Chapter 13 - Nicole
Nicole
“I’ve never had a date in scrubs before,” I said, settling down onto the blanket James had spread beneath a sprawling oak whose branches knotted overhead like they’d been holding this patch of shade together for decades.
Brackenridge Park was showing off. Late-winter sun filtered through bare-limbed trees just starting to think about green, the grass still damp from morning dew, the river nearby moving slow and glassy as if it had nowhere better to be.
Joggers passed at a polite distance. A couple of ducks lingered closer to the water, entirely unimpressed by our attempt at romance on a stolen lunch break.
James glanced up from arranging the corner of the blanket, his scrubs wrinkled in the same places as mine, his hospital badge clipped to his waistband instead of his chest like we’d both quietly agreed this wasn’t the moment for credentials.
“First time for everything,” he said, tone light, eyes warm. “I figured if we were going to break the rules, we might as well commit.”
I set my pager beside my knee, close enough to feel it if it went off, far enough that I could pretend—for just a little while—that it wouldn’t.
Forty minutes. That’s all we had before we were pulled back into fluorescent lights and beeping machines and other people’s emergencies.
Still, the way he’d gone all out made it feel intentional, not rushed.
Real plates. Cloth napkins. A thermos that definitely didn’t come from the hospital break room.
“This is nice,” I said, taking it all in.
He smiled like that had been the point all along.
James crouched to open the cooler. “I figured it was either this or eating off our laps in the call room. I wanted to win points.”
“You already have.” I reached to help him. My gloves were still tucked into my pocket, forgotten, which felt like its own tiny rebellion.
He laid out food with care, arranging things so nothing tipped, pausing to adjust the blanket where a fold threatened to send a container sliding. There was a small bakery box tied with twine that immediately caught my attention.
“That looks suspicious,” I said.
His mouth curved in a way that told me everything. He opened it to reveal lemon shortbread cut into neat wedges, the surface dusted with sugar fine enough to cling to fingertips.
He held one up between us. “Before you ask, I did not bake them. I know my limits.”
I took a bite from the wedge he held out, and closed my eyes despite myself. Bright, sweet, the kind of thing that lingered on the tongue without demanding anything else from you.
“These are sinful.”
He watched me with an expression that made the rest of the park fade into background movement.
It got even worse when his thumb caught the corner of my mouth, wiping a smear away with an ease that startled me more than the touch itself.
His hand stilled, lingered, then dropped as if he’d remembered where we were.
“Sorry,” he said, though his eyes stayed on my face.
I shook my head. “Don’t be.”
He leaned in just enough to close the space, his mouth meeting mine with a gentleness that felt intentional but cautious at the same time. The kiss was delicate, didn’t escalate, but it left my pulse working overtime as he pulled back and smiled.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he murmured, and I felt my cheeks flood with heat.
We ate with our knees angled toward each other, conversation skipping easily from residency gossip to childhood Valentine’s Days, the kind with construction paper hearts and questionable candy.
He told me about his mother insisting on red shirts every February fourteenth.
I told him about my dad pretending not to care while saving the good chocolate for himself.
“So,” I said, tapping my fork against the edge of my container. “Tonight.”
His shoulders shifted, a fraction of a second where his attention slid inward. “The gala.”
I nodded. Landon’s suggestion had worked, and I’d managed to score two tickets that now sat folded in my bag, the corners already soft with how much I’d been gawking at them.
“I’m so excited I could scream.”
“I know,” he said, and the sincerity there made what came next hit a little harder. “I don’t think I’m your guy for that, though.”
I laughed, a reflex, then stopped when his expression didn’t change. “You’re serious.”
He reached for his water, twisted the cap, and took a drink to buy himself time.
“I spend my nights in arenas when I’m on call.
Bright lights. Noise. People yelling. When I get an evening off, I want quiet.
Besides, I’ve never been that into sports.
I don’t want to spend my night pretending I’m into something I hate. ”
Not even on Valentine’s Day. Not even for me.
I nodded stiffly, because it was easier than admitting the disappointment prickling under my ribs. “That’s fair.”
His knee nudged mine, an attempt at reassurance. “Skip it. Come over to my place instead. We can order something terrible and watch whatever you want.”
“I already told everyone I’m going,” I said, though that wasn’t the real reason. “I think I’ll use the ticket. Show my face, then I’ll come over to your place after.”
He studied me, searching for something I wasn’t offering. “You don’t have to do that for me.”
“I’m not,” I said, and meant it, even if the words didn’t carry the whole truth.
The first drop of rain landed on the back of my hand, cold enough to register immediately. James glanced up as another followed, then another, darkening the blanket in uneven spots.
“This wasn’t in the forecast,” he said.
The sky answered with a low roll that traveled across the park, scattering birds from the trees. Wind moved through the branches overhead, leaves whispering their warning.
We moved at once, the practiced efficiency of people who worked under pressure. Containers snapped shut. The cooler closed. The blanket folded in a hurry that made it lopsided. By the time we stood, rain had escalated from suggestion to commitment.
“Truck’s this way,” he said, already jogging.
We ran, shoes slipping on damp grass, laughter breaking free despite ourselves. The path offered no mercy, puddles forming faster than we could dodge them. By the time we reached his truck, both of us were soaked, hair plastered, scrubs darkened in places that left little to the imagination.
He fumbled with the keys, cursed out loud, then finally got the door open. We tumbled inside, breathless, rain drumming against the roof with enough force to drown out the rest of the park.
He turned toward me, hands braced on the steering wheel, then didn’t hesitate.
His mouth found mine again, the kiss deeper this time, urgency fueled by the absurdity of it all.
I tasted lemon and rain and the faint salt of sweat, my fingers curling into his damp shirt before I remembered where we were.
We pulled apart, laughing again, the moment settling into something warm and unassuming.
“Back to reality,” he said, starting the engine.
The hospital made sure of that within minutes of our return.
We went our separate ways, responding to a never-ending list of calls.
The rest of my shift dragged, each hour heavier than the last. The sweetness of the afternoon dulled into something lukewarm, the memory of his refusal looping when my hands were busy and my mind was free to wander.
Rosemary caught me charting with more force than necessary and raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess—your Valentine was a bust?”
I snorted. “Is it that obvious?”
“You were crawling out of your skin this morning,” she said. “I couldn’t get you to shut up about this date, the gala, any of it. But since you got back from lunch, you’ve been mute.”
“Ugh, the gala.” I sighed heavily and slumped in my chair. “I don’t know if I should go.”
She rolled her chair closer, lowering her voice. “Forget him. Do you know who’s going to be there tonight? You can’t not go.”
My interest sparked. Rose hated hockey. She barely grasped the rules, let alone the names of current players.
“What do you know about the guest list?”
“Jimmy Martinez,” she said, eyes bright. “First head coach. He never shows up anywhere. And T-Bone Benson? Heard of him?”
A delicious laugh burst out of me. “How do you—?”
“I’m not a hockey lover, but I care about my friend,” she deadpanned. “You’re never gonna stop dragging me to these games, so I figured I might as well brush up on my trivia.”
“You’re amazing,” I said, feeling the knot in my chest ease up a little. “And I had no idea Benson had confirmed, so that’s a plus. I need his autograph on my player’s card.”
“That’s the spirit.” Rosemary seemed satisfied that she’d cheered me up. “Go have fun, and wear something ridiculously hot so James can see what he missed out on.”
As I finished my rounds, the gala crept back into focus, the promise of lights and history and stories that didn’t belong to me but brushed close enough to matter. James’s absence still stung, but it no longer defined the evening ahead.
By the time my shift ended, determination had settled in. I tucked my ticket safely into my bag, changed out of my scrubs, and told myself that Valentine’s Day didn’t get to be ruined without a fight.
*
The gala didn’t feel real the moment I stepped inside. It was like a fairytale, with me as the most unlikely princess of all time.
Light spilled across the marble floor in warm bands, catching on crystal and polished metal, turning the whole space into something that shimmered without trying too hard.
The venue rose up instead of out, tall ceilings ribbed with dark beams, banners from past seasons suspended overhead.
Each one carried a year, a logo, a memory I’d watched from the wrong side of the glass more times than I could count.