Page 31 of Single Daddy Doctor Dreamy

He glances over his shoulder, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Desperately."

I laugh, stepping in to take over juice duty while he focuses on the bacon and eggs. The boys cheer, and for a moment, it’s easy to forget the tangle of emotions from last night. Here, in this cozy kitchen filled with laughter and the smell of breakfast, everything feels simple. Right.

As the day unfolds, the boys drag us into their world of video games and holiday planning. We string popcorn garlands for the tree, bake cookies that somehow end up more in Finn’s mouth than on the tray, and laugh until our sides hurt. Joel is quieter than usual, his smiles softer, his laughter tinged with something I can’t quite place.

Later, when the boys are engrossed in a movie, I find him on the porch, staring out at the snow-covered yard. He’s holding a mug of coffee, the steam curling around his fingers, and his expression is faraway, contemplative.

"Penny for your thoughts?" I ask, stepping out to join him.

He startles slightly but then relaxes, offering me a faint smile. "Just thinking."

"About?"

He hesitates, and for a moment, I think he’s not going to answer. But then he sighs, his breath visible in the chilly air. "About how much has changed. About what… what I want."

There’s a vulnerability in his voice that makes my chest ache. I reach out, resting a hand on his arm. "Change can be good," I say softly. "Even if it’s scary."

He turns to look at me, his green eyes searching mine. "And what about you? Are you scared?"

"Terrified," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "But I think… I think it’s worth it."

His hand covers mine, warm and steady, and the moment stretches between us, fragile and full of possibility.

That evening, after the boys are tucked into bed, we find ourselves in the living room, the glow of the fireplace casting flickering shadows on the walls. Joel is on the couch, his head resting against the back, his eyes closed. I sit in the chair across from him, a cup of tea cradled in my hands, and watch as the tension in his face slowly fades.

"Joel," I say softly, and his eyes open, meeting mine.

"Yeah?"

I hesitate, the words forming and reforming in my mind. "I… I want you to know that I’m here. Whatever we decide, whatever happens with us, I won’t abandon you and the boys."

He sits up, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "Lucy… this thing between us, it’s… it’s not just a passing thing, is it?"

I shake my head, unable to look away from him. "No. It’s not."

He exhales slowly, his shoulders relaxing as if a weight has been lifted. "Good. Because I don’t think I could let you go, even if I tried."

The honesty in his voice leaves me breathless, and for a moment, all I can do is stare at him, my heart pounding in my chest. I set my cup down and cross the room, sitting beside him on the couch. He watches me, his expression soft, and when I reach for his hand, he takes mine without hesitation.

"This is scary," I whisper, my voice trembling. "But it’s also… it’s also the best thing I’ve felt in a long time."

He nods, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand. "Me too."

We sit there in silence, the crackling fire the only sound in the room. It’s a silence that feels full, not empty, like all the things we want to say but don’t need to. And in that moment, I know. Whatever comes next, whatever challenges we face, we’ll face them together.

Later the next morning, while Joel runs errands, I sit at the kitchen table with my laptop, sipping a steaming mug of coffee. The boys’ laughter filters in from the living room where they’re busy with a puzzle. It’s the perfect time to think, to plan.

Joel’s candidacy for Chief of Staff is still a topic of quiet tension, and I can see the weight of it in his every move. The hospital’s politics are grueling, and his rivalry with Dr. Rivkin isn’t helping. Rivkin… something about him has always rubbed me the wrong way, but it wasn’t until recently that I began to wonder if there’s more to it.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I start searching online for anything about Dr. Rivkin. Most of it is standard; professional accolades, conference appearances, published articles. But then I stumble across something buried in a thread on a medical forum. A nurse from another hospital had commented about Rivkin’s dismissive and inappropriate behavior toward staff, particularly female nurses. Her account is detailed and unsettling, and a quick search reveals more stories. There are accounts from other nurses and even a few doctors who claim to have witnessed his behavior firsthand.

My stomach tightens as I read, each new story painting a more troubling picture. Worse, it seems that these complaints were largely ignored by the board of directors at his previous hospital. They’d brushed it under the rug, citing a lack of concrete evidence, but the sheer number of accounts is hard to dismiss.

When Joel returns, his arms full of groceries, I meet him at the door, my laptop still in hand. "Joel, we need to talk."

He raises an eyebrow, his expression shifting to concern. "What’s wrong?"

"It’s about Rivkin," I say, leading him to the kitchen table. "I found something."

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