Dr. Dempsey (Dempsey Follies #1)

Chapter 1

One

Liz

I’ve been to Paradise a thousand times, but it looks different when you’re arriving to stay.

The highway curves along the lake, where sheets of ice cling to the edges and fog drifts low over the water on an early-January morning.

Sunlight slants through the evergreen trees, turning their shadows silver across the snowbanks.

The air smells like pine, diesel, and wood smoke.

I crack the window just enough to breathe it in, cold air biting my lungs, the kind of clean that feels like permission to start over.

“New job, new town, new life,” I whisper. “No drama. No men.”

That last part matters.

My best friend, Trinity Paradise, called about an opening in her department at the hospital where she works part time, and the timing was perfect in that tragic, poetic way that life sometimes offers mercy disguised as chaos.

The guy I’d been dating—three dinners, one forgettable night of lousy sex, and an expensive bottle of wine I regret sharing—had ghosted me.

My parents had retired to Mexico. My brother, Mark, and his family had already moved here.

I was the leftover piece on a chessboard when nobody wanted to finish the game.

But Trinity dangled an escape, Assistant Director of Hospital Administration for one of the top health systems in the province.

Two interviews, a final meeting with the board, and a handshake later, I broke my lease in Vancouver, packed my car, and assured myself this move was about ambition, not loneliness.

Snow dusts the rooftops as I crest the hill.

The sign flashes past—Welcome to Paradise, B.C.

, the Wine Capital of Canada—half buried under a crust of ice.

My stomach flips. The irony of “wine capital” in the dead of winter isn’t lost on me.

The vines are asleep. I just hope my judgment is not.

You’re just nervous, I assure myself. Change is never fun.

And coming to Paradise doesn’t have to mean anything more than that.

This is just where the job happened to be.

I cross the bridge over Black Bear Lake into downtown Paradise.

Everything appears in soft gray tones, storefronts glowing behind fogged glass, icicles glinting from awnings.

A plow rumbles past, spraying salt. I pull into the market lot for supplies, tires crunching over packed snow.

The rental cottage Trinity found for me is small, but it’s within walking distance of the hospital and has a stone fireplace, a view of the lake, and an empty fridge.

Coffee, milk, and something edible. That’s the plan.

Inside the market, the air smells like bread, cinnamon, and wool wet from melting snow.

Locals push carts and chat near the produce section.

A corkboard by the door advertises the winter carnival and the hospital’s blood drive.

I shake the cold from my scarf, grab a cart, and tell myself again that today is the first step toward the life I want.

Don’t overthink, keep your head down, and avoid complications, especially the male kind.

I move toward the coffee aisle. The heater vents hum overhead. It’s almost cozy. I’m reaching for coffee beans, proud of how functional and normal I’m being, when a voice cuts through the music overhead. Low. Warm. Threaded with laughter that once curled through my chest and stayed there.

I freeze. No, no, no. That can’t be him.

I tell myself it’s someone else. There must be other men in Paradise with voices that sound like warm whiskey. But my heart already knows. It’s racing, traitorous, remembering too much.

I turn my head, slow and unwilling. And there he is.

Alaric Dempsey.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. The kind of man who makes winter seem deliberate, like he was built for it.

His hair is damp, sleeves pushed up on a navy sweater that shouldn’t look that good under fluorescent lights.

He’s standing in front of a display of apples, smiling at a brunette in yoga pants.

She laughs too loudly, touching his arm.

He looks older than the last time I saw him three years ago, but better. His smile used to be mine, and I hate that I still feel the echo of it.

Every bit of healing I’ve done since then fractures.

But I am thirty-one, a professional woman with an MBA and a career that demands composure. I can handle seeing an ex. I can nod politely, walk away, and buy my milk. I even take a step forward.

Then panic grips me. I haven’t washed my hair in three days. I have a coffee drip on the front of my sweater. There’s a pimple on my chin, and my period has me bloated. I wanted to see him when I looked my best, so he’d know he didn’t break me.

I duck behind a display of cereal boxes and peek through a gap.

Brilliant move, Liz. Real dignified.

Somewhere inside, the rational part of me asks, What are you doing? The rest of me whispers, Survival strategy.

The brunette leans closer. Alaric says something that makes her laugh again.

My stomach twists. “I’m invisible,” I whisper. “Just another shopper.” I take a breath. I can do this. I’ll wait until they leave.

Except what if I can’t?

I shift, trying to get feeling back in my legs, and bump the cereal tower, which wobbles. Oh shit!

Too late.

The display tips in a glorious slow-motion disaster. Boxes tumble and crash into the apple pyramid. Honeycrisps scatter like marbles, rolling across the tile. One bounces off my boot and spins under a cart. A man in a puffy jacket swerves to avoid it.

The brunette yelps. Someone gasps.

Alaric turns.

Our eyes meet through the chaos.

Recognition hits like a power line sparking in the snow. Surprise. Then that slow, dangerous smile that used to be my undoing.

He mouths something—maybe my name—but I’ve already abandoned my cart and headed for the exit. I don’t need groceries that bad.

The blast of cold air slaps my cheeks as I hit the parking lot, breath steaming.

I dive into my car, slam the door, and grip the steering wheel. “Well done, Liz. Ten minutes in Paradise and you’ve committed a grocery-store hit-and-run. And you didn’t even buy coffee.”

The windows fog as I rest my head against the seat. His face. His voice. That smile. Three years, and he still looks like trouble disguised as comfort.

I thought time would dull it. It hasn’t.

My phone buzzes. Trinity’s name flashes, and I answer with frozen fingers. “Please tell me you’re available for emotional triage.”

“Define emotional,” she says. “You made it? Are you alive?”

“Alive is debatable. I think I’ve sustained psychological injuries.”

“Oh no. What happened? Did the cottage flood? Did you lock yourself out already?”

“Worse.” I take a breath. “I saw him.”

A pause. “Him?”

“Alaric. In the flesh. Buying apples. Flirting with a yoga-pants-wearing woman who was laughing like she got paid to giggle.”

Trinity snorts. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish. I tried to hide behind a cereal display. There was…fallout.”

“Liz.”

“It fell and took out the apple pyramid. I panicked and ran.”

She’s laughing so hard now she can barely breathe. “You’ve been here how long?”

“Thirty-seven minutes.”

“Oh, Liz.” Her voice softens. “You realize you’re going to see him again, right? He’s Paradise royalty.”

“Not if I schedule my life carefully. I’ll shop on Thursdays, work late, wear sunglasses indoors.”

“That might be tricky, considering you start at the hospital tomorrow.”

I blink. “I beg your pardon?”

“He’s head of Behavioral Health. You’ll cross paths.”

My forehead thuds against the steering wheel. “Kill me now. Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“Hey. You’ve got this. You didn’t move here for him. You moved here for you.”

I groan. “Right. The empowering, career-driven, independent-woman step.”

“Exactly. And maybe skip the cereal avalanche next time.”

“Not helpful.”

She laughs. “Well, I love you. Greyson, Theo, and I will bring dinner around five. You can tell us all about your escape from the grocery store.”

“Perfect. Nothing says new beginning like recounting my humiliation.”

“See you soon.” She hangs up, still laughing.

I stay parked, watching the market doors slide open and shut. Every time they do, I expect Alaric to walk out—calm, collected, the man who broke my heart and never explained. Not that I reached out to ask…

The ache is smaller now, more bruise than wound, but it’s still there.

Snow flurries drift across the windshield. Across the lot, an older couple loads groceries into their hatchback, moving in quiet rhythm. That easy partnership twists something in my chest. I need to be over wanting that too.

I start the engine and adjust the heater as I exit the parking lot. The road ahead is slick with slush, but the lake shimmers beside it.

I tighten my hands on the wheel. “You’ve got this, Liz.”

Trinity will give me a pep talk this evening, and tomorrow, I’ll walk into that hospital with my head high and my heart locked down. I’ll act like seeing Alaric Dempsey didn’t rattle me at all.

If I can survive the produce aisle, I can survive anything.

Maybe.