Page 89 of Dr. Attending

I laugh because the question feels like it’s out of left field. “I’m the one who put it on your nightstand, idiot.”

Morgan got a little overzealous while we were setting up for Halloween and made us take out a few Christmas decorations. She said that she wanted to wake up tomorrow morning in the holiday spirit, so we sprinkled a few festive touches around their bedroom as a start.

“Do you know how they work?” she asks, jiggling the glass ball a little too aggressively. “When you shake them, all you can see is a white haze. But once all of the snow settles, you finally get the full picture.”

I watch all the tiny white flecks settle at the bottom of the globe, revealing a detailed sculpture of the Atlanta skyline, complete with Midtown Memorial Hospital.

“Okay . . . ” I say, wondering what this has to do with my original question.

Morgan meets my gaze, her expression softer now. “I was tired of standing alone in the snow.”

“What?”

“You asked how I knew I was ready,” she says, holding the snow globe out for me to take.

“I got to the point where all of the snow in my life had settled, and I had a choice to make. I could either shake things up again and step back into the blizzard where I was comfortable. Or I could open my eyes, and let myself finally see what was right in front of me.”

Morgan laughs as she stares at the Christmas decoration in my hands. “Don’t get me wrong, I thought really, really hard about choosing option one. But every time I got close, it felt like something was holding me back.”

“Sex?” I tease because that’s always the answer for her.

Her eyes flick to mine as a wistful expression crosses her face.

“Love,” she says, her tone earnest. “You’re never truly ready to go against your instincts. But when you find love, you become ready. When you find love, it’s enough.”

I feel my pulse slow to a crawl because her metaphor surprisingly makes everything click into place.

I can either keep coming up with reasons to shake the snow globe. Or, I can finally listen to what Cassidy, and my heart, have been telling me—that this is love.

Because love overshadows fear and hesitation. It blankets confidence over our deepest insecurities and scares away our loudest ghosts. It erases the lies we tell ourselves and rewrites them with a story more beautiful than we ever imagined.

Love heals us.

Just like Weston has healed me.

“Morgan,” a deep voice calls from the kitchen, pulling me out of my head.

“Speaking of love . . .” Morgan winks, reaching out to help me off the floor. “Let’s go remind Walkie-talkie how much he loves me.”

Walker offers me a curt nod as we enter the room before his eyes narrow on his wife. “What did I tell you about sushi?”

“Hmmm,” she muses,twisting a strand of caramel-colored hair around her finger like she’s racking her brain. “I believe you told me not to eat it because of the risk of salmonella.”

Walker’s jaw ticks like he’s fighting to keep his composure. “So, do you want to tell me why there are empty takeout containers on the counter?”

I almost jump in to take the blame, but Morgan waives me off without missing a beat. “Do you want to tell me why you haven’t commented on how good we both look in our costumes?”

“Morgan.”

“Walkie-boo-boo,” she sings, entirely unphased by his harsh tone.

I clear my throat, shifting awkwardly on my feet.

“Uh . . . so what are you wearing tonight?” I ask, desperate to redirect the conversation, even though I know this back-and-forth is just their version of foreplay.

Morgan rolls her emerald-green eyes in exasperation. “He’s supposed to be my cheer coach, but right now he looks like my worst nightmare—a grumpy surgeon.”

Walker’s dark gaze flickers in warning. “Keep it up, little devil,” he warns, his tone dropping low.

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