Epilogue
Six Weeks Later
Somewhere nearby, a phone blares “Baby Shark.” I can’t help myself; I start doing the motions. A couple of nurses pass me, chuckling. I shimmy in response. No shame.
Pediatrics is fun. Way more colorful than the ER—and way more brutal. There’s a cartoon tiger grinning above the nurses’ station, a stash of coloring books by the sink, and a rainbow of plastic chairs.
“You’re a natural,” Olivia had said when I told her about the rotation. “Smart, empathetic, and unfazed by bodily fluids. Perfect fit.”
Turns out, she was right. In six weeks, I’ve witnessed more tantrums, tickle fights, and weaponized snot than I ever thought possible. One toddler swallowed a LEGO because his sister promised it would turn him into a Transformer. I can confirm, it didn’t.
I find Jax in the playroom, paper crown askew, stuffed animals fanned around him like a plush royal court.
“Queen Chloe,” he booms. “Come to dethrone me at last?”
A six-year-old girl with a nasal cannula giggles.
I curtsy. “Your reign of juice-box tyranny ends today.”
Jax springs to his feet. “Your patient is waiting to obliterate you at Connect Four.”
“I was born ready.”
We make our rounds. I check vitals; Jax distracts the children with dance moves so ridiculous they should be illegal. Somehow, it works. We’re a well-balanced team.
It’s just past noon when I step out for lunch. I’m halfway to the cafeteria when I hear his voice.
“Dr. Monroe.”
I turn, already smiling.
Zac’s standing there, coffee cup in one hand, brown paper bag in the other, sunglasses tucked into the open collar of his button-down. He’s stupidly attractive.
“Fancy seeing you here,” I joke.
“I heard pediatrics had a goddess on staff. Had to see for myself.”
I roll my eyes, but my smile’s stuck. “Lunch?”
He holds up the bag. “Luna’s Pizza.”
My heart actually flutters. “Extra thin crust?”
“Half cheese. Half pineapple.”
I gasp. “Have I told you that I love you lately?”
“Not nearly enough.” He leans in, gives me a quick, familiar kiss that still makes my knees weak.
We snag a spot at a tiny garden table under a hibiscus bush, which is valiantly pretending it’s not dying, and dig in. I’m halfway through my cheese slice when I instinctively go for the pineapple on the other slice.
Zac raises an eyebrow. “Really?”
“What?”
He leans over and plucks it from my fingers, popping it into his mouth.
“Why did you order pineapple, then?”
“For me. Not for you to eat, you shameless food thief.”
I blink. Okay. Rude. Also, fair. The promise of pineapple sweetness completely distracted me.
Zac sighs, exasperated. “You’re a menace.”
I grin, licking a smudge of sauce off my thumb. “Yeah, but I’m your menace.”
The sun’s warm. My stomach’s full. And I’m feeling great.
Even if I flirted with death by pineapple. Again.
Some girls never learn.
Good thing I’ve got a doctor who makes house calls.