Page 38 of Stuck with Doctor Grump

And still, she’d said,Then don’t.

The smallest invitation. The biggest risk.

Now here I was, in a suit I hated, heading to a gala I’d helped plan, torn between a future that fit neatly on a Manhattan skyline and a messy, beautiful life blooming here in Cedar Springs.

My heart beat faster. Not from anxiety.

From choice.

I grabbed my keys and headed out the door.

The town hall was unrecognizable. Warm light spilled through the stained-glass windows, and music drifted into the street. Icaught my reflection in a window as I walked up the steps—sharp lines, serious face, shoulders too tight.

I’d worn this same expression to funerals and fundraisers. But tonight, I wanted something different.

I wanted to feel alive.

Inside, laughter and music mingled. Couples danced beneath strings of twinkling lights. Centerpieces of wildflowers and herbs sat on every table, their scent fresh and grounding. Ruby’s touch was everywhere—chaotic and vibrant, like her.

I spotted Eleanor chatting with the mayor. Brandon was refilling punch. Hazel wore a sunflower-yellow dress that probably doubled as a personality.

And then I saw her.

Ruby stood across the room in a deep violet dress, soft fabric cinched at her waist, her hair in loose waves pinned with tiny pearls. Her cheeks glowed with something that wasn’t just blush.

She looked like herself. Fully, unapologetically herself.

And it nearly brought me to my knees.

She caught me staring. Her gaze held for a beat—long enough to make my chest ache—then she turned to shake hands with the mayor. I’d missed that spark. That ease. That way she filled a room like light catching on glass.

And I had no idea if I still had a place in her orbit.

“Dr. Cole,” said a woman with a clipboard, snapping me back to Earth. “They’d like the co-hosts near the flower arch in five.”

“Copy that,” I said automatically.

I found Ruby waiting by the arch, holding a champagne flute she wasn’t drinking. The crowd milled behind us, but in this moment, it felt like we were the only two people tethered in place while the rest of the world swirled on.

“You ready?” I asked.

She smiled, but it was the kind she used when she wanted people to stop asking questions. “Fake it till you make it, right?”

I shook my head, voice low. “I’m tired of faking anything around you.”

She stilled.

Just for a second. Then she turned toward the flash of the photographer, lifting her glass with another radiant, practiced smile.

But her fingers were trembling.

We greeted guests’ side by side, smiling for photos, shaking hands. Her laughter floated up too high. Mine was too flat. We were polished. Posed.

And one glance was all it took to know we were both unraveling beneath the surface.

Later, she disappeared briefly before the speeches. The mayor kicked things off with a few words about small-town unity and progress, then introduced Ruby to the stage.

The moment she stepped under the spotlight, the room quieted. Her heels clicked softly on the hardwood, echoing through the hush.

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