Chapter 2 #2
I arrived five minutes early—my default setting, ingrained by parents who considered punctuality an indispensable virtue and lateness a Turkish stereotype to be disproved at all costs.
Bonus, being the first one to the table gave me the illusion of control.
At least if control meant staking out territory in a cozy café tucked down a side street near the hospital, my back to the wall, with a clear view of the entrance.
This was fine. If Gregg had foisted a creep upon me, I could just get up and walk away. For now, I fiddled with my phone to look occupied while keeping half my attention on the door.
“Ready to order?” the waitress asked, all friendly efficiency.
I returned her smile. “Still waiting for a friend, if that’s all right?” Which—not exactly true, but “stranger who might take me on a romantic vacation” just didn’t have the same ring to it. Right.
“Sure thing, honey,” she said. “Take your time.”
She moved along just as the door swung open.
Eleven on the dot, and… Right. Yeah. Hollis strode in like he owned shares in punctuality, perfectly put together in a soft sweater under a tidy coat, brown hair neatly tousled, mouth set.
So, uh. That was… Fuck. Okay. He looked different out of scrubs.
Still intimidating, still composed, but—hot damn.
Why would he need to fake a relationship? He could walk into a bar, any bar, and find himself a date in roughly five seconds. Okay—a couple of minutes, maybe. But the point stood.
His gaze slid over reclaimed wood and exposed brick walls, then found me. I raised my hand for a wave that might have leant slightly too enthusiastic. Down, boy. His expression flickered before settling into a cautious smile.
Right, time to dial down the Labrador energy.
“Hey.” He draped his coat over the back of a chair before he sat down, smoothing his sweater even though it already fell perfectly.
I recognized the gesture from the hospital—precision in everything, like he could impose order by sheer force of will.
It had made me feel clumsy and floundering by comparison, a fish out of water.
“Hi,” I managed, striving for a casual tone. “You know, when Gregg said his mystery friend needed a date, I expected someone a little more awkward.”
His lips twitched. “Sorry to disappoint?”
“Not at all.” Oops, maybe a tad much. Also, right, Hollis might not even remember me—which would be a blessing in disguise.
I slapped a bright smile onto my face. “So, hey, not sure if Gregg mentioned my name? I’m Tay.
Or Taylan, really, but no one actually calls me that.
Currently doing my PGY5 rotation in trauma with him, might’ve mentioned I wouldn’t look a gift vacation in the mouth.
Didn’t know he’d pull this out of his hat. ”
Okay, shut up. Like, now. Rambling is not attractive.
“Dean,” Hollis said in response, and yes, okay, Dean. First names seemed like a good place to start. And…?
The silence stretched just a fraction too long as we stared at each other.
It wasn’t entirely uncomfortable—more charged, hyperaware somehow.
Blue eyes and cheekbones like architectural statements, a hint of stubble that suggested it was a day off for him.
I fished for a question to break the ice, ideally without outright asking whether he remembered me swallowing my own tongue every time he’d so much as looked at me during my CT surgery rotation.
The waitress saved me, notepad poised. As far as I was concerned, she’d just earned a massive tip.
“Flat white, please,” I said quickly.
“Americano,” Dean said, “no sugar. Thanks.”
After she left us alone once more, silence dropped back in—softer now, tempered by the mundanity of coffee orders over faint music and background conversations.
Dean broke it. “Gregg didn’t mention who you were meeting, did he?”
“Nope.” I traced a nail along a crack in the wooden tabletop, realized what I was doing, and stilled my hand.
“Claimed he was bound by confidentiality, just said you were a good buddy. I figured at the very least, I’d get a free coffee out of it.
” Ugh, way to sound desperate. Foot-in-mouth syndrome was a thing.
“I mean, you know. Not that I charge for my time or anything.”
And I’d just made it worse. Dean blinked at me, silent. Judging?
“Okay, so.” I dropped my forehead to the table with all the grace of a dying swan. “Just… ignore me, please.”
For a second—nothing. Then Dean exhaled a quiet laugh, his voice lighter than before, almost teasing. “Words giving you trouble, Tay?”
I groaned and raised my head, caught sight of what might be the first true smile I’d seen on his face. It reached his eyes, transformed him from an aloof statue into an actual human being—someone I might be able to talk to without tripping over my own tongue. So, okay. Okay.
“You only just figured that out?” I followed it up with a self-deprecating grin to gloss over the heat crawling up my neck. “You could have cottoned on when I couldn’t tell you where the left recurrent laryngeal nerve runs. I lost several hours of sleep to how mortified I was afterwards.”
“Right, yeah.” Dean’s smile dimmed but didn’t entirely disappear. “I remember that. Thought I’d somehow made you uncomfortable—got the impression you were avoiding me during your rotation.”
“What? No.” I shook my head. “God, no—not at all. I liked you.” Too much, in fact, and it had revived the exact brand of teenage awkward I thought I’d outgrown. “You were just… intimidating.”
Still was, honestly. The way he held my eyes felt like an assessment—quiet, clinical, thorough. One of his eyebrows arched. “That’s how Gregg said you felt, yeah. Really, though. Intimidating?”
So… Dean had known I was the one he’d be meeting? And yet he was here.
It gave me the guts to say, “Yeah, but not in a bad way. More like… you’re ridiculously good at what you do.
Impressive.” I paused under the weight of his clear gaze, then pushed forward.
“That day you sent me home—you probably don’t even remember, but you were right to do so.
I was stupid sick. But I also… I hated it.
Felt like I was failing right in front of you. ”
His expression eased by a fraction. “People get sick. No shame in it.”
“Maybe. But still.” I exhaled, briefly back in the moment—scrubs sticking to my back, head pounding, the crisp, flat tone of his voice when he’d told me to go home. In hindsight, it had been kindness more than punishment.
For a beat, Dean was quiet. “Yeah, I get it. Hard not to see it as weakness, even when you know better.”
I fumbled for a response and realized it didn’t need one—just a nod, my hands knotted together on the table. The waitress arrived with our coffees and placed them down with, “There you go, fellas.”
We thanked her, and she left us to take our first sips. Dean’s fingers wrapped around his cup as he slid me a thoughtful look. “Well, since you haven’t run screaming just yet… Want to know what you’d be signing up for?”
I leaned forward slightly, mirroring him. “Absolutely. Bring it.”
He laid it out in broad terms—one week in early December plus travel time, a private island, luxury villas, and his sister’s wedding as the centerpiece.
Half the guest list composed of people so rich they thought tap water was a myth.
He didn’t elaborate on why he wanted me along, just said vaguely, “Family politics, you know.” There was a twist to the words that I recognized as something private.
Still, a part of me itched to know—because someone like him? Polished, successful, attractive? It just didn’t make sense that he needed to outsource intimacy to a near-stranger. There was a story there.
But it wasn’t mine to touch. Not yet, anyway.
“Kind of sounds like a rom-com pitch, doesn’t it?
” I asked once he was done, amusement bubbling up even as nerves tickled along my spine.
This was… Yeah. A free vacation straight out of some lifestyle magazine for the absurdly rich, curated luxury for discerning travelers or whatnot—certainly not priced for my current salary.
It would also mean a week with Dean, and that, just—well.
I wasn’t sure that was a good idea. Then again, maybe it’d help me get over my stupid little crush because upon closer inspection, people were hardly ever as shiny as first impressions made them seem.
We might become friends, even, and with fellowship applications opening soon and CT surgery orbiting the back of my brain…
Everyone said it was big and hard, prestigious. A real grown-up specialty.
I could use a friend like Dean, who’d give me his honest opinion.
“Not sure I qualify as a romantic lead,” he said into that thought, his smile wry. “My sister seems to think I’ve got the emotional availability of a locked safe and the charm of reinforced steel.”
Huh. Joke? I wasn’t sure whether I was meant to laugh or let it sit. “I’ve got a sister just like that,” I said.
“Sounds dangerous.” One corner of his mouth raised further. “Really, though, I’ve just been busy.”
“Well, yeah.” I moved my hand in a seesawing gesture. “That’s how it always goes in those movies. But then you meet The One, capital letters, and it’s—bam. Rose petals and weekend trips to Paris.”
Dean slid me a slightly probing look. “You really believe in that stuff?” Not dismissive or mocking, more… wary. My brain snagged on the way he said it, like maybe he was worried I’d start writing our wedding vows after one decent cup of coffee.
“Please,” I said lightly. “I’ve been ghosted by guys who couldn’t locate Paris on a map. I know better than to believe in fairy tales.”
Gentle curiosity twitched around his eyes. “Yeah, well. I guess that is the story we’d be trying to sell. If you’re in.”