Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
W hitney adjusted her scrubs and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear as she hurried down the hallway of the clinic. Her shift had been a non-stop blur of patients with seasonal allergies, sprained ankles, and even a kid who had stuck a raisin up his nose. That had been a real adventure. It was just another busy day in Jubilee, and she hadn’t had a moment to catch her breath.
“Whitney,” one of the nurses called from the front desk. “We’ve got a walk-in who needs to be seen. Can you take it?”
She nodded but sighed to herself as she grabbed a pair of gloves. “Sure thing. What’s the issue?”
“Burn on his hand,” the nurse said. “He says it’s not too bad, but it is blistered, so we should really take a look at it.”
“Got it,” Whitney said, heading toward the small exam room where she sometimes saw patients. Although she wasn’t a doctor, as a nurse, she could assess minor injuries and determine the next steps.
She opened the door with her usual professional demeanor but froze when she stepped inside.
Tate Morgan was sitting on the exam table, looking slightly sheepish.
“Oh,” she said, blinking in surprise. “It’s you.”
She glanced down at the iPad in her hand. Of course, she would have known it was him if she had bothered to check the name before walking into the room.
Tate looked up, his mouth curving into a warm smile. “Hey there. Fancy meeting you here.”
Whitney’s heart fluttered as she stepped further into the room, closing the door behind her. “So, what happened?”
He held up his hand, showing an angry red burn with small blisters forming along his palm. “I was testing out the new oven at the café and forgot to grab a hot pad. So… here I am.”
She winced as she rolled the stool over and sat down in front of him. “That looks painful. Let’s take care of it.”
“Oh, it’s not too bad,” he said, watching her as she examined his hand. “Honestly, I’m more embarrassed than anything. Rookie mistake. Who forgets a hot pad?”
She couldn’t help but smile as she reached for the saline solution and some gauze. “It happens to the best of us. Burns can be tricky, so it’s good that you came in.”
As she cleaned the wound gently, she became acutely aware of how close they were. She could feel his eyes on her, and it made her flustered in a way she hadn’t expected. She barely knew this guy, so why was she having such a strong reaction to him?
“So,” Tate said, his voice breaking the silence, “do you always work this hard, or is today just extra busy?”
Whitney looked up at him, smiling slightly. “I’d say this is pretty typical. It’s a small clinic, so we get a little bit of everything.”
“Well, you’re good at it,” he said. “I can tell you really care about what you’re doing.”
Her cheeks warmed at the compliment. She refocused on his hand. “Thank you. I enjoy helping people. It’s one of the reasons I want to open a wellness studio.”
“You’re serious about that, huh?”
“I am,” she said, her voice softening. “I’ve been dreaming about it for years, but it’s hard to take that first step, especially when my own father thinks it’s a stupid idea.”
He didn’t respond immediately, but when she looked up at him, his expression softened. “You know, sometimes the people who love us the most have the hardest time seeing us take big risks. But that doesn’t mean they don’t want us to succeed.”
Her hands paused for a moment as she worked. Hearing that from him felt different—like he actually understood her.
“Maybe,” she said quietly, returning to work on his hand. “But it’s still hard to feel like he doesn’t believe in me.”
Tate nodded. “I get that. I really do.”
The room was silent for a moment except for the faint hum of clinic noises in the background. She finished cleaning the burn and applied a soothing ointment.
“Again, you’re really good at this,” he said after a while. “I mean it—you’ve got a way of making people feel cared for.”
When she looked up and met his eyes, there was something in his expression that made her heart skip—a warmth and openness she hadn’t seen in a man before.
“Thank you,” she said, suddenly feeling very shy.
She wrapped his hand with clean gauze and secured it. “Okay, that should do it. Keep it clean and dry for the next few days, and don’t pop any of the blisters. If it gets worse or doesn’t heal, come back and see us.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a small grin.
She laughed and stood, tossing her gloves into the trash. “I’m serious, Tate. Take care of it. Don’t be a guy about it.”
“I will,” he said, sliding off the exam table. “And thanks, Whitney.”
She looked at him, feeling a strange connection. “Anytime.”
He smiled and started toward the door, but just before he stepped out, he turned back. “You know, that wellness studio of yours—it’s going to happen. I can see it. You’ve got too much passion for it not to.”
“Thanks, Tate. I hope you’re right.”
With that, he was gone, leaving her standing in the empty room with her heart racing and her mind spinning.
She leaned against the counter, taking a deep breath to steady herself. Tate Morgan was unlike anyone she’d ever met—genuine, kind, and somehow able to understand her in a way that few people ever had.
But as much as she wanted to hold on to the warmth of that moment, the nagging voice in the back of her mind—her father’s voice—warned her to be cautious.
“Hey, Whitney!” the nurse called from the hallway.
“Yeah?” she responded, snapping out of her thoughts.
“We’ve got a little boy out here who stuck a bead up his nose.”
Whitney shook her head and smiled faintly as she grabbed a fresh pair of gloves. “On my way.”
* * *
W hitney stood behind the counter at Coop's Home Cookin’, refilling salt shakers and wiping down menus, but her heart just wasn’t in it. Her eyes kept drifting toward the window, where she could see Tate’s place across the street. The sleek new sign gleamed in the sunlight, and through the window, she caught faint glimpses of movement as people came and went now that the café had officially opened for business.
Her father’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. “Whitney, are you listening to me?”
She turned, blinking as if she’d been caught sneaking a cookie before dinner. “Oh… yeah, sorry. What was that?”
Coop frowned, wiping his hands on a dish towel as he exited the kitchen. “I said table four needs coffee, and I’m almost out of biscuits back here.”
“Oh, right. I’ll get the coffee,” she said, grabbing the pot and heading toward the table.
When she returned to the counter, she tried to focus, folding napkins into neat little triangles and arranging them in holders. But her gaze kept slipping back to the café, drawn to its modern charm and the steady stream of customers.
“Whitney?” Coop said sharply, his tone carrying a note of suspicion.
She jumped and turned to face him. “What?” she asked, placing a hand on her chest.
“You keep staring out that window,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “What’s got you so distracted today?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”
He didn’t look convinced. “You’re not tired. You’re distracted. And I bet I know what’s got your attention.” He pointed his thumb toward the window. “That ridiculous café. Let me guess, you’re worried it’s gonna hurt our business, aren’t you?”
She sighed, hoping a little white lie might satisfy him. “Something like that.”
“Well, don’t you be worried,” he said gruffly, tossing the dish towel over his shoulder. “It’s a waste of time, that’s what it is. Ain’t nobody around here going to trade in good ol’ home cooking for overpriced rabbit food. You mark my words; they’ll be closed in six months.”
Whitney pressed her lips together, biting back a reply. Her father wouldn’t change his mind about the café anytime soon, and arguing would only make things worse.
As Coop launched into another rant about small-town traditions and the absurdity of fancy big-city ideas, she caught a glimpse of someone walking across the street, heading straight for Coop’s.
It was Tate.
Her heart skipped a beat as she watched him approach, a small bag in his hand. He was almost at the door when panic set in.
“I’ll be right back,” she said quickly, cutting her father off mid-rant.
“What? Where are you going?” he demanded.
“I forgot something in my car,” she called over her shoulder, already heading toward the door.
She stepped outside, squinting in the sunlight, and quickly waved to get Tate’s attention. He stopped mid-step, his brow furrowing in confusion as she gestured for him to move away from the windows. He followed her around the side of the building, out of Coop’s line of sight.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, fine,” she said, out of breath, glancing over her shoulder to make sure they weren’t being watched. “My dad… well, let’s just say I don’t think he’d be too welcoming to you today. He’s kind of in a mood.”
Tate smiled, holding up the bag. “I just wanted to give you this—a little thank you for helping me with my hand.”
She took the bag and peeked inside, finding a neatly wrapped container with what looked like freshly baked muffins. She smiled. “This is very sweet of you. Thank you. How’s the hand healing?”
“Well, I guess you’d have to tell me,” he said, holding out his bandaged hand.
She set the bag aside on the trunk of her car and gestured for him to extend his hand. He did, and she carefully unwrapped the gauze, her fingers brushing against his skin as she worked.
His palm was still red, but the blisters had begun to shrink, and the wound looked clean and healthy.
“Not too bad,” she said. “You’ve been taking good care of it.”
“Following doctor’s orders,” he teased.
“Well, I’m not a doctor,” she said, laughing softly as she rewrapped his hand. “But you’re a good patient. Just keep it clean and dry, and you’ll be good as new in no time.”
“Thank you,” he said, his gaze lingering for a moment.
The air between them shifted, and Whitney’s hand froze as she finished securing the bandage. When she looked up, her breath caught at the warmth in his eyes. For a moment, it felt like the whole world had fallen away, leaving just the two of them standing in the parking lot with the Blue Ridge Mountains as their backdrop.
“You’re very good at this,” he said, his voice softer now.
“It’s my job,” she said, laughing nervously.
“No, it’s more than that. You care. That’s rare in this world.”
Her heart thudded as she quickly stepped back. “I should get back inside,” she said, glancing toward the diner. “I don’t want my daddy coming out here and making a big scene.”
Tate nodded. “Thanks again, Whitney. For everything.”
She watched as he turned and walked back across the street, disappearing into the café.
Her fingers brushed over the bag he had given her. She quickly put it in her car. Taking a deep breath, she slipped back inside. Coop was still ranting to Wanda about the café and didn’t even glance her way as she returned to the counter.
But Whitney’s world felt different now. Tate Morgan had gotten under her skin, and no matter how hard she tried, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to keep her distance.
* * *
M adeline sat at her small writing desk, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Outside the window, the Blue Ridge Mountains stretched across the horizon like a living postcard. Morning mist curled through the trees, and sunlight peeked through the clouds. This view always made her stop and stare, reminding her why she had chosen to settle in Jubilee.
But today, it wasn’t enough to clear her mind. She stared at the blinking cursor on her screen, the words she’d already written feeling flat and uninspired. The looming deadline for her new book pressed silently in the back of her mind, a weight she couldn’t shake.
“Come on, Madeline,” she muttered to herself. “You’ve done this a million times before. Just start.”
Her hands moved to type a new sentence, but nothing came.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, offering the perfect excuse to stop writing for a few minutes.
“Hey, sweetheart,” came Brady’s familiar drawl as he stepped inside, holding a steaming cup of coffee. “Figured you could use this little pick-me-up.”
She turned in her chair, a smile spreading across her face. “Oh my gosh, you’re a lifesaver,” she said, reaching for the cup. “How did you know I was struggling?”
He shrugged, leaning casually against the doorframe. “You always get that furrowed look on your face when you’re stuck. Plus, it’s a safe bet. You’re always happy to see coffee no matter what.”
She laughed and took a sip, savoring the rich, slightly sweet brew. “You’re not wrong. Where’d you get this?”
“Coop’s,” he said, stepping further into the room. “Perky’s was too packed this morning, and when I walked into Coop’s, Wanda practically shoved it in my hands. Said you’d appreciate it more than I would.”
“Well, she’s right about that,” Madeline said with a chuckle. “Tell her I owe her one.”
He pulled up a chair and settled across from her, his own coffee in hand. For a while, they sat in comfortable silence. The only sounds were the tapping of her keyboard and the occasional chirping of birds outside.
As the morning stretched on, Madeline stole a glance at him. He was scrolling through his phone, concentrating on whatever he was reading. She admired the quiet strength of his features, the way his jawline tensed when he was focused, and the little crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled.
“What are you working on over there?” she asked, leaning back in her chair and stretching.
“Oh, just some stuff for the farm,” he said. “You know, Gilbert’s been gnawing on the fence again, so I’m trying to figure out how to keep that little booger from destroying it completely.”
She laughed softly. “That goat has more personality than most people I know.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” he said, shaking his head. “I think he’s doing it just to mess with me at this point,” he said, laughing. “You know,” he added after a moment, “you look pretty good when you’re working. All focused and determined.”
She felt a blush creep up her neck. “Is that your way of saying I look like a stressed-out mess?”
“No, not at all,” he said. “It’s just nice to see you in your element. You’ve got this whole creative energy thing going on. It’s kind of cool.”
She rolled her eyes. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Brady Nolan.”
“Are you sure about that?” he asked with a wink, reaching across the desk to rub his thumb against the top of her hand.
She shook her head and turned back to her computer. She wasn’t going to let him distract her today. She had too much to do.
Hours passed in a peaceful rhythm as he worked on his phone, occasionally muttering about farm supplies or typing out a text, while Madeline lost herself in the world of her story. Finally, she found her groove, the words flowing more quickly than they had all morning.
Every now and then, they exchanged a glance or a smile. At one point, Brady got up to stretch and walked over to the window.
“You’ve got the best view in town. You know that?”
“Yes, I’m aware,” Madeline said, looking up from her screen. “It’s part of the reason I decided to stay here.”
“Well, the view’s nice,” he said, turning back to her. “But I’d argue it’s not the best thing about this house.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what is?”
He leaned against the window frame. “You.”
Her breath caught for a moment. She opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, a loud knock echoed through the house.
“Madeline! Brady! Are y’all in there?”
She laughed softly, recognizing the voice immediately. She stood and opened the front door to find Geneva standing on the porch, her hands on her hips. She was dressed in her usual hiking boots and cargo pants, her gray hair pulled into a messy ponytail. A bundle of herbs stuck out of the pocket of her jacket, and a pair of heavy gloves dangled from one hand.
“Morning, Geneva,” Madeline said, stepping aside to let her in.
“Morning,” Geneva said, breezing past her. She spotted Brady and smiled. “Just the man I need to see.”
Brady raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on now, Geneva?”
“Well,” she began, placing her gloves on the table, “I’ve got a tree leaning dangerously close to my cabin, and I figured I’d better do something about it before it decides to crash through my roof. I’d handle it myself, but I’m not as spry as I used to be. Think you could help me out with the chainsaw?”
He chuckled. “Geneva, you’ve been handling that chainsaw longer than I’ve been alive. You sure you need me?”
“Don’t you sass me, boy,” Geneva said, wagging her finger at him. “I just need an extra set of hands to make sure I don’t take out my whole porch in the process.”
He stood and grabbed his jacket. “Okay, okay, let’s go save your house.”
Geneva smiled and turned to Madeline. “You can come too if you want. Maybe bring that camera of yours. We’ll get a good shot of Brady working for once.”
Madeline laughed. “I think I’ll stay here and keep writing. But please make sure he doesn’t hurt himself, okay?”
Geneva winked. “No promises.”