Page 77 of Stuck with Doctor Grump

“I’m delivering for Ruby Shea. Entry number forty-two.” I held my ground, steady and calm. It was a look I used to wear like armor in the OR—unflinching, immovable, exactly when it counted.

The man squinted. “She’s up in the corner tent. Looked like she was about to throw in the towel.”

My chest tightened. Not on my watch.

I jogged across the courtyard, dodging floral arches and distracted artists with paint-splattered aprons. When I found her, Ruby was kneeling beside an unfinished installation, her hands limp in her lap, a single strand of ivy dangling from her fingers. Her face was pale, and her eyes were glassy.

She didn’t see me at first.

“Ruby,” I said softly.

Her head jerked up.

I grinned. “You didn’t think I’d let you wither, did you?”

She blinked, clearly processing the sight of me, then the crate. “Is that—how—what—?”

“You’re welcome.” I crouched and opened the lid, revealing the delicate freesia blooms in perfect condition.

Her hand flew to her mouth. “I… Damien, I was just about to—”

“Drop out?” I finished for her, gently. “Yeah. Hazel told me. And I knew if I waited for someone else to fix it, it’d be too late.”

She reached into the crate, touching a blossom like it was made of spun sugar. “I called five suppliers. None of them could guarantee a thing.”

“I called twenty. One had them, in a town three hours away.” I shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “So, I canceled my day, borrowed Brandon’s truck, and made it in two and a half. Let’s not tell him how fast I drove.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears.

“Don’t cry,” I murmured, brushing a smudge of dirt from her cheek. “You’ll ruin your ‘florist warrior’ aesthetic.”

She laughed through a sniffle. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m still a surgeon, Ruby.” I brushed her hair back and leaned close, just enough to feel her breath catch. “I know how to make sure the heart doesn’t flatline.”

Her chin trembled. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

I didn’t say anything. Just leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead—an anchor, a promise, a breath of calm in the middle of chaos.

“Go win this,” I whispered. “Show them what happens when beauty refuses to break.”

She nodded; voice stuck somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Wait—are you staying?”

“I can’t.” I stepped back, reluctantly. “The clinic’s got follow-ups, and I’ve already ducked out longer than I should’ve. Besides…” I gestured toward the flowers. “My job’s done.”

“You’re sure?”

I offered a half smile. “Ruby, I drove across the state to deliver a crate of rare flowers just so you could put your chaos on display. You don’t need me hovering. You need to shine.”

Her hand slipped into mine briefly. “You always know what to say.”

I squeezed her fingers. “No. But I know how to believe in you until you remember to believe in yourself.”

She looked like she might kiss me right there—and honestly, I wouldn’t have minded. But instead, she turned back to the installation, hands already moving with renewed purpose, like energy had surged back into her veins.

I took one last look before I turned to leave.

There was my girl—half-covered in greenery, talking to herself about negative space and line balance, her braid slipping loose over one shoulder.

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