Chapter 6
If anyone asked me whether I had been thinking about General Alexander Reeves since Saturday night...
I would laugh.
Then deny it.
Then I would probably change the subject so aggressively they would forget they even asked.
Because there was absolutely nothing to think about.
He was a thirty-two-year-old military commander. He was entirely too serious. He was incredibly intimidating. He barely smiled.
And somehow... that was exactly the problem.
I sighed dramatically as I stared at my pharmacology notes spread across my small desk.
"The mechanism of action of..." I read aloud, tracing the line with my yellow highlighter before stopping halfway through the sentence.
Without warning, another sentence slipped directly into my head. His voice. Low, gravelly, and vibrating with an intensity I couldn't shake.
*I enjoyed tonight.*
I blinked rapidly, shaking my head to clear the thought.
"No," I muttered firmly to the empty room.
I picked up my pen again.
"The mechanism..."
*I enjoyed tonight.*
I groaned loudly, letting my forehead fall onto the heavy textbook with a dull thud.
"What is wrong with me?"
A sharp knock sounded on my bedroom door before it swung open.
Mia peeked inside, carrying two steaming mugs. "Emergency hot chocolate."
I lifted my head from the pages. "You made hot chocolate?"
"I made hot chocolate because your face looks like someone just told you nursing school lasts another ten years."
I laughed despite myself, reaching for the mug. "It already feels like ten years."
She handed me the drink before dropping dramatically onto the edge of my bed.
"So..." she started, a wicked glint in her eye.
"So?"
"Tell me about the General."
"There is nothing to tell, Mia."
She narrowed her eyes, sipping her drink. "You have been saying that since Saturday."
"Because it's true."
"You went on a date with the most feared man in the country."
"It wasn't a date."
"It was dinner."
"It was... dinner," I corrected stubbornly.
"With a man."
I frowned. "People eat dinner."
She folded her arms over her chest. "They do. They don't usually come home looking like they're trying to solve a complex murder mystery every time they stare at a wall."
I opened my mouth to argue.
Closed it again.
Mia grinned like a shark who had just spotted blood in the water. "Aha."
"There is no 'aha.'"
"There absolutely was."
I stood up quickly, turning my back to her. "I should study."
"You've been reading the same page for twenty minutes."
"I like being thorough."
"You've been holding the book upside down, Grace."
I froze.
Slowly... very slowly... I looked down at the desk.
The textbook really was upside down.
A fierce, scorching heat rushed instantly into my cheeks.
Mia burst into laughter so loud she almost spilled her hot chocolate all over my duvet.
"Oh, Grace..."
"I knew that," I lied quickly, flipping the heavy book right-side up.
"No, you didn't."
"I was... testing my cognitive memory."
She laughed even harder. "I'm serious."
"You are many things," she wheezed, wiping a tear from her eye, "but convincing isn't one of them."
I grabbed the nearest throw pillow from my chair and tossed it directly at her face.
She caught it effortlessly. Then she smiled in that highly dangerous way older sisters smile when they know they have already won the argument.
"So..." she dragged the word out. "How many times have you replayed the evening in your head?"
"I haven't."
"Liar."
"I am not lying, Mia."
"You smiled while washing dishes yesterday."
"I always smile."
"You smiled at a dirty spatula."
"I was... happy the dishes were getting clean."
She pointed dramatically toward the ceiling. "Dear Lord, she's completely gone."
I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms. "I am perfectly fine."
"Grace."
"What?"
"You still have his handkerchief."
Silence.
I looked directly toward the top drawer of my dresser before I could stop myself.
Mia noticed.
Of course she noticed.
Her smile became impossibly wider. "There it is."
"What?"
"The look."
"There was no look."
"You looked at the drawer, Gracie."
"I didn't."
"You absolutely did."
I folded my arms tighter, lifting my chin stubbornly. "It just happens to be in there."
"So throw it away."
"I will."
"Go ahead."
"I..."
I glanced toward the drawer again. The thought of throwing away the soft, cedar-scented fabric made my stomach twist strangely.
Mia covered her mouth to hide another laugh. "I knew it!"
"I just..." I stammered, frantically searching for an excuse.
"What?"
"I should wash it before returning it."
She stared at me. "Grace."
"It's the polite thing to do!"
"You've already washed it."
"I wanted to wash it again."
"You ironed it."
"I..."
"You ironed another man's handkerchief," she stated, her voice flat with amusement.
"I was practicing!"
"For what?"
"...Ironing."
She fell backward onto my bed, laughing so hard she was practically gasping for air. "I can't breathe!"
"You are impossible."
"No," she gasped between laughs. "You are hopeless."
"I am not hopeless."
"Oh? Then give it to me." She stretched out her hand, wiggling her fingers. "I'll throw it away for you."
Without thinking... I lunged.
I reached the dresser drawer first. I yanked it open, my fingers closing protectively around the neatly folded, navy-blue handkerchief before hers could even come close.
We both froze.
The room became strangely, heavily quiet.
Mia slowly looked at my hand. Then at me. Then back at the handkerchief.
"...Grace."
I looked down.
I was holding it carefully against my chest. As though it were something fragile. Something incredibly important.
Embarrassed, I immediately shoved it back into the drawer and slammed it closed.
"I don't know why I did that," I whispered.
"I do."
"I don't."
"You like him."
"I do not."
"You absolutely do."
"I barely know him, Mia!"
"Exactly."
"Exactly what?"
"You like him despite barely knowing him."
I groaned loudly, completely defeated. "This conversation is over."
She stood up, smoothing her shirt, still grinning triumphantly. "It definitely isn't."
"It is."
"It definitely isn't."
I pointed dramatically toward my bedroom door. "Leave."
"Say it."
"What?"
"Say General Alexander Reeves is handsome."
I gasped, scandalized. "Mia!"
"What?"
"I am not saying that."
"So you disagree?"
"I..."
She waited. Patiently. Annoyingly.
"...He's..." I swallowed hard, looking at the floor.
"Yes?"
"...Presentable."
She burst into laughter again, nearly dropping her empty mug. "Presentable?!"
"I mean..."
"He is objectively gorgeous, Grace. The man looks like he was carved out of marble by a very angry, very talented sculptor."
"I never said he wasn't."
"Aha!"
"I said objectively!"
"You noticed."
"I have eyes!"
"You looked."
"I looked because he was sitting in front of me!"
She clapped her hands happily. "This is wonderful."
"What is?"
"You have caught feelings."
"I have caught stress."
She laughed once more before finally walking toward the door.
Just before leaving, she stopped in the frame and looked over her shoulder.
"For someone who claims she doesn't like him..." she glanced meaningfully toward the dresser one last time. "...you certainly guard that handkerchief like it's a national treasure."
The door clicked shut.
Silence returned to my bedroom.
I stared at the closed wood for a long moment.
"...Ridiculous."
I opened the drawer again.
The neatly folded navy blue handkerchief rested exactly where I had placed it.
Simple. Clean. Nothing extraordinary.
Yet somehow... it reminded me of the quiet, dominant man who had handed it to me. He hadn't teased me after I spilled water across the restaurant table. Most people would have laughed or sighed in annoyance.
He hadn't.
He had simply looked at me, dried my hands with quiet efficiency, and told me the table was irrelevant.
No judgment. No embarrassment. Just absolute, steady kindness.
I sighed into the quiet room. "You're overthinking this, Grace."
I folded the handkerchief one more time, even though it was already perfectly folded. Then I tucked it beneath a stack of thick notebooks where no one would see it.
"There."
Satisfied, I shut the drawer.
Five seconds later... I opened it again.
"...What if the notebooks cause it to wrinkle?"
I carefully moved it to the very top. Then closed the drawer once more.
I stared at the dresser for a full minute.
"...I really, really need to study."
Monday arrived far too quickly.
By seven-thirty in the morning, I was already at the university teaching hospital, wearing my neatly pressed light-blue student nurse scrubs.
The familiar, sharp scent of antiseptic greeted me as soon as I stepped inside the double doors. We were currently on our clinical postings since it was almost time for our final exams.
Nurses moved briskly through the bright corridors. Doctors discussed patient charts in hushed tones. Wheelchairs rolled past. Heart monitors beeped rhythmically from the open rooms.
This place always grounded me.
No matter what was happening outside—no matter how many terrifying Generals or awkward dates filled my thoughts—the hospital reminded me why I had chosen nursing.
People here needed compassion far more than they needed perfection.
"Grace!"
I turned to see my classmate, Ada, hurrying toward me with two heavy medical files balanced awkwardly against her chest.
"Good morning," I smiled.
She winced playfully. "I heard Sister Margaret is supervising our ward today."
I groaned softly. "So we're all in danger."
Ada giggled. "If she catches anyone standing idle for two seconds, she'll assign another ten-page case study."
We both laughed.
As if summoned by dark magic, the stern, echoing voice of Sister Margaret rang down the corridor.
"Student nurses."
Every single conversation in the hallway stopped instantly.
"Good morning, ma'am," we chorused automatically.
She adjusted her severe glasses on the bridge of her nose. "I hope you are all here to learn and not to gossip."
"Yes, ma'am."
Her sharp eyes scanned the group before landing directly on me.
"Miss Zane."
"Yes, ma'am?"
"You're smiling."
My smile disappeared immediately. "I'm sorry, ma'am."
She gave the tiniest, almost imperceptible nod. "Good. Now follow me."
Ada leaned closer as we started walking and whispered, "That might be the closest thing to a compliment we will ever get from her."
I bit the inside of my lip to stop myself from laughing again.
The rest of the morning completely disappeared into patient assessments, complex medication rounds, changing sterile dressings, and comforting anxious families.
It was exhausting. But fulfilling.
Near lunchtime, an elderly patient named Mrs. Higgins reached out a frail hand after I finished adjusting her pillows.
"Thank you, my daughter," she whispered weakly.
I smiled warmly, placing my hand over hers. "It's my pleasure, Mrs. Higgins. You just rest now."
Her wrinkled fingers squeezed mine gently. "You will become a wonderful nurse."
Those simple words filled my heart in a way high exam grades never could.
For the first time since Saturday... I realized I hadn't thought about General Alexander Reeves for almost four whole hours.
Progress.
...Or so I thought.
As I sat down at the empty nurses' station to pack my notebook for my lunch break, something navy blue slipped from between its heavy pages and fell onto the desk.
I frowned.
It was a small square of neatly folded, expensive fabric.
My eyes widened in absolute shock.
"...How did this get in here?"
Somehow... without realizing it... completely subconsciously...
I had packed his handkerchief into my bag and brought it to the hospital.
I covered my flushed face with both hands.
"Grace..." I whispered to myself. "What are you doing to yourself?"
This is not how it was supposed to go.
And somewhere, deep inside my chest... a tiny, terrifying voice whispered the absolute truth I still refused to admit out loud.
Maybe... just maybe...
The intimidating General had left a much bigger impression on my heart than I was willing to believe.
"Grace says it's a NO, she is not thinking about him... do we believe her? ???? Or is our General already living rent-free in her head? ????"
Mwaah!
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