Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
COLE
The interior at Provisions was warm and inviting—walls papered in thick cream, soft pendant lighting, tables dressed in ivory linens and cloth napkins.
Large windows along the front let in what was left of the waning sunlight.
Potted plants lined the windowsills and hung from the ceiling in the corners.
The open kitchen meant diners at the bar could watch the chefs working, and the noise level was energetic but not loud.
I gave the hostess my name and she led me through the dining room to a table near the back corner. It was a two-top with a candle flickering in a small glass holder, positioned far enough from the kitchen that we would be able to talk without competing with the sound of pots and pans.
Harper was already there.
She wore jeans that hugged her hips and a rust-colored silk blouse with a deep V-neck that showed off her collarbone and the hollow at the base of her throat.
Her hair was down tonight, shoulder-length curls framing her face in a wash-and-go style.
She was absorbed in her phone, scrolling with one thumb, but she looked up as I came closer.
I slid into the chair across from her, the wood sighing beneath me. “Hey. You been here long?”
“Maybe five minutes.” She set her phone face-down on the table. “I ordered wine. I hope that’s okay.”
“More than okay,” I said.
As if he had been waiting for that cue, our server appeared with a bottle and two glasses. He poured wine into both glasses as he introduced himself and the specials, then asked, “Can I get you started with any appetizers?”
Harper ordered scallops; I went with the short rib on special. Our waiter, Derek, disappeared into the background with promises to bring bread shortly.
“To Friday,” said Harper, lifting her glass in a toast.
“To Friday,” I agreed, clinking my glass against hers.
The wine was good. I was not a wine person—I usually drank bourbon or beer—but I could appreciate a good red.
Harper tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly as she studied me across the table. “There’s something different about you tonight.”
I laughed. “It’s the company. But I’m also distracted by this thing going on at RMC. Today was strange.”
“What kind of strange are we talking about?”
I swirled my wine, getting into the story. “So apparently, I’ve been oblivious to this group chat that some of the staff have. In this group chat, they discuss…” I paused, still not believing I was saying this out loud. “Various topics, including but not limited to my forearms.”
Harper blinked, her lips parting in surprise before she started to laugh. “I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you. I’m just…your face right now. Your forearms?”
“There’s an entire conversation in a group text about my forearms. Also, the chat name changes every week based on whatever part of my body they are fixated on.”
Harper’s face went through several expressions in rapid succession. She pressed her hand over her mouth, but I saw her shoulders shaking. “Cole!” she squeaked. “Stop. Are you serious?”
“Completely serious. One of the nurses said she couldn’t tell me what last week’s obsession was. I don’t even want to know.”
Harper’s burst of laughter made her lean back in her chair. Her laugh was infectious, and I found myself smiling despite my embarrassment.
“I can guess. It’s below the waist—”
“Harper, I really—”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to embarrass you, it’s just…that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all year.”
“I heard humiliation builds character.”
“It’s not humiliation. It’s…” She paused, flurrying her hands around. “It’s people being people. You know this is completely normal, right?”
“Normal?”
“Normal! Like any workplace, hospital staff have group chats about everyone. The cute residents, the difficult doctors, the administrators who wear too much cologne and ask too many damn questions. You just happen to be the featured attraction.”
I groaned. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“No, but it should make you feel less singled out.” She took another sip of wine, still smiling. “So why was today strange?”
“I walked into the ICU and two nurses stopped talking mid-conversation. Another one blushed when I asked her a simple question about lab results. And all day, I felt like people were watching me. Like my every move is being reported somewhere.”
“You really had no idea people were paying attention to you like that?”
“None whatsoever. I thought I was just…you know. Part of the scenery. Just another doc putting people back together.”
“Cole Vaughn.” Harper leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “You’re a six foot two Black man who looks like he’s on break from the set of a soapy medical drama. You do not blend in. You’re the opposite of blending in. People notice you.”
I stared at her for a beat. “You think I look like I belong on TV?”
She didn’t blink. “Don’t pretend to be modest. You know you’re fine as fuck.”
My brows shot up. “I do?”
Harper rolled her eyes. “Well, now you’re just fishing for compliments.”
“Thank you. I’m not, though. I genuinely had no idea anyone was paying attention to me like that.”
I picked up my wine glass, and for a moment, it was something to hold onto while I sorted out what she’d just said.
“I always figured the safest way to survive in a hospital was to be just visible enough. Keep your head down, do good work, don’t invite attention.
If you do that, people leave you alone.”
“Well, welcome to being objectified. How is it going for you?”
“Not good. I spent all day side-eyeing every person who looked at me. It was exhausting.”
“Welcome to being a woman in literally any professional environment.”
“It’s that bad for you?”
“Being watched?” Harper took a slow sip of her wine. “Oh, yeah. But I figured out a long time ago how to tune it out and do my job. You get used to it after a while.”
I shook my head, pulling a face. “I don’t want to get used to it. I hate feeling like I’m a bug under a microscope, every move picked apart.”
“Then you picked the wrong profession,” she said. “Hospitals are fishbowls. Everyone watches everyone. The nurses watch the doctors. The doctors watch the residents and interns. Administration watches all of us, and Legal watches Admin and lord knows who’s watching Legal. It’s just how it goes.”
I realized what she was saying. It was background noise, something you learned to ignore even if you never liked it.
Harper smiled. “In the meantime, you can console yourself with the knowledge that at least the nurses think you’re cute.”
“That’s not consolation, Harper.”
Our food arrived at the perfect time. Derek set the plates down, explained each dish in loving detail, asked if we needed anything else. We both said no and he disappeared again.
For a few minutes, there was just the sound of knives and forks, plates being scraped. The short rib was amazing. I barely had to touch it and it just fell apart. I ate slow for once, not like at the hospital where I shoveled something into my mouth between patients.
I glanced up and caught Harper with her eyes closed.
“How did I do picking out a place?” I asked. “Now I’m fishing for compliments.”
“Mmmmm. So good.” She opened her eyes and smiled at me. “This is delicious. This is my life now.”
“Just living at Provisions?”
“Showing up every night, ordering the scallops, dying happy.”
Fragments of other conversations reached our table—a couple arguing quietly, a group of friends laughing loudly at the bar, a phone ringing, then quickly silenced. A normal Friday night in a busy restaurant.
Harper’s fork clinked on her plate. “Cole…why did you really ask me to dinner?”
I ran my tongue across my teeth, set my fork down, and rested my elbows on the table. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, colleagues having drinks after work, no big deal. A meal out together? That’s a big deal, Cole. And not that I have a problem with it, because I’m here. But…what’s happening here?”
That was a fair question. I thought about how to answer it and decided on the truth.
“Because I don’t talk to many people the way I talk to you. And I wanted to talk more.”
Harper went very still.
I continued, pushing the words out before I lost my nerve.
“I don’t have friends at the hospital. I have colleagues.
People I work with, people I respect professionally, people I can stand in an elevator with for thirty seconds without wanting to throw myself down the shaft.
But I don’t have anyone I actually talk to about real-life shit. ”
“And you talk to me about real-life shit?”
“Last night was the first real conversation I’ve had in months. You didn’t try to fix anything or offer unsolicited advice or make it about yourself. You listened and responded like we were two people at the same stage of life having a conversation.”
Harper’s lips curved into a smile. “I’m very good at listening.”
“I’m not telling you this to make you feel responsible for my feelings or to put pressure on you,” I added.
“I’m just explaining why I wanted to see you again.
It’s not about the investigation. It’s not about needing help navigating hospital politics.
I like talking to you, and I don’t get to do that often. ”
“Cole—”
“So if that’s too much or it makes you uncomfortable, tell me now and we can go back to being colleagues who pass each other in hallways and pretend we don’t know each other outside of work.”
She didn’t answer right away. For a long time, she sat silent, rolling her wine glass in slow, careful circles, the base tracing a ring on the tablecloth. Candlelight glowed off the dark red, catching and shifting as she turned the glass.
Eventually she leaned in, close enough that I could see the light in her eyes, and her voice slipped out soft as a secret. “It’s not too much. I like talking to you too.”
“Yeah?” I asked, a little breathless, hoping she meant it.