Luc
Ten
A week shouldn’t feel this long.
Dr. Hutchinson is halfway through his trip to the UK, and I’ve been running the clinic on my own.
Nothing about my life has changed on the surface.
I still wake before my alarm. I move through my appointments as I should.
Referrals get done. I make the right calls at the right time, and no one looks at me twice.
But everything underneath has shifted.
Maryanne is Addison. And Addison is pregnant.
There’s a chance the child is mine.
I’ve only told Elise and Kingston. No one else.
I don’t know how I’m going to tell Dr. Hutchinson if it comes to that.
I’m not staying quiet because I don’t trust the people in my life.
I’m staying quiet because this isn’t my secret to share.
It’s not a problem to fix or a story to tell.
It belongs to Addison first, and I’m still figuring out how to accept that without trying to control it.
I guess the first step is finding out whether I have a part in this story or not.
I stand in my kitchen with my phone in my hand, coffee gone cold on the counter. Her name is already on the screen. I don’t remember opening her contact. I just know it’s there, waiting.
I exhale, steady myself, and press call. Addison answers on the fourth ring.
“Hello?”
Her voice is careful. Not cold. Just measured, like she’s bracing for whatever comes next.
“It’s Luc. I mean, Luc Anderson,” I tell her. “I—sorry. Is this a bad time?”
There’s a brief pause. Background noise I can’t quite place. Then, “No. It’s okay.”
My mind scrambles for a moment. I feel like she could bolt at any time. Why am I so nervous? I’m just looking for information. But I need a way in that doesn’t make her feel too uncomfortable. “How’s the morning sickness?” I ask, steering us gently toward her pregnancy.
She exhales. “Still there. Not worse. Not better. Just…committed.”
“That tracks,” I say.
“My brother-in-law mentioned that I should probably take something for it,” she continues. “He said there’s no reason to suffer if it’s interfering with eating.”
“I can call in a prescription,” I say immediately. “Paradise Drug. Derrek will handle it.”
She’s quiet again. Longer this time. “Thank you,” she says. “I was going to deal with it tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to,” I reply. “I’ll take care of it today.”
Another pause. I hear the shift in her breathing, the subtle sign she’s getting ready to end the call. Evidently, she’s not going to bring up the matter actually at hand. I don’t want to trap her, but I have to find a way to move us forward.
“Addison,” I say, “could we meet? In person? Just coffee. Or breakfast. Something small.” I force myself to stop there.
“Okay,” she says finally. “But just something simple.”
“Simple,” I agree. “Tomorrow?”
“Dot’s Diner. Eight a.m.”
“I don’t know where that is.”
She laughs, and it’s warm in a way that surprises me. “You’ll find it. It’s a locals’ place.”
“Then I’ll see you there, and your prescription should be ready in an hour or so.”
We hang up a moment later, and I stay where I am, phone still in my hand. I don’t feel lighter or relieved. But despite that, I know I’m in the right place, ready to meet what comes next instead of keeping my distance and waiting.
When I arrive the next morning, I realize Dot’s Diner is not a place you stumble into by accident.
It sits off the main road, low and plain, the kind of place that’s been painted more than it’s been updated. Wide front windows. A faded sign. The parking lot is half full when I pull in—older cars, clean and cared for. Nothing flashy. No out-of-province plates.
I’m ten minutes early, and I stay in my car, watching people go in and out. They move like they belong, holding doors without looking, talking before they’ve fully stepped inside. No one hesitates.
Except me. But before I see Addison anywhere, I force myself out of the car and toward the building.
Inside, it smells like coffee and butter. The room buzzes with conversation. Laughter from one booth. A quiet debate from another. The hostess looks over at me, and I can’t tell if she thinks I’m new—or lost.
“I’m meeting Addison Dempsey.”
She looks me up and down again, grabs two menus, and takes me to a table near the window. I take off my jacket and fold it carefully over the back of the chair.
She turns to go. “I’ll send Addie back when she arrives.”
Addie? Of course. It’s short for Addison. “Thank you.” I glance at the clock. Two minutes to eight.
A server stops by and pours coffee without asking.
“Thank you.”
She smiles like she’ll remember me next time.
Everything on the menu looks tasty. I make my decision and look up just as Addison steps inside. A few heads turn. Someone calls her name. She answers without breaking stride. I don’t know why I ever thought she wasn’t really from here.
She spots me and smiles as she comes over. “Morning,” she says.
“Morning.”
She doesn’t sit. Instead, she sets her bag down and glances around the room. “Come on,” she says, reaching for my arm. “You can’t be here without being introduced.”
Before I can protest, she’s leading me away from the table, into the current of the diner.
Addison moves with easy purpose, hand light at my elbow, guiding me between tables.
“Diane, this is Dr. Lucas Anderson. He’s taking over for Dr. Hutchinson.
” She turns to me. “Luc, this is Diane Corbett. She owns the pet store.”
Diane looks up from her coffee and gives me a once-over that’s sharp but not unkind. “You don’t have a dog.”
It’s not a question.
“No,” I say. “I don’t.”
She nods like she’s confirmed something. “I’ve got a great one for you. Come by the store this week.”
Addison grins, clearly entertained. I find myself smiling back before I can stop it. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
We move on before I can ask how she knew that about me.
Addison does the same thing again at the next table, introducing me first and then the other person.
“This is Rig Ellis,” she continues. “He runs the marina downtown.” She gives me a look that tells me it’s that marina. The place where we first connected.
Rig stands and shakes my hand, grip firm, eyes assessing in a way that feels more curious than suspicious. “Nice to meet you, Doc. Welcome to Paradise.”
“Thank you. Glad to be here.”
“Good. We can always use more doctors.”
A few steps later, Addison slows. “And this is Derrek Grossman.”
He clicks into place as the owner of the voice I’ve spoken to over the phone since I got here. He’s the pharmacist at Paradise Drug Store. “Paradise Drug,” he says, smiling.
“Great to meet you,” I reply. “Good to finally put a face to the name.”
He chuckles. “Likewise.”
When we circle back to our table, things feel different. I grew up in Regina, Saskatchewan. It’s not a huge town, but it has over two hundred and twenty-five thousand people. We don’t have anything like this.
Addison slides into her seat across from me, folding her hands together. “Okay, now, we can eat.”
The server appears with a hot tea setting, and I notice the decaffeinated green tea bags. She also has the coffee pot in hand to top me off.
Addison goes ahead and orders. “Hey, Gina, I’d like a cheese omelet. Side of fruit, please.”
Gina nods and turns to me.
“I’d like a spinach and cheese omelet with bacon and hashbrowns.”
She smiles like this is exactly what she expected from both of us and disappears back toward the kitchen. The normalcy of it feels nice. Food. Orders. Small decisions that carry manageable consequences.
Addison wraps her hands around her mug and looks out the window for a moment, letting the quiet stretch. There’s no tension in her posture, just thoughtfulness. When she looks back at me, it’s with an ease I didn’t know I’d been hoping for.
“So,” she says lightly. “You found it.”
“Eventually.”
She smiles. “Dot’s is hard to miss once you know what you’re looking for. And it’s good you’ve learned that now. Once the crush starts, this place fills up before eight.”
“Tourists?” I ask.
“Wine enthusiasts who have homes here,” she replies, a corner of her mouth lifting. “Dot’s is one of the first places they come. We call them seasonals. They’re only around for part of the year. Then there are tourists and locals. You’re now a local.”
I follow her gaze as someone slips into the booth behind us. “It already feels busy.”
“This is nothing.” She tips her mug toward the counter. “Tom Callahan owns the place. He won’t touch the menu. Hasn’t made a change in years. Says the regulars would riot.”
I think back to the laminated menu with its soft edges. “I believe him.”
She laughs, and I catch myself watching her more than the room. The way she listens, the way her smile comes and goes naturally, not deployed for effect.
“You look great. Did you start the Zofran? How is it working for you?” I ask.
“I did,” she says. “I still have some nausea, but it’s much better.”
When the server bustles back over with our plates, we thank her, and in a flash, she’s disappeared again.
Addison spears a piece of fruit and eats it, glancing at my plate. “You always order that?”
“I try to eat healthy. I am a doctor.” I shrug. “But I like to live a little dangerously.”
“Bacon and hashbrowns are definitely dangerous.” She smiles. “And Dot’s eggs are better than they look. I love the brown crispy outer edge, but I know Emma likes them softer.”
“I’ll trust you on that.”
She takes another bite. “Where did you grow up?”
“Regina. My parents are both retired schoolteachers, and they took over my grandfather’s hardware store. Have you lived here your whole life?”
“I studied engineering at Toronto.”
My eyes snap wide. “Engineering?”
“Are you saying you don’t think I’m smart?”
“Not at all. I know a lot of people who applied and didn’t get into U of T.”
“Emma and I went there together. She studied Aerospace Engineering and has started a rocket company here.”
“Why the art for you?”