Ten
Sadie
I had a second interview for a job at Steaming Mugs this morning.
It took almost two weeks of applying for work all over town to get to this point.
It’s the worst shift—five in the morning until nine and back again at five at night until they close at nine.
But at least it’s a job. They also don’t care so much about the artistry of making a good espresso drink.
It’s about getting orders in and getting them out.
I should be able to do that. Hopefully, they’ll call me later with the good news that they agree.
With the interview finished, I walk to the hospital and into Rosie’s room with a cribbage board and a deck of cards tucked under my arm. Beckett’s not there when I arrive, and even though I tell myself that doesn’t matter, it does. It really does.
Rosie’s sitting up in bed, her face bright as she talks a mile a minute about her favorite TV show. It’s some Korean drama I’ve never seen, but I smile and nod, throwing in the occasional, “Really?” “No way!” and “You’ve got to be kidding me,” like I’m totally following along.
I shuffle the cards, trying to focus, but my eyes keep drifting to the door, just in case he walks through.
Rosie doesn’t miss a thing. “Who are you looking for?” she asks, tilting her head. He hair falls into her eyes, and she brushes it away with a smirk.
“No one,” I say way too fast.
“Sadie…” she says in that singsong, I-know-something-you-don’t voice.
I sigh and set the deck down. “Fine. Dr. Paradise.”
“Ohhh,” she says, eyes sparkling. “Which one? Your roommate, maybe?”
I can’t even admit it aloud. It’s embarrassing.
Her grin stretches ear to ear. “Ah-ha! I knew it!”
I roll my eyes, trying to laugh it off. “Don’t get yourself too excited.”
“Have you moved out of the guest room and into his room?”
“No, of course not. We barely see each other. It’s not like that.”
Her mouth drops open. “What? Why are we talking about Korean love triangles when you should be telling me how you finally got rid of that walking dumpster fire, Alex, and on to something better?”
“I told you, I got tired of Alex’s crap and the mediocre sex. Caleb insisted I stay with Beckett until I get things sorted out. That’s it.”
“I can’t believe you’re still staying with him. Are you sure you’re sticking to your own room?” Her voice goes high with disbelief. She shuffles the cards like a Vegas pro. “The nurses say he has a huge dick and knows exactly what to do with it.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
She shakes her head. “You should climb that man like a tree. You’re single. He’s single. You don’t have to marry the guy. Just enjoy the ride!”
“I’m not going to sleep with him.” I glance at the door again, this time hoping he doesn’t walk in.
“Don’t you like him?”
“I will admit that there’s more to him than the bully he was as a kid, but he’s my brother’s best friend. And also, he’s ridiculous, and he drives me crazy. He ordered me a salad for takeout the other night because, and I quote, ‘the women he dates only eat salads.’”
Rosie gasps. “Is he dating rabbits?”
“Exactly! That’s what I said. Then I took his dinner and left him with the salad.”
She grins. “You like him.”
I laugh, but my face is on fire. “It’s not like that. Besides, if anything were to happen, Caleb would chop off his dick, and he’d be known as Stubby Paradise for the rest of his life.”
Rosie howls. “Screw the Korean drama. This is better! What’s your next move? How are you going to seduce him?”
“I’m not! Are you listening to anything I say?” I roll my eyes dramatically. “I need a place to live until I find a job. Then I’ll disappear and, hopefully, never run into him again.”
“Paradise is way too small for that.” She lays down the first card and gives me a sly look. “If only he wasn’t my doctor, right? And also, that’s not a no,” she sings.
I shake my head, but inside, my heart’s racing. I picture Beckett leaning in, brushing my hair behind my ear, his hand warm on my cheek. Would he kiss me soft and slow? Would it feel like I actually mattered?
The thought makes my stomach flip, and I drop my gaze to my cards.
Rosie taps her fingers on the cribbage board. “Beckett’s one of the good ones, you know.” She winks. “But don’t worry. I’m only here for a new heart, not a boyfriend.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “I wouldn’t fight you. You can have him. ”
She plays her two cards for two points on the board. “I’d win.”
“In your dreams,” I say, grinning as I play mine.
We dive into the game, tossing insults and snark back and forth like it’s part of the rules.
“Are you even trying?” Rosie teases, racking up two points. “Or are you daydreaming about Beckett making you breakfast shirtless?”
I nearly drop my cards. “He doesn’t walk around shirtless!” I lie, my face burning.
“Mmm-hmm,” she hums. “Bet he’s bossy in the kitchen. Bet he gets all serious when you don’t load the dishwasher just so.”
I snort. “He’s bossy about everything. It’s like a compulsion.”
Rosie deals the next hand, still grinning. “I bet you like it when he gets all grumpy.”
I groan and cover my face with my cards. “I’m not talking to you anymore.”
“You love it,” she sing-songs. “You love grumpy Beckett!”
Laughing, I play a five of hearts without thinking.
Her eyes gleam. “Thank you for that,” she says, slapping down a run and pumping her fist. “Skunked you!”
I toss my cards on the board in defeat. “You’re evil. You totally distracted me.”
She winks. “What? Where’s my dying-patient pity?”
I sit back and smile at her. “No way. Besides, you’re not dying, Rosie. You’re just getting warmed up.”
Her smile softens. “You know what? I think you’re right.”
She sits up a little straighter, and for a moment, everything feels almost normal. We’re just two girls hanging out, laughing about boys and playing cards. The world outside this room doesn’t exist. Nothing bad can touch us here.
But the illusion fades when Rosie’s energy dips, her bright expression faltering. A little while later she looks pale, her eyelids heavy as they fight to stay open .
“I’ll stop by again tomorrow,” I assure her, gathering the cribbage board and cards. “I’ll bring nail polish, and we can do manicures.”
Her eyes flutter. “Are you implying my nails look bad?”
“I didn’t want to say anything,” I tease with a grin.
“See you tomorrow,” she murmurs, her voice soft and sleepy, the weight of the day settling over her.
I give her hand a squeeze—light, careful—and slip out of the room.
Outside, the air smells like rain, even though the sky hasn’t cracked yet. That sharp, earthy scent clings to the pavement, carried on a breeze that feels colder than it should. I take a deep breath, then make my way to Beckett’s Jeep, which, yes, I’m still driving.
Instead of heading straight home to Beckett’s, I take the long way, winding around the edge of the lake. The water is still and glassy. Clouds hang low, thick and gray, and there’s something beautiful about the sadness in the sky, like it understands me.
I open the window, letting the wind brush across my face. One hand on the wheel, the other drifting outside, fingers skimming the air.
For a minute, I imagine Beckett beside me—quiet, solid. The kind of presence you don’t realize you need until it’s gone. He’d probably grumble that I shouldn’t have the window open if I’m cold, and I’d roll my eyes at him. But secretly? I’d like it.
That’s the thing about Beckett. He drives me crazy and still manages to make me feel safer than anyone ever has. And I hate that I want him around.
I can’t believe I kept glancing toward the door with Rosie today, hoping he’d show up, like it was a social call instead of a doctor visit. I still wish he had.
And now, I can’t stop wondering what he’s going to say when he finds out what a mess I’m truly in. My grip tightens on the steering wheel. I’m not sure if I’m heading toward comfort or walking straight into a storm .
When I pull into the driveway, everything looks calm.
Quiet. I slip into the house and drop my bag by the door, kicking off my shoes with a sigh.
Once I’ve settled in, I grab my favorite book from the coffee table—a contemporary romance—and curl up on the couch, pulling a blanket over my legs.
I want to disappear into someone else’s love story for a little while.
I flip to the last page I read. The hero is strong and sweet. He always knows exactly what to say. He fights for the girl, not with her. He touches her like she’s a treasure and makes her feel seen.
I try to read. But the words blur.
When I refocus, it’s a sex scene. The hero is bossy and huge and somehow gets her off with barely a touch—no direction, no awkward fumbling. Just magic.
It’s never like that in real life. Not for me.
I did everything short of drawing a map for Alex, and he still never figured it out. I wasted too much time with that guy. Time I’ll never get back.
And now I’m thinking about the hero’s abs—his perfectly sculpted, totally unrealistic six-pack—and how just once I’d like to read about a guy with a beer belly and a little performance anxiety. Just to feel seen.
But instead, my mind drifts again…to Beckett.
Beckett does have a six-pack. I’ve seen it. It takes all my will power not to stop and run my hands over those hard plains.
But it’s not just that. It’s the way he checks on Rosie, the way he fights for her to get a heart. The way he encourages me, puts up with my disruption. The way he carries everything like it’s his job to protect the whole damn world.
I wonder what it would feel like if he touched me the way the hero touches the heroine in this book. If he brushed the hair from my face with his fingers. If he leaned in, so close I could smell the soap on his skin and the coffee on his breath.
Would I pull away? Or would I lean in too? The question lodges deep in me. It’s stupid. But it’s there. Quiet. Persistent. Impossible to ignore .