Page 42 of The Grumpy Doc's Surprise Delivery

I flinch at the memory. Chris was my last serious boyfriend, and Phoebe hated him. In the end she was right. He was the kind ofguy who wanted me to dote on him and didn’t like how hard I worked. He wanted babies and a white wedding, and it got way too intense way too fast.

I should be glad that Liam isn’t like that. Taking it slow isn’t such a bad thing.

“Exactly. But this feels different. It really does. I don’t want to speak too soon or curse it or whatever, but I think this could be something. For real. This could be it.”

I’m expecting Phoebe to tease me, but she doesn’t. She just smiles at me, her eyes full of that warmth that has always made me feel safe. “I hope so. For your sake, I hope so.”

“Me too,” I say, confessing something I’ve barely dared to confess to myself.

Phoebe turns to me and takes my hands, squeezing them tightly. “I need you to promise me right now that you won’t even think about planning your wedding without telling me.”

“Are you kidding?” I scoff. “You’ll be my number-one advisor. I don’t know anything about this stuff! You’re the one who knows how to make things pretty and perfect.”

“I cannot wait to be pretty and perfect again.”

I roll my eyes. “You already are, dummy. You’reglowing.”

“Glowing? Tell me that when I’m puking.”

We dissolve into giggles, and Phoebe starts telling me about all the things she can’t wait to do when she stops being the size of a small whale. I tell her off for the comment, but we’re on a roll and can’t stop laughing.

It’s a weight off my shoulders, because I’ve been worrying about Liam for days now. But here, laughing with Phoebe — it makes me believe that love is possible. I have it right here in front of me.

I might have a future with Liam too.

CHAPTER 22

LIAM

I’m slumped down in the break room, head in my hands. They’re shaking. I’m only now aware of how ragged my breaths are as they fall out of my mouth.

It’s been a while since we’ve had a trauma like that come in, and I guess it’s made me complacent. That and spending all this time with Emma. Not that it’s her fault there was an accident. Of course not.

One of the junior doctors who was in the surgery with me comes to sit next to me. “Dr. Mercer? Are you okay?” he asks. His name is Malcolm or Michael or something, recently graduated, new here and still full of the eagerness of youth.

“Fine,” I say, hoping he can’t see my hands shaking.

“Do you need a sports drink or something? Get your electrolytes back up? That was a long one.”

“I’m aware,” I say tersely, not looking at him.

“It’s tough when that happens, isn’t it? A case like this?”

“It’s the job,” I snap, looking up at him with a blaze of fury. I don’t care that I sound unkind.

I just spent ten hours in surgery, all because a pregnant woman was trying to run from her husband. I don’t know all the details, and I don’t want to — the guy was mad enough that they had to escort him out of the building, and the woman was begging for us to keep him away.

It was a miracle that we were able to save the baby.

I turn on the kid next to me. “That won’t be the last case like that. You need to grow a thicker skin, or think about if this is the job for you.”

“Jeez, I was only trying to help,” says Malcolm or Michael or whatever, sitting up like he’s mentally taking a step back.

Good. He can surely see that I’m in no mood to talk. I’m tired, I ache, and I’m running on empty.

“Okay, well, I’m going to go, I guess,” he says awkwardly. I say nothing and don’t watch as he leaves.

The door slams shut behind him, and once more, I’m alone.

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