Page 30 of Stuck with Doctor Grump

It skimmed my lower back. Light. Brief. But firm enough to ground me.

My breath caught.

It wasn’t possessive. It wasn’t accidental.

It was intentional—a silent touch that said, I’m here. I’ve got you.

It lingered for one second too long.

And I felt every inch of it.

We didn’t speak.

But the question settled between us, hanging heavy and electric in the air.

What happens now?

Chapter eight

Damien

The rain had finally stopped, but the stillness outside my window didn’t bring peace—only questions.

I sat in the leather armchair in my home office, the familiar hum of the desk lamp buzzing faintly overhead. My laptop cast a dull glow across the room, highlighting the neat rows of patient files I’d pulled up out of habit. Open cases. Past procedures. Heart rhythms I could still feel in my hands.

My inbox pinged.

I clicked out of the surgical records and leaned forward, squinting at the new message.

Subject: Opportunity: Lead Role in NYC Cardiac Research Initiative From: Dr. Whitaker – Chief of Cardiology

I didn’t open it at first. Just stared at the bolded subject line like it might detonate.

Of course it was him.

Whitaker had been my mentor at St. David’s—brilliant, hard-edged, exacting. He used to pace outside my OR like a hawk, waiting for the moment he could praise me or tear me apartdepending on how the procedure went. The man didn’t believe in comfort. He believed in outcomes.

He once told me, during one of our late-night debriefs after a near-impossible valve repair, “One day, Cole, you’ll have to choose between saving lives... or living yours. Most men like us can’t do both.”

At the time, I thought it was poetic nonsense.

Now I wasn’t so sure.

I clicked the message.

We’ve been following your sabbatical from afar and were excited to hear you’re still in practice, even if unofficially. We’d love to discuss a leadership opportunity in our next cardiac research initiative. Full autonomy. Funding. A chance to shape the next generation of medicine. Let’s talk.

-W

I let out a long, slow breath and leaned back, rubbing a hand over my jaw.

It was everything I’d once wanted. A future designed by precision. Structured. Predictable.

And yet—

All I could see was her face.

Ruby, barefoot in her shop, twirling with a garland of peonies in her hair. Ruby, lip bitten in concentration as she tried to decipher my clipboard. Ruby, wide-eyed and furious when she spilled coffee on my shirt, then bold enough to throw sass right back at me.

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