Page 8 of Nicky

“Just don’t forget why you’re there,” I said after a moment.

“I won’t,” Aiden said, quieter this time. “You don’t have to worry about me, Nicholas. I’m fine.”

I let out a slow exhale, my fingers curling around the steering wheel. “I’m always going to worry about you. Deal with it.”

He chuckled, a sound that was familiar. “I love you, grumpy.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, feeling the weight of the words like they were a little too fragile to handle.

“Say it, big brother. You know I need to hear you say it.”

I let out a dramatic sigh, my thumb brushing the edge of the phone as I drummed my fingers on the wheel again. “Alright, alright.” I dragged the words out. “Love you.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“Brat,” I muttered, but I couldn’t help smiling.

A soft laugh came through the line before Aiden spoke again, quieter now, almost hesitant. “Hey, Nicholas?”

“Yeah?”

“I… never mind. Talk later, okay?”

The call ended before I could ask what he meant to say, the faint click leaving me staring at the screen like it held answers.

I parked the car and sat there for a moment, gripping the wheel. Snowflakes began to drift lazily against the windshield, and for a fleeting second, I thought about turning around, heading home, and calling him back.

But the knot in my chest told me something was shifting, and I didn’t know if I was ready for it.

With a sigh, I stepped out into the cold, the crunch of snow underfoot reminding me of everything I had to face inside those walls. Whatever was going on with Aiden would have to wait. Right now, I had work to do—and a certain too-handsome-for-his-own-good doctor to survive.

The shift was dragging, and I was deep in the grind of my routine. Banter with the residents kept things from feeling too monotonous, but even I couldn’t ignore the way they had been whispering among themselves more than usual. They were watching me—Mrs. Thompson especially. She was perched in her usual spot by the big window overlooking the garden, her knitting needles clicking softly as her sharp eyes tracked my every move. Mrs. Thompson wasn’t one to let much slip past her. At eighty-something, she had a wit sharper than her knitting needles and a fondness for keeping everyone in line—especially me.

Maybe I’d been a little off lately—grumpier than normal—but could you blame me? With Aiden off at college and the world around me feeling smaller than ever, it was hard to shake the restlessness that tugged at me. Sometimes I caught myself lingering in the dayroom too long, listening to the faint crackle of the radio playing Christmas music or watching the snow dust the courtyard. I’d picture something ridiculous, like building a snowman or lying in the snow just to see what it felt like—childish stuff I hadn’t thought about in years.

But then I’d snap back to reality, remind myself that there were charts to update, vitals to check, and staff to wrangle. Still, a part of me—one I didn’t quite understand—wondered what it would be like to let go for just a minute. To stop being so... in control all the time.

“Nicholas, darling, can I ask you something?” Mrs. Thompson called out, her glasses perched on the end of her nose like a pair of high-powered binoculars. “Have you had a chanceto talk to the new doctor? Dr. Webber?” she asked, dropping her voice conspiratorially.

“Yeah, I’ve seen him around,” I said, doing my best to sound casual. “Looks like he’s settling in fine.”

Mrs. Thompson didn’t seem satisfied with that. She tilted her head, lips pursed. “Just fine, eh? I hear he’s not exactly used to small towns like ours. You should take him around, show him how lovely our town is.”

I blinked. “Why would I do that?”

“It’s the Christmas season, for heaven’s sake,” she said, waving me off. “What better time to introduce a newcomer to our holiday spirit?”

“Right.” I couldn’t help the amused edge creeping into my voice. “Because nothing says ‘welcome’ like dragging a guy around to look at string lights and window displays.”

Beverly, who’d been listening in from across the room, smiled as she joined in. “I think it’s a great idea. Dr. Webber is from San Francisco, right? He probably hasn’t seen Christmas in a place like this. You should show him the Christmas market.”

I groaned inwardly. “I’m not his tour guide, Beverly.”

“Oh, come on. Wouldn’t you love to see the look on his face when he walks through our little downtown,” she teased. “Plus, I’m sure you could use a little fun, Nicky. Don’t be such a Grinch.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m not being a Grinch.”

“Of course not,” she teased. “But we’re all counting on you to show him howlovelyChristmas is here. You’ll make a great ambassador for Juniper Hollow.”

---