Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Melissa
The music is loud, the people are beginning to cram in as the night continues, and my body is still tense from the day. Long shifts will do that to you. Thankfully, I have tomorrow off.
Kayla and I are seated at a high-top table against a railing while we enjoy our wine.
She decided she needed to get out of the apartment after a long day of writing.
I can’t wait to go home and read what she wrote today.
Her wit shines through so effortlessly in her writing.
She isn’t sure, but I know she’ll make it big someday.
Tingles crawl up the back of my spine, making me sit up straight. At first, I think it’s the crowd—too many bodies, too close. But the sensation sharpens. It begins to move up the back of my neck, like a warning I don’t quite understand. My shoulders tighten instinctively.
I begin to scan the room without meaning to. I don’t see anything out of place, yet my pulse is erratic as my skin hums with awareness. I know this feeling. I’ve felt it before.
That slow, unsettling certainty that someone is watching me—not casually, not accidentally.
I shift on my stool, trying to shake it off, but the sensation only deepens. Presses closer.
Finally, I give in and turn my head.
That’s when I see him. In the opposite corner of the bar, lounging back on a large sofa chair, surrounded by a group of men. A group of very attractive men. I expect him to look away, like he does at the hospital.
But this time, his gaze doesn’t flicker or retract. It holds mine with intention.
I take a small sip of my wine but find it impossible to break the connection for a brief moment until it feels too intense. Even after I focus back on Kayla, I can feel my heart pounding against my chest.
I don’t understand my body’s reaction to his attention. And why is he looking at me like that? It feels … intense. No one has ever looked at me like that before. Honestly, I can’t tell whether it’s anger or something else. Something I can’t quite put my finger on. Either way, it’s disconcerting.
Kayla is talking about a scene in her book that she’s stuck on. I nod at the right moments, even laugh once, but my thoughts lag behind.
I don’t look across the room again. I already know what I would find.
And for reasons I don’t understand yet, that knowledge unsettles me more than the attention itself.
“Mel.” Kayla’s voice pulls me from my thoughts.
“Yeah?” I ask as I take another sip of my wine.
“You’ve been looking off into space for, like, an entire minute,” she replies.
“I have not,” I say automatically.
She smiles and leans back in her chair. “You absolutely have. What was I saying?”
“You are stuck on that scene where the hero and heroine have their first interaction,” I reply confidently.
“Ha!” She points at me. “I did say that—a minute ago! What was I talking about?”
“I …” I stutter as I work up an excuse. “I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”
“Mmhmm,” she hums, unconvinced. “You sure it’s not because of him?”
My stomach drops. “Him who?”
She tips her chin at me. “The guy you keep not looking at.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Kayla smiles at me. “Sure you don’t.”
I hesitate before I let myself glance across the room again—a quick look. More to prove her wrong than anything else.
The spot where he was standing is empty.
I scan the room once, then again, for reasons I don’t want to examine too closely.
“He must’ve left,” Kayla says lightly, like she can read the disappointment in my posture.
“Probably,” I agree.
But the absence feels louder than his presence.
I turn back toward her, forcing a smile. It doesn’t matter that he’s gone. That I don’t have his lingering eyes burning holes on my skin. In fact, the attention is unnerving, and it’s better that he left without saying anything. Without acknowledging that we know each other.
Though he knows me as more than just a nurse in his department.
I don’t know whether he hasn’t placed me yet, or he has and has simply chosen not to acknowledge it.
Either way, I notice.
“Anyway, enough about me. How has work been going? We keep missing each other in the apartment. I want to know everything.”
“It’s been great. I love the staff. We all get along so well, which seems necessary in this department. We actually have a big charity event next month. It’ll be my first time hanging out with them outside of work.”
Kayla folds her arms on the table and leans in. “That’s awesome, Mel. I’m so happy for you. How is it working with the patients?”
I tilt my head to the side as I contemplate her question. “It’s been … steady. Nothing that’s knocked me sideways yet. Mostly routine care. Learning parents. Finding a rhythm. I know the hard days are coming. They always do.”
“You’ll adjust. Like you did in the ER. You’re the strongest person I know.”
I pout my lips and smile. “And you’re the craziest person I know.”
Her head falls back in laughter. “Hey, I’ll take it. Crazy and proud.”
I join in on the laughter, but the sense of being watched is still lingering, like a ghost of attention I can’t quite shake.
I’m halfway through charting when I feel it.
A familiar shift in the air. The sense of someone stepping into my space without a sound. I don’t look up right away. I’ve learned better than that, but my shoulders tense anyway.
“Morning,” he says quietly.
My fingers hesitate over the keyboard before I force them to move again. “Morning.”
Dr. Fisher stops beside me, close enough that I can see the edge of his sleeve in my peripheral vision. He leans slightly toward the screen, eyes scanning what I’ve written.
Neither of us speaks for a few seconds.
I focus on keeping my breathing even, on not overthinking on the fact that he didn’t pull up a chair or step back the way he usually does. He’s standing close. Too close to be accidental. Not close enough to be anything else.
“You caught this early,” he says.
I glance up despite myself. “Caught what?”
He points to the screen. “The nausea pattern. The way you noted the timing and severity changes.” His hand hovers near the monitor, not touching it. “You adjusted fluids before it escalated.”
“Oh.” I swallow. “Yeah. He mentioned it felt different this morning. More … persistent.”
He nods once, eyes still on the chart. “Most people would’ve waited until it was obvious.”
The words settle heavier than they should.
“I’ve learned not to,” I say. “They don’t always say everything right away.”
His gaze shifts then. Not to my face, but to my hands resting on the desk. When he finally looks up, his expression is unreadable.
“That kind of attention makes a difference,” he says. “It’s good nursing.”
Warmth blooms low in my chest before I can spot it.
“Thank you,” I reply, quieter than I meant to.
He straightens slightly, the space between us returning in a way that feels abrupt. Controlled.
“I’ll update the plan,” he adds, already stepping back. “Let me know if anything changes.”
“I will.”
For a moment, it feels like he might say something else. His mouth opens, then closes again. Whatever thought crossed his mind stays there.
He walks away without another word.
I stare at the screen, blinking once, then twice.
It takes me a second to realize my hands are shaking.
Not because of the compliment.
Because of the way he said it, like he noticed. Like he cared. Like last night didn’t vanish with daylight.
I take a slow breath and force myself back into the chart.
But the words blur together, and I have to start the line over.