Chapter 12 Alaric
Twelve
Alaric
Iunpack my bag while Liz is in the shower. The sound of running water fills my mind, but I force myself to focus on something I can fix—folding shirts, lining up toiletries, anything that keeps me from thinking about her behind that door. Naked.
She said I must love that she’s still a mess.
The truth is, I don’t see her that way at all.
Not really. She’s strong and stubborn and more put together than she gives herself credit for.
And I can’t ignore the quiet pull between us.
She’s beautiful, though there’s still no path forward for us if she’s even interested. Nothing has changed with my family.
I glance toward the couch and let out a quiet laugh. It’s not a couch at all. It’s a loveseat, barely wide enough for one person to sit comfortably, never mind sleep. That means the floor. Perfect.
The shower shuts off, and every thought in my head goes still. I can hear Liz moving around, the faint rustle of a towel, the soft click of bottles on the counter. I picture her, skin flushed, steam rising. I swallow hard and turn away, grabbing my wallet just to give my hands something to do.
I walk over to the bathroom door and knock lightly. “The opening reception and conference check-in goes on for a while longer. I’m going to head down,” I call. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
A muffled “Okay” comes through the door.
That’s all I need. I’m out.
The conference check-in is filled with noise from the moment I step off the elevator. Voices overlap, laughter echoes, lanyards and badges clink together. The smell of the ocean and plumeria filters through everything.
I join the line at the registration table, half listening to the chatter around me. Doctors of every flavor. Administrators. People catching up after a year apart. It feels strange to stand here in all this noise when my head’s still back in the room upstairs.
“Alaric Dempsey?”
I turn and see Denise Miller walking toward me, smiling wide. It takes a second for my brain to catch up. Graduate school. Late-night study sessions. Too much caffeine and not enough sleep.
“Denise,” I say, returning the smile. “Wow. It’s been a while.”
She looks exactly the same. Sharp suit, perfect hair, eyes that miss nothing. “I didn’t expect to run into you here. Still saving lives and stealing hearts?”
“Mostly paperwork these days.”
We laugh, and it feels like she’s already scanning for her next conversation. Then her gaze stops and something shifts in her expression.
“Wow, Alaric,” she says softly. “I didn’t know you’d settled down with Liz Ward.”
I turn, and the world narrows.
Liz steps into the lobby wearing a floral sundress that looks like summer somehow snuck into February. The light catches her hair, and even with the conference crowd buzzing around her, it feels like everyone stops to look.
My pulse jumps. “We work together,” I say quickly. “Not together together.”
Denise raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “If you say so.”
I do, but even I don’t sound convinced.
Liz doesn’t make it three steps into the lobby before a tall man stops her. He’s got that easy, confident smile that comes from knowing he’ll be welcomed.
“Liz Ward, Administrator at Paradise General Hospital,” he says, reading her badge. “Where’s that?”
“British Columbia, Canada,” she answers, smiling.
“Mitchell Van der Ahe,” he adds. “Neurology, Los Angeles.”
She laughs, warm and genuine, and I catch the sound even over the noise of the crowd. I recognize him from past conferences—always front row, always talking like he’s on stage.
They look comfortable together.
I remember her saying all she wanted after the flight was a mai tai on the beach, and before I can talk myself out of it, I’m at the bar ordering one. I add a glass of fresh pineapple juice for myself because it feels safer than anything stronger.
When I approach and hand her the drink, she blinks, surprised. Then she smiles. “You remembered.”
“I pay attention,” I tell her.
She laughs under her breath and turns toward the man beside her. “Alaric, this is Mitchell Van der Ahe.”
He offers his hand, grip firm, eyes calculating. I know that look. He’s trying to decide if I’m competition or just background noise.
“Good to meet you,” I say.
“Same,” he replies.
A beat passes, long enough for him to realize Liz isn’t alone.
His smile shifts. “I should check in with a few people,” he says. “I’ll see you around, Liz.”
“Of course,” she says as he walks away.
I take a sip of my juice, not looking at her, but I can feel her smile lingering between us.
We move through the room together, weaving between clusters of people with drinks and half-empty appetizer plates. It’s a blur of faces I feel like I almost recognize—people from other conferences, quick conversations, names that sound familiar but don’t quite stick.
But Liz makes it look easy. She smiles, listens, laughs in all the right places.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her looking truly relaxed since she arrived in Paradise, and the sound of her laughter does something to me.
It’s lighter, unguarded, and for a moment, I forget why this trip feels so complicated.
When the crowd starts thinning, I lean closer. “You hungry?”
“Starved,” she admits, hand pressed lightly to her stomach.
The hotel restaurant is just off the lobby. The host greets us with a practiced smile and leads us to a small table by the window. Outside, rain sprinkles, softening the edges of everything it touches and blurring the lights from the boardwalk below.
The host hands us menus. Liz glances down, and her expression shifts.
“Wow,” she murmurs, eyebrows lifting. “This is…pricey.”
I shrug. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it.”
She shakes her head, lips pressing together. “Only if the hospital’s paying.”
I grin, knowing better than to tell her the truth. The hospital’s allowance only covered my conference fees. The rest is on me. “Something like that,” I assure her.
If I tell her I’m covering it, she’ll argue. I don’t want to fight about money. I just want a quiet dinner with her. No interruptions, no emails, no chaos. Just the two of us.
What I don’t say is that she’s worth it.
The server comes back. I order the mahi-mahi, and she orders the ono special.
We talk easily, conversation drifting without effort.
“Where are you living?” he asks. “I mean, in Paradise. Are you staying with Trinity?”
“No. I found one of those cute little cottages not far from the hospital. It’s easier to walk than fight for parking.”
I laugh because she’s not wrong. Employee parking is a nightmare.
“What about you? Are you living at your family’s vineyard?”
“God, no.”
She settles back, brown eyes narrowing slightly.
“I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I just… If I lived there, they’d expect me to work there. And I don’t want that.” I shrug. “I’ve got a place on the west side of the lake. It’s probably bigger than I need, but…”
My words trail off. I realize I’m babbling, and I don’t quite know why.
Our dinners arrive just in time to stop me from saying something stupid, and we dig in.
“With everyone here, Paradise seemed like the logical place to move,” she adds. “Or maybe the only one that felt like home. What about you? How are your sisters?”
“I still have four of them,” I say. “And they’re all still talking to me, which feels like an accomplishment.”
Liz smiles. “That bad?”
“Let’s just say family politics are still alive and well.
” I lean back. “Sera and Josie have taken over the vineyard. They’ve got the place running better than Evie ever did, but don’t tell her that, or she’ll give the vineyard to someone else.
Every time I visit, they hand me a to-do list and tell me not to touch anything. ”
She laughs softly. “Sounds like sisters.”
“Addie’s still painting in that tiny apartment downtown. Half her stuff’s stacked against the walls, but she swears the mess is part of her process. She’s happy, though. Makes enough to scrape by, and every now and then, I slip her a little help and she pretends not to notice.”
“That’s sweet.” Liz nods. “And the youngest?” she prompts.
I shake my head, smiling. “As you know, Ginny went and married a Paradise. You can imagine how that went over. My mother’s still recovering, and my grandmother pretends she doesn’t exist.” I chuckle.
“Which is ironic, considering I’ve spent enough time with Paradises lately to know they’re not nearly as terrible as we were raised to believe.
” My eyes meet hers. She already knows that part. She’s seen it.
Liz laughs, shaking her head. “It’s poetic, really. Your families can’t seem to avoid each other.”
“You fit in Paradise,” I say before I can stop myself. “I’m starting to think it’s fate.”
Her eyes flick up to mine, seeming amused.
A shadow crosses the table and a voice calls, “Dr. Dempsey? Liz?”
I glance up to see a tall man in a dark suit and his partner approaching. “Dr. Patel,” I say, standing to shake his hand. “Good to see you. It’s been a few years.”
“Too long,” he says, giving Liz an easy smile. “It’s great to see you again. I heard you got the job at Paradise General. I’m sure North Vancouver misses you.”
Liz laughs. “They moved an excellent person into the job.”
He motions to the woman beside him. “This is Monica Cutler. She’s in the administration program track.”
We make polite small talk for a minute before they move on to another table.
Liz leans back, still smiling, the light catching on her glass. “I forgot how charming you can be.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That was all you.”
She shakes her head. “You make it look effortless.”
I shrug, ignoring the warmth that rises in my chest. “You must be confusing me with someone else.”
She shakes her head again, gaze steady. “No. You’re the one who remembered my drink and made this whole thing feel…manageable.”
I don’t know what to do with that, so I just nod.
“Thank you,” she says quietly, “for taking me in.”
“Anytime,” I tell her.
The rain has intensified and is now a steady curtain against the windows. When we’ve finished, it turns the walk back into a sprint between windows. By the time we reach the elevator, Liz is laughing, hair damp, eyes bright. The sound follows us all the way up.
Back in the room, she kicks off her shoes with a sigh. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired.”
“You take the bed,” I tell her. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
She looks at me like I’ve started speaking another language. “We’ve shared a bed before. We can do it again.”
“That was different,” I say.
“Fine.” She crosses her arms. “Then I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“No, you won’t.”
We go back and forth until she finally wins, mostly because I’m too tired to keep arguing. We agree to share the bed.
She disappears into the bathroom to brush her teeth, humming under her breath. I pull out clothes for tomorrow and tell myself none of this means anything. It’s just logistics. Two colleagues in one room. Nothing more.
When she’s done, she heads into the bedroom, and I enter the bathroom. By the time I’m out of the shower, the lights are dimmed, and she’s already asleep, a neat wall of pillows dividing the bed. Her breathing is soft and even, and the faint scent of citrus lingers in the air.
I’m grateful. It saves us from the awkwardness of saying goodnight.
I switch off the last lamp and lie on my side, close enough to hear her breathing but far enough to pretend the space between us is adequate. I tell myself not to think about what it would feel like to reach across that barrier.
Fortunately, sleep comes quickly.