Page 113 of Stuck with Doctor Grump

I stared down at my boots; dirt crusted around the toes. Everything felt off-kilter.

"He’s just scared," Hazel added. "You both are. That means it matters."

That night, the cottage was too quiet. Even the chimes in the garden felt like they were holding their breath.

I tried to journal but only managed a grocery list.

I tried to watch a movie but turned it off ten minutes in.

Finally, I gave up entirely and grabbed my jacket.

The clinic was mostly dark when I arrived, except for a soft glow from Damien's office. I hesitated at the door, hand hovering above the handle.

Inside, it was a mess of papers, coffee cups, and blueprints. And there he was—asleep at his desk, one arm slung across the plans, the other hand loosely holding my daisy sketch like it was something sacred.

My heart squeezed.

I moved quietly, setting a muffin on his desk from the basket Hazel insisted I take earlier. I brushed my fingers against his shoulder. "Damien."

He stirred, groggy and disoriented. "Ruby? What time…?"

"Late," I said softly. "You didn’t come back."

He sat up, blinking at the room. "I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I just…needed to think."

I nodded, sliding into the chair across from him. "And did you? Think?"

He looked at the daisy drawing in his hand. "Yeah. Maybe too much."

"I shouldn’t have pushed so hard earlier," I said. "I know this matters to you. I just want us to move forward together."

Damien leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "You were right to push. I just... when the zoning issue came up, it felt like everything we were building could unravel. And I panicked."

"I know."

He met my gaze, tired and tender. "This place, this project—it’s the first time I’ve imagined a life outside of operating rooms and hospital schedules. And that’s terrifying."

I reached across the desk, covering his hand with mine. "It should be. Because it’s real. It’s messy and imperfect and full of people who will drop shovels on their toes and cry during speeches."

He smiled. "Hazel again?"

"Naturally."

We sat there for a long moment, just breathing in the quiet. Outside, a raccoon tipped over the trash can, and we both laughed at the clatter.

"And Ruby?"

"Thank you for showing up. Even when the garden flooded."

My voice caught. "Always."

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Then he straightened, stretching out his stiff limbs, and looked up at me with something soft and steady in his gaze.

“What if we scaled it back,” he said slowly, “focused more on what this town actually needs? On the kids. The elders. The artists. The heartbeat of Cedar Springs.”

I smiled. “A center where people can plant something and watch it grow. Not just flowers. Hope. Purpose. Healing.”

He grabbed a pencil and slid a blank sheet toward us. “Okay,” he said, eyes shining. “Let’s rework it.”

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