Page 88 of The Potter

“What about your afternoon patients?” Surely his whole day isn’t blocked off for this?

“My afternoon is clear, and you should probably rest.”

Translation: Stop asking him questions and suggesting he leave. Clearly, he’s staying. “Are you in pain?” he finally asks, his voice low and careful.

“No. I don’t want any IV pain meds.” The last thing I want is for Vance to relive his trauma by sedating me with medication and worrying if I’ll code like Logan. I can’t undo all the progress he’s made. Besides, the pain is bearable right now.

“Don’t lie. Tell me if you’re in pain.” He takes my hand, squeezing it. “I can handle it, I promise.”

He’s totally lying, but I appreciate the attempt he’s making. It means he’s over the hump. My potter is molding his broken pieces into something wholly beautiful.

I flash him what I’m sure is a drugged smile. “Tell me, how hot did you make me? I don’t want to make Serena feel bad when I come back to work.”

A rare and unfiltered smile crosses Vance’s face. “First, Serena was never in your fishbowl when it came to beauty.”

Does anyone else find it absolutely adorable that he just used a fishbowl metaphor?

“Second, you are no more beautiful now than you were going in.”

My heart flutters, and I hope the monitors don’t pick it up. “Why would you say that?”

Not that I wanted to look like Kylie Jenner coming off the operating table, but I expected improvement. “What the hell did I pay you for then?” Part of me is joking, and the other part of me wishes I didn’t have bandages and tubes so I could beg him to get naked with me. I’m sure that scandal would give the office water cooler some business.

Vance fiddles with the blanket, tucking it gently under my arms. “Nothing I could ever do would make you more beautiful to me.” A faint blush appears on his cheeks, and I somehow manage not to ask him to marry me. I’m kidding. But tell that to my heart and the steady thump humming under my ribs.

We want this man.

Every. Broken. Piece.

“Besides,” Vance grins, “you never paid me.”

That’s true. “Shit. Run back to my office and grab my purse.”

“You better not be walking around with stacks of cash in your purse.” He lifts a brow, daring me to confirm it.

“How else am I supposed to get it to you? I meant to give it to you yesterday when we were going over the pre-op stuff and signing the consent forms, but I forgot. I was a little excited.”

Okay, I was a lot excited.

My dream was coming true, and the man I lo—respect—agreed to face his demons and perform it, even though I heard him throwing up all morning in “his” bathroom before I went in, wiped his face, handed him a mint, and walked with him, hand in hand, to the surgical suites.

I knew Dr. Potter was a hero. He just needed to remember that the tears in his cape didn’t render it useless.

Vance clears his throat, pulling my attention back to him. “I don’t want your money, Peach.”

What? “Why not?”

He shrugs.

“Oh, no, you don’t. You acted all shitty about my layaway comment. You’re taking my money.”

If you look in the dictionary under the word stubborn, you’ll find this man’s picture.

Have mercy on my soul.

“I don’t have to do anything, Peach.” He flashes this boyish smile that seriously needs kissing. “Perks of being the boss.”

He leans down and kisses the top of my hand. “Use the money to chase your dreams—“ He swallows, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “Or whatever you want. You have a fresh start now.”

---