Page 44 of Stuck with Doctor Grump

If he was leaving, I wouldn’t beg.

And if he was staying… he’d have to prove it.

Not with whispered words or aching glances.

With action.

With truth.

With staying, even when it was inconvenient.

Even when it was me.

By the time I returned to the community center, the sound of clinking glasses and soft jazz wrapped around me like a well-meaning but slightly smothering hug. My fingers tightened around the bouquet, the weight of Damien’s jacket still lingering in the crook of my arm like an echo of something I’d almost let myself believe in.

The crowd had gathered in front of the stage, murmuring in excitement as Eleanor adjusted the mic stand. Her smile was bright, but when she spotted me walking in, it softened with something more tender. She gave me a quick nod and stepped aside.

Showtime.

I climbed the stage steps slowly, aware of the eyes on me, the hush that followed. Somewhere near the back, I felt Damien’s presence before I saw him—still in shirtsleeves, jaw tight, hands at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.

I didn’t look directly at him.

Couldn’t.

Instead, I turned to the podium, set the bouquet down, and adjusted the mic with fingers that trembled for reasons I didn’t want to name.

“Good evening, Cedar Springs,” I began, forcing brightness into my voice. “Thank you for being here tonight—and for helping make this gala something truly magical.”

Applause echoed back, warm and kind. I smiled through it, even as my chest threatened to cave in.

“We’ve had music, dancing, donations that broke our wildest goals,” I continued. “But more than anything, we’ve had heart. And that’s what tonight’s awards are about—recognizing the people who pour theirs into this town every single day.”

I listed the names of the volunteers, the organizers, the business owners who gave time and resources to make the nighthappen. Their cheers and gratitude filled the room, and I let their joy prop me up like scaffolding.

“And finally,” I said, my voice dipping, “I want to say something that’s not on the script.”

The room stilled.

I swallowed hard and pressed forward.

“Sometimes, success isn’t about accolades. It’s not about titles or fancy job offers or perfect timing. It’s about showing up. For your neighbors. Your community.” My gaze swept the crowd. “For the people who see you—even when you’re falling apart.”

And then my eyes found him.

Damien stood in the back corner of the room, perfectly still, his eyes locked on mine like we were the only two people left in the room. Like he knew. Like he felt it too.

I took one breath too many.

“Thank you,” I said quickly, stepping back from the podium as the applause surged again, polite and genuine.

But I didn’t stay to bask in it.

I walked offstage before Eleanor could hug me, before anyone could stop me for a photo or a glass of punch or a cheerful “wasn’t that lovely?”

Before he could get to me.

Because he was moving—through the crowd, parting it like he always did, not with force but with presence. Intent. That doctor’s gait, confident and steady.

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