Page 89 of The Potter

A fresh start.

It’s what I wanted.

A new beginning.

The opportunity to pursue my dream of acting. Buy a house for my parents. Maybe a bigger fishbowl for Oscar.

It’s what I’ve lived for all these years, and yet, somehow, I don’t feel as happy as I thought I would.

I find Vance’s eyes, heavy and tired. “Lie down with me?”

He shakes his head. “You need your rest.”

“I’ll rest. Just lie with me.”

If this is the end of mine and Vance’s relationship, then I want to savor every moment I have left with him.

“Halle.” He sighs, running his hands through his hair. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

But he will.

No matter if he lies next to me or not. I’ve fallen for the grumpy surgeon, and in a matter of weeks, he’ll expect me to move on, just like I wanted.

This is him making sure my recovery is uneventful.

This is him making amends.

He’s atoning, forgiving himself for Logan’s death.

Staying here would only complicate his recovery.

And as selfish as I’d like to be and tell him how I feel, I care about him too much. I want to see the Dr. Potter I saw on TV come back. So, I’ll cherish these last weeks with him, and then I’ll let him go. It’s the least I can do for him. He’s done so much for me.

“Please,” my voice cracks as I reach my hands out to him one last time, for one more favor, “don’t make me beg.”

Vance blinks slowly as if he realizes this is the beginning of the end. “We’ll go home in a few hours,” he says instead, and I’m almost disappointed until I see him slip off his shoes and put his phone on the table. “Tell me you understand, Halle.”

I nod. “We’re going home.”

At least for the next six weeks.

Vance

“Come here and taste this.”

I toss my keys on the table next to the door and pad my way into the kitchen where my patient is sitting on the counter in my worn-out Harvard shirt. “Please tell me you have underwear on under there this time.”

She licks the red sauce off her finger before crooking it, beckoning me closer. “I’m thinking you should know the answer to that question by now.”

No is the answer.

In the past five weeks since Halle has been recovering at my house, she’s effectively domesticated me.

I don’t hate it.

Every evening, after my last patient or surgery, I come home to find Halle half-naked in my clothes. Dinner is usually cooking on the stove while she dances around, singing Disney showtunes to Oscar while he swims in my crystal vase.

“Did you have a bad day at the office?”

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