Page 70 of Stuck with Doctor Grump

“I know.” Her lips curved, soft and sure. “And so does that girl. So does every life you touch.”

I swallowed the knot in my throat. “It scares me—how much I still want it. That world. The control. The certainty.”

Ruby reached up, brushing my hair from my forehead. “That’s not weakness, Damien. That’s passion. And it’s okay to have more than one.”

I kissed her then. Not because I had the answers, but because her presence made the questions bearable.

We lay down on the couch together, our bodies tangled beneath the patchwork quilt. The wind howled outside, but in here, there was only the soft cadence of our breathing and the tiny snap of the candle’s wick.

“I don’t know how this is all going to work,” I said, voice thick.

“We’ll figure it out,” she whispered. “Even if we have to draw the blueprint ourselves.”

I pulled her closer, resting my chin on her head. She fit against me like a promise I didn’t know I’d made until I found myself keeping it.

And as the storm rolled on and the night deepened around us, we drifted—not into sleep, but into a quiet where dreams stirred gently. Flickering. Fragile.

But still alive.

The sun wasn’t even over the trees when I stepped out onto the porch, two travel mugs in hand and a knot twisting in my stomach.

Ruby was already at her car, stuffing one last box of florals in the backseat. Her hair was braided down her back, stray petals tangled in the strands like they'd refused to be left behind. Her excitement pulsed beneath the nerves. I could feel it; same way I could feel my chest tightening with every second closer to goodbye.

“Morning,” I said, passing her one of the mugs. “Hazelnut with too much cream. Just the way you like.”

She grinned and took a sip, then wrinkled her nose. “You always say too much, but really, it’s just enough.”

“Debatable,” I teased, but my voice didn’t quite match the smile.

Ruby leaned against the car door, watching me with that gaze that could see through everything. “You’re quiet.”

“I’ve been loading vases and stress dreams into this car for the past hour. I’m allowed to be quiet.”

She didn’t push. Just sipped her coffee and waited.

I walked over and tugged her suitcase into the trunk, tucking it next to her flower crates. Then I reached into my pocket and pulled out the small envelope I’d been carrying all morning.

Her brow lifted. “Is that a love note? Or an invoice for all your packing labor?”

“Open it when you get nervous,” I said, pressing it into her palm. “Not before. I mean it.”

“Cryptic. Very Nicholas Sparks of you.” She smirked, but her thumb ran over the edge of the envelope with care.

I took a breath and cupped her face, brushing my thumbs along her jaw. “I’m proud of you. No matter what happens out there. You belong on that stage.”

Her eyes shone, and for a second, she looked like she might say something deep—then she scoffed lightly, “Better not make me cry before I hit the highway. I’ve got ten miles of winding road and zero waterproof mascara.”

I kissed her. Not just because I didn’t want to say goodbye—but because she deserved to leave knowing exactly where my heart stood.

Her hands slid into my jacket as she leaned into me, her lips warm and familiar and bittersweet. When we finally pulled back, she whispered, “I love you.”

“I know,” I said, brushing my knuckles down her cheek. “Now go show them what sunshine in human form looks like.”

She laughed, wiping under her eyes, then climbed into the driver’s seat. “Tell Hazel I left emergency chocolate in the fridge. And if you burn the house down trying to cook without me, I’m haunting your ghost with passive-aggressive notes.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

The car rumbled to life, and with a final wave, she pulled away—sunlight catching the window, the petals on her dashboard fluttering like confetti.

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