Page 72 of Burned By the Broken Doctor

I scoff playfully. “Hey, protein pancakes are not that bad, right? Besides, you can't tell me you wouldn't demolish a plate of these after everything that’s happened since last night.”

She takes a sip of her coffee, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Thank you,” she says softly, her eyes meeting mine. “For standing up for me last night. I… I needed that.”

My heart skips a beat. Seeing her vulnerable like this is both disarming and strangely endearing. “Hey,” I reach out to take her hand, “don't even sweat it. No one messes with the people I care about.”

The words tumble out before I can stop them, and a flicker of surprise crosses her features.

She squeezes my hand back, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “Well, thank you for caring,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

For a moment, we’re both in comfortable silence, the only sound the rhythmic sizzle of the batter hitting the hot pan. She looks up at me, her eyes shining with gratitude. Seeing her wearing my shirt again today fills me with a rush of emotion. I notice how comfortable she seems in it. The sight of it hanging loosely on her frame and the hem just skimming her thighs does something strange to my pulse.

Her relaxed and happy demeanor makes me realize I could get used to this—waking up in the morning to make her breakfast, joking with her in the kitchen…

“Get a grip,” I mutter to myself more than her, the sudden realization making me break eye contact.

The clink of the spatula against the pan brings me back to the present. I flip the pancakes, the delicious aroma filling the air.

Setting the table quickly, I ask, “So, what are your plans for the day?”

“Just errands and maybe catching up on some work,” she replies, taking a bite of the pancake I offer her. “You?”

“Stuck at the hospital until the dress rehearsal for June and Damon's wedding later,” I reply, my voice laced with a hint of boredom.

“That’s true.” Emma nods. “I'll be glad to see you then.”

The unspoken promise in her voice sends a wave of warmth through me. We eat breakfast in comfortable silence. There’s now a sense of easy companionship whenever we’re together. Midway through breakfast, Emma's phone buzzes on the counter. She picks it up, a frown creasing her forehead as she reads the message.

“Everything alright?” I ask, dropping my fork.

“Oh,” she says, her voice a touch flustered. “It's June. I completely forgot I'm supposed to meet her for dress fittings.”

She glances at the clock on the wall. “Shoot, I'm already running late.” She dashes upstairs to change. I stay in the kitchen, realizing how much I’ll miss her.

She comes back down, fully dressed and ready to go. She grabs a half-eaten pancake, taking a quick bite. “I gotta get going. Thanks again for breakfast, Liam. It was…delicious.”

“Do you need a lift?” I ask, hoping she’ll say yes.

She shakes her head, already halfway out the door. “No, I don't want to hold you up. Besides, June might need me to pick something up on the way.”

Before I can protest, she dashes past me, grabbing her purse and keys on the way. “Maybe I'll see you tonight?” she calls over her shoulder.

“Absolutely,” I reply, the disappointment at her sudden departure settling in my stomach. “I'll be at the rehearsal dinner.”

“Alright,” I concede, wanting to argue but knowing better. “Be safe.”

She blows me a kiss and disappears out the door, leaving me with the lingering scent of her perfume and the echo of her laughter.

A wave of unexpected loneliness washes over me. It’s ridiculous, I think, feeling this way after just one night. But something about Emma has gotten under my skin. Her vulnerability, her strength, her humor—it all combines to create a package that is completely captivating.

The silence in the now-empty kitchen feels deafening. I busy myself with clearing the table, the mundane task a welcome distraction from the jumbled emotions churning inside me.

Later that morning, as I scrub my hands in the hospital's sterile sink, Grace, one of the nurses, chirps a greeting.

“Looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed today, Dr. Miller,” she remarks, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Must be a good day.”

I glance up, surprised at how easily a smile finds its way onto my face. “Just feels good to be here, Grace,” I admit, the words surprisingly true. “Anything particularly interesting happen overnight?”

She launches into her usual morning update, reading from her notes in a staccato rhythm. But as she speaks, my mind drifts back to Emma. There’s no denying it—something has shifted between us. The question is, what does it all mean? To me, to her?

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