 60 of Burned By the Broken Doctor

She giggles. “Now I don’t know how to face Damon and June this morning.”

“Me either,” I chuckle. “I’m sure we’ll come up with something.”

We share a laugh, the tension easing between us. She traces a finger along my chest, her touch sending shivers down my spine. “What’s this?” she asks, her eyes curious as they settle on the tattoo over my heart. “I noticed it even in the dim light our first night together.”

I smile, a bit wistful. “It’s a symbol. A combination of a heart and a compass.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Strange choice for a tattoo.”

“Really?” I chuckle, “I got it when I was seventeen. It represents hope and direction.”

“That even makes it stranger, because it’s so well-thought for a seventeen-year-old.”

I nod. “You’re right.” I look into her eyes, there’s a look in there that makes me want to trust her, to spill all my secrets without fear. “It’s actually a reminder. When I was a kid, I used to wish that my mom and dad would somehow find their way back to each other. I got this tattoo for that.”

She listens, her eyes wide with interest, not probing but simply there, absorbing my story. “It’s beautiful,” she says softly, then a smile crosses her lips. “And romantic. I’d bet it had all those women you’ve had in your bed swooning even more for you.”

“Well, none of them know what I’ve just told you.”

“You’ve never talked about it before?”

“Yeah, well, I don’t talk much and this one of those things you keep buried, you know?” I feel a mix of relief and vulnerability in sharing it with her. “I guess I wanted to believe that love could find its way back, no matter how lost it seemed.”

Emma’s fingers gently trace the outline of the tattoo, her touch so light, so intimate. “I really think it’s beautiful,” she repeats, looking up at me with a tenderness that makes my heart skip a beat. “And I’m glad you told me about it.’

We fall silent, the air between us charged with unspoken feelings. Her stomach suddenly growls, loud and unmistakable, breaking the moment. We both burst out laughing, the sound filling the room with warmth.

“I guess someone’s hungry.” I wink at her.

“Yeah, I guess so,” she replies, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

I get up, stretching, and pull on a pair of shorts. “Let me check if my dad’s left for the hospital. I’ll see if we can sneak down for breakfast.”

I make my way downstairs, the house quiet, almost too quiet. The kitchen is empty, the smell of fresh coffee lingering in the air. I check the living room, but it’s also deserted. When I peek into my dad’s room, I see his bed made, everything in its place, but he’s not there. Relief washes over me. At least we have some time to ourselves.

I head back upstairs, pushing open the door to find Emma sitting up, her legs crossed, the sheet pooling around her waist, and my shirt from last night on her. It looks so incredibly sexy that if I hadn’t heard her stomach growl moments ago, I’d find a way to get her out of it right now.

“Good news,” I try to keep my voice steady. “Seems Dad’s already gone. We’re in the clear.”

Emma’s eyes light up, a smile breaking across her face. “Perfect. Let’s go get some breakfast then.”

I nod, feeling the weight of the night lifting off my shoulders. “Let’s do it.”

We head downstairs together, the morning light streaming through the windows, casting a golden glow over everything. The kitchen is warm and inviting, and I pour us both a cup of coffee, the steam rising in delicate tendrils. Emma joins me at the table, her hair still tousled from sleep, and I can’t help but stare at her, the reality of last night still sinking in.

I stand at the stove, cracking eggs into a bowl, my mind replaying the events of last night. The sound of the whisk blending the eggs is oddly soothing. I glance over at Emma, who is sitting at the kitchen table, her hair a tousled mess and wearing nothing but my shirt. She looks stunning in the morning light, the sun highlighting the softness of her skin and the natural beauty of her face. It feels surreal to have her here, in my space, and I can't help but smile.

“How do you like your omelets?” I ask, turning back to the stove.

“Surprise me,” she replies, her voice light and teasing. “But please, no burnt offerings. That’s what I got the last time your friend tried to make me and June breakfast.”

I laugh, flipping the omelet in the pan with a flourish. “Hey, I happen to be a master chef, you know.”

“Oh really?” Emma raises an eyebrow, her lips curling into a playful smirk. “Last night you told me your dad does most of the cooking.”

“Details, details,” I wave a hand dismissively, though I can't help but chuckle. “I learned from the best, so you're in for a treat.”

As the omelet sizzles, I steal another glance at her. There's something incredibly intimate about this moment, and it makes my heart race. Seeing her here, relaxed and happy, fills me with a warmth I can't quite describe.

---