Page 108 of Stuck with Doctor Grump

Hazel raised her muffin like a toast. “To new roots.”

“To home,” I replied.

And for the first time in years, I meant every word.

There’s something about wearing a construction hard hat in front of an entire town that makes you question your life choices. Especially when said hat is pink, courtesy of Hazel, and has “Dr. McGrump” written across the front in glitter letters.

I adjusted it for the third time as Ruby leaned in and whispered, “You look very rugged. Like Bob the Builder if he had emotional depth.”

I snorted. “Glad to know I’m finally growing as a person.”

She squeezed my hand and gave me that look—the one that hit me in the chest harder than any scalpel or hospital badge ever had. The one that said you belong.

We stood side by side under a hand-painted sign that read: Future Home of the Cedar Springs Holistic Wellness Garden. It was staked into a plot of land right between Main Street and the old bookshop, surrounded by townsfolk who’d shown up in everything from Sunday best to gardening gloves.

Ruby’s floral crown was slightly crooked. My shirt was half untucked. Hazel had tears in her eyes already, and the ceremony hadn’t even started.

I looked out at the crowd and realized I knew most of their names now. Not because I’d read them off a patient chart—but because they mattered. Because Ruby had folded me into their lives like I’d always been here, just a little late to the party.

Eleanor stepped up first, clearing her throat with the kind of drama only she could summon.

“We gather today not just for a groundbreaking,” she began, lifting her hands as if conducting a symphony, “but for a heart-mending.”

A few chuckles rippled through the crowd. Someone clapped. Someone else sneezed. Classic Cedar Springs.

Eleanor went on, her words poetic, flowery, and only vaguely off-script—just the way Ruby liked them.

When she finally stepped back, she gave me an overly theatrical wink, then passed the mic to Ruby.

Ruby’s fingers curled tighter around mine for a second. Then she let go and stepped up to the podium—a makeshift table with a sunflower tablecloth and a potted daisy centerpiece.

She took a breath. Not a shaky one, not a performative one—just the kind you take before doing something that means everything.

“This isn’t just a place for plants or medicine,” she said, voice steady. “It’s for healing. For laughter. For second chances.”

A hush fell over the crowd. Even the breeze stilled.

She looked over her shoulder at me, eyes bright. “This started as a wild idea—like most of my best ones. But the moment I shared it with Damien; it stopped being just a dream. It became a plan. And today, it becomes a promise.”

Hazel sniffled loudly. Marge nodded so hard her flower crown slipped sideways.

“I know healing takes time,” Ruby added. “I’ve lived it. I’ve fought for it. And I’ve watched this town do the same. So, this—” she waved to the empty dirt lot “—this is for every person who ever thought they had to do it alone. You don’t. Not anymore.”

The applause that erupted was thunderous. Joyful. The kind that made your ribs vibrate and your heart feel five sizes too big.

I took the mic next, cleared my throat, and looked out at all the faces that had somehow become part of my story.

“I don’t have Ruby’s poetic charm,” I began, earning a few laughs, “but I do have a grateful heart.”

I paused and let my eyes rest on her.

“I used to think healing was something you gave other people. Something you stitched, fixed, or prescribed. But Ruby taughtme it’s something you grow. Something you fight for. Something you protect—like roots under soil.”

She wiped a tear from her cheek, and my words wavered, but I kept going.

“This place is going to be more than just therapy rooms and flower beds. It’s going to be the kind of place that sees you, knows you, and reminds you that your mess doesn’t make you unlovable. It just makes you real.”

The crowd clapped again, a few people whistling.

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