Liz
Seven
The administrative wing of the hospital feels different on Saturdays. Quieter. A different energy. I push through the main doors, and my sneakers suddenly seem squeaky as they echo down the hall. The lights are dimmed and a maintenance cart rattles somewhere in the distance, the only sign of life.
I tell myself I’m here because I’m still learning the systems and it takes me longer to get things done. That’s the practical reason. But the truth is, I don’t really know what to do with free time yet.
I’m still proving—to Hudson and to myself—that I belong in this position, that I’m not just the woman Trinity recommended. I want to earn it, every bit of it. And anyway, I can’t expect Trinity to entertain me all the time.
I hang my coat in my office, boot up my computer, and let the rhythm of work settle around me. This is the kind of Saturday I can manage—productive and safe.
I open the spreadsheet Misty keeps on the shared drive with the figures Hudson needs for his leadership meeting next week. The numbers stare back in neat rows, color-coded and perfectly aligned, at least at first glance.
It doesn’t take long to spot the trouble—a column total that’s off by a few thousand. A date transposed in a header that shifts a quarterly figure into the wrong fiscal year. Nothing catastrophic, but enough to raise questions if Hudson uses it as-is.
I correct each line carefully, noting every change in my log. No need to rock the boat. No reason to make a big deal out of it. I enter the right numbers into the slides Hudson asked me to use and send them off to him, copying Misty. I’ll let her know what I found quietly next week.
By the time I finish, the coffee in my mug has gone cold. I’m rereading a slide deck when I hear a voice behind me.
“You haven’t been here long enough to give up your weekends.”
I glance over my shoulder, smiling at Hudson. “I’m still getting my bearings. The learning curve’s steep, and I didn’t want to fall behind. Plus, I wanted to get the slides ready for your leadership presentation.”
He steps closer, leaning over the back of my chair to scan the open file. His brow lifts. “This is great. Exactly what I was hoping for.” He scrolls through a few slides, nodding. “The numbers line up perfectly. Nice work.”
The praise catches me off guard. I thank him, and he continues down the hall, already on to the next thing.
I let out a breath. I’ve been here a week, and I’m already cleaning up someone else’s mistakes.
If I miss even one of my own, I won’t get the same benefit of the doubt.
Hudson seems to trust me, but I’m still new so that trust feels fragile, something I have to hold carefully or risk watching it crack.
By the time my stomach reminds me it’s past lunch, the administration wing feels almost asleep. The cafeteria tables sit mostly empty. A few nurses cluster near the window, laughing over something on a phone.
I pick a seat by the far wall with my salad and an energy bar. The quiet stretches between every sound, amplifying how alone I feel. Everyone else has somewhere to be, something waiting for them outside these walls. Weekend plans. Families. Friends. I have an inbox full of half-finished reports.
I scroll through a few emails before giving up and texting Trinity.
Me: How’s it going? I’m at work. Trying to get ahead before Monday eats me alive.
Her reply comes quickly.
Trinity: You’re at work? It’s Saturday! People in Paradise have balance. We don’t work weekends unless absolutely necessary.
I chuckle and start to send a reminder about my short tenure and steep learning curve, but another message pops up before I can answer.
Trinity: Ginny told me this morning that she invited you over for the hockey game tonight. You know all the guys and their partners are great.
I smile despite myself. My first instinct was to say no. I’m tired, and my idea of recovery usually involves laundry and a quiet evening with my laptop. But the thought lingers.
I don’t know many people here. Maybe through Trinity’s sisters-in-law I can meet some. Maybe I can stop being the woman who spends her Saturdays with spreadsheets and lukewarm coffee.
Me: Send me their address. I’ll be there about five.
When the message sends, I stare at it for a moment, surprised by my own decisiveness. Maybe saying yes is how things start to change.
I tuck my phone away and finish my lunch slowly, feeling a little better about my place in the world.
In the late afternoon, as the last of the daylight fades through the frosted windows, painting long shadows across my desk, I finish one more task, save the file, and power down my laptop.
The screen goes black, and for a second, my reflection stares back—hair pulled into a messy twist, faint circles under my eyes. I look tired. Not the kind of tired a nap fixes, but one that comes from running too hard after something I haven’t caught yet.
I think again about this evening’s invitation and almost type out a polite excuse. Next time. Maybe. But the thought of another night alone in the cottage makes my chest ache a little. I’ll go to meet new people, to start building a life here. I don’t want to be alone.
I put on my coat and step out into the cold.
The drive to Ryker and Ginny’s place takes me across the bridge and through the Paradise Hill vineyard.
Snow blankets the winter-bare rows of vines on both sides, drawn like faint pencil lines against the white.
A few leftover holiday lights blink in windows, cutting through the dusk.
The longer I drive, the more the tightness in my shoulders starts to ease. The town looks smaller at night, gentler somehow. By the time I turn onto their street, I’m feeling excited.
I step through the door, following the sign’s direction to just come in, and find Ryker and Ginny’s house brimming with noise and warmth.
Laughter erupts from the kitchen, and someone cheers as the TV blares.
The smell of garlic and melted cheese fills the air, mixing with woodsmoke and the faint bite of winter that clings to my coat.
Trinity spots me before I can even take off my boots. “You made it!” she says, pulling me into a hug. “Come on. Everyone’s here.”
She leads me into the living room where the Paradise family has gathered.
Greyson’s brothers—Kingston, Beckett, and Ryker—have claimed the couches, teasing each other over plays like the outcome of the game depends on their commentary.
Their sister, Tarryn, joins in from the kitchen island, laughing as Trinity introduces me around.
I already know Elise, Kingston’s fiancée, from the time I’ve spent with Trinity. She smiles warmly and hands me a glass of wine. Beckett’s wife, Sadie, sits beside her, her baby boy, Will, asleep against her shoulder. “Six and a half months,” she says proudly when I ask.
Ginny waves from across the room, grinning. “We met when she was dating my brother back when they lived in Vancouver,” she says, and there’s mischief in her tone that makes Trinity roll her eyes.
Tarryn’s husband, Declan, is at the stove, flipping sliders like a man in his element. He offers me one over the counter with a grin. “Welcome to the madness.”
The noise, the teasing, the comfortable rhythm—it all pulls me in. I find myself smiling, relaxing into it. Still, part of me feels like I’m watching through glass, half in and half out of something I haven’t earned yet.
Then the door opens.
The cold rushes in, followed by a familiar voice. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic was—”
Alaric stops when he sees me. For a moment, we just stare. His eyes widen, then narrow slightly.
Sadie doesn’t miss a beat. “Well, this is a surprise. You two know each other?”
Ginny smirks from her spot by the counter. “Oh, they more than know each other.”
My face heats instantly. “We work together,” I say, hoping that’ll end it.
“Used to date,” Ginny corrects, grinning wider.
Alaric rubs the back of his neck, clearly wishing the floor would open up. “It’s fine, Ginny. You don’t have to narrate.”
The teasing fades into laughter, and then the Bears score a goal, so we’re left in our own little awkward bubble in the corner of the room.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” I say quietly.
“I could say the same,” he replies. “But that seems to be a theme for me lately. It’s nice to see you beyond the walls of the hospital. Can I get you a drink? It would be nice to catch up a bit in a non-professional setting.”
Nothing wrong with being polite, I remind myself. “I’d love a drink. Thank you.”
He nods and goes over to examine the series of wine bottles set up on the counter. After a moment, he returns with two glasses of red. Of course, he remembers what I like.
“Let’s see if this stuff is any good, shall we?” he asks loud enough to get a rise out of the sports fans on the couch.
Ryker snorts. “Careful. If Evie hears you compliment Paradise Hill wine, she’ll have a stroke.”
Laughter rolls through the room. Someone mutters something about loyalty clauses and family bylaws.
Alaric takes a measured sip, his expression giving nothing away. He glances around the room—at the familiar faces, the unspoken rules, the lines that never stop being drawn—and I catch the flicker of something restrained in his eyes. Not annoyance. Resignation.
“Anyway,” Alaric says, turning his attention to me once the ribbing dies down. “What made you trade Vancouver for Paradise?”
I steel myself to look him in the eye and be pleasant.
It’s much harder without the armor of professionalism around me.
“My parents moved to Mexico a while back, and my brother, Mark, and his family moved here. Trinity’s been after me for years to come to Paradise, so when admin at the hospital started expanding, she let me know, and I jumped on it. ”
His expression softens. “You always did land on your feet.”
I shrug. “I rented a little cottage a few blocks from the hospital. It’s small, but bigger than my apartment in Vancouver, and I can walk to work. No commute, no traffic, just me and the smell of cedar in the mornings.”
“That sounds…very you.”
There’s a pause that’s heavy with all the things we’re not saying. Better to return to more work-related ground.
“So,” I continue, “Hudson was supposed to go to Kauai for that hospital leadership conference you’re attending to get your CMEs, but the board scheduled a big budget meeting at the same time. Now, I’m going in his place.”
Alaric raises an eyebrow. “Funny. I just booked my flight yesterday.”
I blink, caught between surprise and relief. “Well done. I guess I’ll see you there.”
He laughs. “Paradise is a small town, Liz. You’ll see me plenty before then.”
Before I can respond, Ryker yells something from the couch about a penalty, and the room erupts again.
The moment breaks, but the air between us doesn’t quite settle.
After a moment, though, Alaric moves closer to yell at the television, and I step back to chat with Trinity and Ginny near the snacks.
As the night goes on, the room grows more comfortable, the tension thinner. I find myself joining in, passing plates, cheering at goals. Everyone’s kind, and they make sure I feel included.
In the end, I’m glad I came tonight. Perhaps belonging isn’t as hard as I’ve made it out to be. And I suppose this proves Alaric and I can coexist. Maybe everything starts with just showing up.