Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
JESSE
Shane’s street still dreamed in shades of blue and gray. I exhaled a cloud into the October dawn and walked past a neighboring building that leaked salsa music through a cracked-open window. Otherwise—early Sunday silence.
I leaned on Shane’s doorbell until he grumbled an insult through the intercom, then turned to his Corolla parked at the curb, wonderfully reliable and about as flashy as a tax return, its hood beaded with morning dew. Perfect camouflage for a clandestine day trip with a boy I shouldn’t want.
Huh. Seemed I was still prepared to break some rules.
Shane ambled out a couple of minutes later and offered me a demonstrative yawn. “Just so we’re clear, seven on a Sunday is above and beyond the call of friendship duty.”
“Some of us regularly work on Sundays,” I said.
“Suckers.” He gave me a once-over that registered my trail sneakers and jeans, the simple flannel shirt, and a teal Patagonia jacket that I’d bought on my first fellow salary. “Nice,” he said. “Very ‘I know how to be practical without draping myself in neon.’”
“Exactly what I was going for.” I snatched the car key from him and tossed my daypack into the backseat. Vanilla air freshener wafted out.
“Got everything?” Shane asked. His hair was sticking up in sleepy tufts at the back of his head. “Picnic stuff, candles, lube?”
“It’s not about getting laid,” I told him.
“Right.” Shane nodded, all indulgence. “Because been there, done him.”
“Funny.”
“Thanks,” he said brightly, then sobered. “So—Harriman State Park. A whole day, just the two of you. You sure about this?”
“Yes.” I slipped in behind the wheel and adjusted the mirror, mostly to avoid the worried look in his eyes.
“Even with attending applications opening two months from now?” he asked.
I thought of taking Finn home when he’d been sick, of his quiet “Stay?” Thought of how he’d held steady during the long, grinding hours of simulating the Jackson-twin surgery, biting back coughs that made his eyes water because even a tiny slip-up might have prompted Novak to swap him out.
How he’d smiled, sweet like a secret, when I’d passed him a bottle of water, our fingers brushing.
“I’m sure,” I said.
“Okay then.” Shane’s shoulders dropped. “Never thought I’d see you risk your career for a boy, you know?”
It twisted oddly through my stomach, like a Christmas cracker going off. “That a good or a bad thing?”
“I don’t actually know.” He pursed his mouth. “But he must be something really special for you to feel like he’s worth it.”
“Yeah.” I exhaled. “I think he is.”
“Good. Then go.” Shane tapped the roof. “Gas is half-full, insurance card and the like in the glovebox. Don’t total my car. Don’t total your date either.”
“No promises on the second.”
His eyes softened. “Hey, man. He’s slept with you twice, survived weeks of you bossing him around, and seen you wearing scrubs that make everyone look like a sack of potatoes—and he still wants to spend his day off with you. I’d say your odds are excellent.”
“When you put it like that…” I smiled. “Thanks, Shane. Really.”
“Anytime.”
I twisted the key. He nudged the door shut and stepped back with a wave as the engine sputtered to life, indie guitar scratching through the speakers—something about open roads.
Right on.
For lack of better options, I’d wedged the Corolla into a stretch of curb where even idling got you a ticket, hazard lights clicking out a slow heartbeat.
“Law-free zone indicators,” my dad liked to call them whenever we passed drivers loitering where they shouldn’t, his tone wry and a hint disapproving.
Yep—that was me today.
Finn emerged from his building as if he’d walked straight out of some outdoorsy lifestyle ad—blue hoodie peeking out from under a black jacket, dark jeans, trail shoes, curls swept to one side in a way that tried for casual but veered straight into I put some effort into this.
When he spotted me, he smiled, quiet but direct.
It felt like a stone in still water. Ripples all the way down to my toes.
Keep it together.
I leaned across the passenger seat and popped the door. “You clean up nice.”
He paused halfway to sliding in, mock-offended. “This is me cleaned up? Yikes.”
“Compared to sweating through hospital-issue scrubs that look good on exactly no one? You’re ready for the runway.”
His laugh came out gentle like a caress. He plopped into the seat, daypack thudding to the floor. “That’s very generous.”
“Wait until you see the picnic I packed. Sandwiches, fruit, coffee—the works.” I watched him for a beat, hands on the wheel, something sweetly achy pulling at my chest. Nothing separated us but the small gap between our seats and the distant shadow of hospital realities, his eyes the same shade of blue as the sky just tipping into daylight.
I could kiss him. He’d let me—probably, very likely, would maybe even meet me halfway. Just a quick, light brush of our lips while the city yawned awake. Low risk.
“Generous?” His voice was a hint too low, hushed even as it tilted into playful territory. “Honestly, I was hoping for a five-course tasting menu and a string quartet.”
“That’s the second date.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Got to earn it first, huh?”
“No such thing as a free lunch.” I eased us into gear.
We drove for a block before he said, “So… Harriman. You been before?”
“A few times, yeah. Mostly during my residency, whenever I needed to clear my head.” I flicked him a sideways glance. “Big trees. Quiet lakes. Spotty reception—in case you’re one of those people who panic if they can’t refresh their social media feeds every five seconds.”
“I’ll try to cope.” It carried amusement, and yeah, I didn’t really see him as the type of guy who lost hours staring at his screen. “You’ll just have to entertain me instead.”
“Sounds like a threat.”
“It’s an invitation.” He huffed out a small chuckle and slouched back, tipping his head slightly to study me. “Also, I had a twenty-four yesterday and my schedule’s been a little messed up. Just a warning in case I start sleep-talking about blood gas levels.”
“Nap,” I said immediately.
“I’m not napping on our first date.”
Our first date—Jesus. I breathed through the faint sense of disbelief. “Why not? It’s a one-hour drive, and I’ve got the radio to entertain me. I’ll be fine.”
His mouth curved up. “And then you’ll tell everyone I’m bad company. ‘Fell asleep five minutes in, can you believe it?’”
“Everyone?” I snorted, letting the car behind us pass before the dude started camping out in our trunk. “Hardly.”
“Yeah,” Finn said softly, a hint of something shining through that I couldn’t place. Wistfulness? Which—right. Go me for dragging down the mood.
“I might tell Shane you snore,” I said, deliberately light. “Might add some creative descriptions of drool, just for good measure.”
Finn’s expression brightened. “Best friend, right?”
It was strange—the things we knew and didn’t know about each other, random trinkets of intimate knowledge at odds with missing basics like the people closest to us.
“Best friend, yeah,” I confirmed. “And former roommate. Also the owner of this very car, so if you accidentally sit on a glitter glue stick, that’s because he’s an elementary school teacher.”
“You seem very close.” Finn sounded curious, warm.
“We are.” I thought about leaving it at that but—hell.
This day was about getting to know each other with our clothes on.
Clothes that weren’t scrubs, at that. “He’s seen me break down after a bad shift.
I got him off his sofa after he split from his girl of six years.
It’s… I don’t have a lot of close friends, you know?
Easy to lose touch when you’re elbows-deep into your residency.
So, yeah. Shane is the person who knows me best.”
“Better than your parents?” Finn asked.
I drew a breath to answer, then thought better of it. We had all day. The idea stretched bright like the first rays of a sunrise. “Hold that question, okay? Nap now. Once we arrive, you’ve got at least six hours left to quiz me and be dazzling.”
“Dazzling?” He laughed, low in his throat, then stretched his legs out, head tilting back against the seat. “Makes me sound like a handful of fake diamonds.”
“Or a faux hooker.” I tagged on a grin to show it wasn’t a slight, and he winked at me, dimples pressing craters into his cheeks.
“Guilty as charged.”
“Sleep,” I told him.
“Fine.” His eyes drifted shut. “Wake me when we get there?”
“You got it.”
“Thanks, Jesse.” A slow blink and a glance from beneath lowered lashes. “Looking forward to the day, you know?”
“Me too.” Simple honesty.
He smiled without opening his eyes, mouth soft around the edges, and just like that, the air in the car shifted.
While the city began peeling away in layers—brick and fire escapes giving over to chain-link fences, then maples streaked with rust-red leaves—his head lolled toward the window, features relaxed, lashes dark against skin still a touch too pale from long hospital hours.
Another ripple of warmth along my nerve endings. I tightened my hands on the wheel and kept driving.
A curve in the road brought the lake into view, silvery blue and still, framed by a ragged ring of maples. I parked in the gravel lot and killed the engine. Sudden silence pressed in—nothing but the faint whisper of leaves.
Beautiful.
I turned to Finn, allowed myself a minute to truly study him. His lips were slightly parted, face smooth and unguarded, sunlight catching on his cheek and trickling down the curve of his jaw.
Beautiful.
“Hey,” I murmured.
He didn’t even stir.
I cupped his face with a light touch. “Finn, hey. We’re here.”