Page 32 of Doctor Hot Mess

Mason narrows his eyes, swirling his wine like he’s in a melodrama. “Do you always have such theatrical cases, or does Birmingham just bring out the chaos?”

“The bigger the city, the bigger the blood, drama, and horror,” I say, smirking. “It’s like a magnet for mayhem.”

He leans forward, chin in hand. “And let me guess: you, the ever-compassionate Harper, took this Jane Doe under your wing?”

I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “What can I say? She didn’t have anyone, and I couldn’t just leave her to feel alone. You were out of town, so I didn't have anything to do that night, so I took a second shift to make sure she was okay.”

His gaze softens for a beat, and then he straightens, a sly grin creeping across his face. “A modern day Mother Theresa right here, Ladies and Gentlemen. Alright, cut to the juicy part. I want less M.A.S.H. and more General Hospital. Cut to the scandalous backstory.”

I hesitate, my fingers toying with the hem of my sweater. “Well... turns out Jane Doe is Jonah’s sister.”

Mason’s eyes widen, and he nearly spills his wine. “Stop. You’re telling me the damsel in distress is related to Doctor Hot Mess himself?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” I laugh, shaking my head. “But it wasn’t like she remembered him right away. Her amnesia stuck around for a full thirty-six hours. By Monday midday, things started coming back to her. She remembered her full name—which, of course, is Bellinger. Then she mentioned her brother was a surgeon, and that’s when I put two and two together. She’s Jonah’s sister.”

Mason’s jaw drops, his wineglass frozen midair. “Stop it. You mean to tell me this woman, who you’ve been Florence Nightingale-ing all weekend, is related totheJonah Bellinger?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” I reply, the absurdity of it all not lost on me.

“And you just casually reunited a battered Jane Doe with her long-lost brother? What even is your life?”

"I'm not going to lie, it was emotional."

Mason gasps theatrically. “Wait. So you’ve already seen them together? Did he cry? Was there a dramatic reunion?”

“It wasn’t like that,” I say, though the memory of Jonah gripping Lila’s hand stays fresh in my mind. “He was... grateful. More than that, actually. He really loves her. I saw a deeper side to him, which was refreshing.”

Mason raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t that the Jonah Bellinger Special? Charming, lovable, and emotionally unavailable?”

I snort. “This was different. Seeing him with Lila—it’s hard to explain. He’s not just some smooth-talking playboy. He cares, Mason. And he apologized to me. For everything.”

“Hold up,” Mason says, leaning forward. “Like, an actual apology?”

“An actual apology,” I confirm, swirling the last of my wine in the glass. “And he asked if we could talk. Like, really talk. We grabbed a drink the other night.”

Mason leans forward, his eyes glittering with interest. “Oh, you did, did you? And, how was it?”

I shrug, trying to keep my tone casual. “It was... a little tense at first, I’m not going to lie. But by the end, it was like old times. Short and sweet—I had plans to meet my mom for dinner—but it felt like a good step. Like we could maybe smooth over the mess and get back to our friendship. We both agreed we missed it.”

“And?” he prompts, waving his hand in a circular motion. “How are you feeling about it?”

I pause, thinking it over. “I appreciated the effort. I can tell he’s really trying to be a better friend. Honestly, I think we might be able to put it all behind us.”

Mason raises an eyebrow. “Oh, youthinkyou might?”

“Iknowwe can,” I insist, sitting up straighter. “We’re supposed to work out together Friday afternoon. I'm off, and he gets done around two, and I desperately need to get back in the gym.”

Mason clasps his hands together dramatically, practically vibrating with glee. “Oh, honey, you’re done for.”

I glare at him, but a reluctant smile tugs at my lips. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure it’s not,” he says, his tone teasing as he takes a victorious sip of his wine. “Just don’t come crying to me when the sparks start flying and you accidentally fall into his bed again.”

“Please.” I roll my eyes, setting my glass on the table. “We’re friends. That’s it.”

“For now,” he sing-songs, leaning back against the couch. “But I’ve seen this rom-com, darling. And let me tell you—it never ends with just the workout.”

I shake my head, standing to clear the glasses. “You’re the only person I know that accidentally falls into bed with the wrong man.”

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