Page 11 of Stuck with Doctor Grump

The storm outside howled.

But in here, something softer bloomed.

Something dangerously close to connection.

The storm had quieted, but inside the Magnolia Suite, everything felt louder.

The tick of the antique wall clock.The soft crackle of the fireplace.The inhale and exhale of two people trying not to admit that sharing a bed wasn’t nearly as awkward as it should’ve been.

We lay back-to-back, a pillow wall between us like the last line of defense in a war neither of us really wanted to fight anymore.

I stared at the ceiling, counting the faint flickers of candlelight dancing across the molding. The room smelled like lavender and cedar, like sleep and tension. Outside, wind still tugged gently at the shutters, but the downpour had mellowed to a soft drizzle.

Damien hadn’t moved in twenty minutes.

I hadn’t moved in ten.

Still, my brain refused to shut up.

There was something about being wrapped in warm blankets next to the one person who drove you crazy… and made your heart feel like it might break through your ribs all at once. Something about the way he had listened earlier, really listened, and shared his story like he didn’t even realize it mattered to me.

I stared at the wall and whispered into the quiet, “You ever wonder if you’re just… too much work to love?”

Silence stretched.

Then—

“Only every day.”

His voice was low. Unfiltered. Like the truth had slipped out before he could guard it behind that calm, careful armor.

I turned.

Slowly, hesitantly, I rolled over and peeked over the pillow wall.

Damien was already facing me.

The glow from the fireplace lit his face in soft gold, tracing the hard lines of his jaw, the faint crease between his brows. He looked nothing like the smug control freak who had argued with me over string lights and everything like the man who’d confessed he once felt more tool than human.

I reached out, brushing my fingers over the pillow that separated us.

He did the same.

The barrier crumpled between us like it had never been there at all.

We lay there, inches apart, and I let myself look—really look—at him.

The furrow in his brow.The pain he didn’t speak of.The part of him that didn’t run from my chaos, even when it clearly terrified him.

And something inside me softened. Broke open.

His hand found mine between the sheets. Rough palm, warm skin, slow grip.

My breath hitched as he leaned closer.

No words.

Just the steady, magnetic pull of two people too tired to fight whatever this was anymore.

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