Page 102 of Stuck with Doctor Grump

I stood, envelope still in hand. “I’m heading back to Cedar Springs.”

“Good.”

“I’m not sure what comes next. We’ve got ideas—dreams. A hub for floral therapy, mental health, maybe even wellness clinics.”

His eyes lit up. “Now that’s the medicine of the future. People forget the heart isn’t just a muscle. It’s the center.”

“Exactly.”

We hugged—quick and strong, the way men do when they don’t need to say anything else.

As I turned to leave, he called out, “You’ll make mistakes again. Just make them with people who matter.”

I turned at the door. “That’s the plan.”

Back in the truck, I placed the manila envelope on the passenger seat next to Ruby’s letter and the daisy she’d once pressed into my palm. The city skyline blinked in the distance behind me, but I didn’t look back.

The road ahead shimmered with promise.

And this time, I wasn’t running from anything.

I was heading toward everything.

…

The sky outside my windshield burned soft amber, that in-between light where day kissed night and everything felt suspended—like time was holding its breath. I glanced at the dashboard clock. I was cutting it close.

I tapped out the message with one thumb while the other hand steadied the wheel.

Back by sunset. Hope there’s coffee—and cookies you pretend you didn’tburn. Send.

A grin tugged at the corner of my mouth. I could almost hear her laugh, the way it curled up like wind chimes in warm weather. I hadn’t heard it in days. I missed it like oxygen.

A small bakery bag rustled in the seat beside me—Hazel had tipped me off to Ruby’s favorite shortbread, so I stopped at a roadside market and grabbed two dozen. One dozen to share. One for emergencies.

The trees along the edge of the road blurred into soft green shadows as I curved down the familiar backroad toward Cedar Springs. The place that felt more like home than anywhere else had ever dared to. The duffel bag in the backseat held my past life. The pressed daisy in my jacket pocket held my future.

I was almost there.

Ruby

I read Damien’s text three times, my fingers curled tight around my phone like I was afraid it might vanish. Hazel, standing beside me with a tray of peach scones, leaned over my shoulder.

And squealed.

Then, before I could blink, she’d spun me around in a full, dizzying circle like we were teenagers at prom and she was escorting me to a Taylor Swift song.

I laughed, breathless. “Hazel!”

She beamed. “He’s coming home.”

“I think he really is,” I whispered.

I stared out the window toward the horizon, where orange and rose gold brushed the sky in long strokes. Cedar Springs glowed like a storybook illustration—lights flickering on in shop windows, the scent of cinnamon and honeysuckle threading through the evening air.

Still, a part of me ached.

“I’m scared I’m dreaming,” I admitted, barely louder than the breeze.

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