Page 33 of Stuck with Doctor Grump

We’re eager to hear your answer. Let us know by Friday.

My thumb hovered over the “Reply” button.

Somewhere behind my ribs, my heart beat loud enough to drown everything else.

Chapter nine

Ruby

I woke up warm. Wrapped in crisp white sheets that smelled like cedarwood and something unmistakably Damien—clean, grounded, a little guarded.

For a second, I didn’t move. I just let my eyes drift over the soft morning light slanting across the ceiling. There was a hummingbird outside the window, wings flickering like it was trying to keep time with my racing heart.

I smiled.

The pillow beside me was still warm. My fingers curled around it instinctively, pulling it closer like it could keep the dream going just a little longer.

But dreams don’t leave behind open laptops.

I sat up slowly, my smile faltering as my gaze landed on the screen glowing faintly on his desk across the room. The header of the email glared at me like a flashing siren.

“Damien, we’d love to have you lead our cardiac research initiative. Let’s reconnect soon—St. David’s, NYC.”

New York.

My stomach twisted. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, suddenly cold despite the lingering heat in the sheets.

I knew he had a past in medicine—brilliant, prestigious, heavy. But I hadn’t thought about what it would mean if that past came calling. If it wanted him back.

If he wanted to go.

The memories from last night flickered like firelight—his hands on my waist, the way he kissed me like I was the only thing anchoring him to this place, to this life. I’d believed it. Every breathless second.

But now?

Now I felt like a daisy growing in a borrowed garden. Lovely for a moment—but not meant to last.

I got up quickly, careful not to knock over the cup of water by the nightstand. My dress from yesterday was folded over a chair, the cardigan I’d brought slung beside it. As I got dressed, I kept glancing toward the laptop like it might suddenly change its message.

It didn’t.

I tiptoed into the hallway, holding my breath as if even the air might accuse me of reading too much into things. His house was quiet—too quiet. No sound of the kettle. No footsteps. Not even that low, rumbling hum he made when deep in thought.

He was gone.

Of course he was.

The front door creaked softly as I pulled it open. Morning sunlight spilled over the porch, and birds chirped like the world was perfectly intact.

But I wasn’t.

I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel. Angry? Hurt? Embarrassed that I’d let my heart get tangled in something so uncertain?

Instead, all I felt was raw. Like a bouquet plucked too soon—beautiful for a moment, then left wilting in the sun.

I made it down the porch steps before I let out a shaky breath. My car was parked by the curb, thankfully untouched by the storm. I slid into the driver’s seat, slammed the door, and gripped the wheel with both hands.

He hadn't said goodbye.

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