Page 127 of Just Say Yes

The words hit like a slap, and I forced myself to stay calm, my voice steady even as my stomach churned. “Logan and I are fine.”

“Hmm,” she said, drawing the sound out like she didn’t believe me. “Well, if you ever get bored of him—or, you know, if he moves on—maybe give me a heads-up? A man like that doesn’t come around every day.”

I snapped the chart shut and turned to her, my voice cold. “You’re right, Beth. He is out of my league—just not in the way you think. See, Logan’s kind, intelligent, and actually likes women. Meanwhile, you’re stuck here scheming for a hot doctor who’s more interested in his chart than you.”

Beth’s perfectly glossed lips tightened into a thin line, but I wasn’t done.

“So here’s the deal,” I continued, stepping closer. “You can keep your snide comments, your fake concern, and whatever fantasy you have about Logan to yourself. Because I’m not interested in playing games with someone who can’t even play nice.”

Her expression faltered, just for a second, before she managed to plaster on a smug smile. “Wow, MJ. Who knew you had claws?”

I leaned in slightly, my voice calm but firm. “I’ve always had them. You just weren’t worth the scratch.”

Beth’s face flushed, and for once she didn’t have a comeback. I turned on my heel and walked away, leaving her standing there, speechless.

Every step felt lighter, like I’d finally shed a weight I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying.

The chart in my hand felt heavier than it should, the weight pressing into my palm like a reminder of everything I was trying to forget. I scanned the notes for the fifth time, the words blurring together. Mrs. Bernard’s blood pressure was stable. Mr. Freemont had finally eaten his lunch. Nothing had changed since the last time I checked.

That was the point, though, wasn’t it? If I kept moving—kept doing—then maybe I could outrun the negative thoughts that had been chasing me since the game.

Logan’s face flashed in my mind, his expression a mix of shock and something else I couldn’t quite place when the announcer revealed his Sevens call-up. The crowd’s cheers had drowned out the sound of my heart cracking wide open, but only for a moment. Now the echoes of that afternoon followed me everywhere.

I shoved the chart into its slot and grabbed another, my hands trembling. When I flipped it open, my stomach dropped.

Arthur Brown.

The letters blurred as a fresh wave of unease settled over me. My fingers tightened on the edge of the chart before I closed it quickly, the weight of his name heavier than all the others combined.

The faint sound of laughter carried down the hallway, tugging my attention. A group of residents gathered in the common room for their morning coffee. Sylvie must have caught word about the unexpected announcement, because when I’d arrived at work, the break room was overflowing with blueberry crumble muffins, chocolate orange scones, and enough hot coffee to drown a village—or in this case, my heartache.

My coworkers’ voices were warm and familiar, weaving together like an old quilt. I wanted to join them, to lose myself in their easy conversations and forget for a while, but I couldn’t.

Not when I felt like a frayed thread, ready to snap.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out without thinking, my heart clenching for a moment before I saw the name.

Sylvie

How are you holding up?

Just another day in paradise. Thanks for the treats.

Sylvie

The Sugar Bowl sends their love. Dinner tonight? Gus wants to see his favorite aunt.

The offer was tempting, but the thought of sitting at her table, dodging questions about Logan, was enough to make me type out a quick excuse.

Can’t. Double shift. Rain check?

I hit send before the guilt could set in and shoved the phone back into my pocket. The lie felt like a pebble in my shoe—small but sharp, and impossible to ignore. I turned toward Arthur’s room, determined to find something, anything, to keep myself busy.

I took a deep breath before knocking on his door. Arthur’s room was dark when I peeked in, the bed neatly made and his chair conspicuously empty. My pulse quickened as I stepped inside, flipping on the light. The little table by the window was untouched, his mug still sitting there from last night, and the faint scent of the sandalwood lotion he swore helped his knees lingered in the air.

But no Arthur.

I closed the door behind me and glanced up and down the hallway. Empty. The tightness in my chest ratcheted up a notch as I thought through the possibilities. He wasn’t in the common room or the library—I’d just come from there—and if he were outside, someone would’ve noticed.

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