Page 82 of Careless Whisper

“But I don’t know how to forgive you,” I admitted, looking straight ahead, not at him, my hands clasped together.

His lips curved as a warmth entered his gaze. “I understand, baby. You don’t have to. Not yet. Not ever, if that’s what you need. I just want to be here…with you… if you’ll let me.”

I appreciated that he wasn’t trying to fixusby making promises, demands, or apologizing. He was just asking to be with me no matter how I felt.

“Why?”

“Because I’ve been lonely without you,” he replied simply.

I let my head fall back against the bench. “Do you remember the café we used to go to in Boston?”

He smiled faintly. “With the bad coffee and the one surly waiter?”

It was close to Elias’s place, and we used to go there on our way to work when I spent the night with him. It was asafespot for a quick drop-in. No Stratford people hung out there.

“I thought about it today. During the sutures.”

“Yeah?”

I gave him a small, shaky smile. “It just popped up into my head. Was I your dirty secret in Boston?”

His eyes flashed hurt. “No.”

“But—”

“It was casual…or at least I wanted it to be. You and I both agreed that no good would come of the hospital finding out an attending and a nurse were sleeping together. That’s all it was. No secret and definitely not dirty, Gigi.”

I believed him. I hadn’t minded then, keeping us quiet, but I wondered now, in hindsight, how he felt, especially since he’d said he was in love with me and had been since Boston.

“I watched your hands today while you were irrigating,” he mused. “They don’t shake. You’re steady,always.”

Not steady right now, Dr. Graham. My footing is tremulous at best. I don’t know what’s happening between us—but I do know that I’m scared to find out.

We sat in silence.

I let him hold my hand as we watched the sunset.

I reluctantly left him to go home, and as soon as I finished dinner with my parents, I led with my heart and gave in to temptation.

I texted Elias:Feel like a walk?

He met me by the plaza beneath the shadow of the Parroquia—its rose-colored spires glowing in the amber light like a holy beacon. The bells had stopped ringing, and the whole town had shifted into that magic hour lull: shops closing, laughter rising from the cafés, and guitar music drifting like perfume from a bench just beyond the square.

We strolled, our steps falling into sync over the uneven cobblestones. A warm breeze caught on the scent of tamales and charcoal, and somewhere, a street vendor called out his last offer of the day.

Being near him again was like slipping into an old sweater that still remembers the shape of yourshoulders. It was familiar. And maybe a little dangerous?

We ended up by the Mercado de Artesanías and sat on the low wall just outside. A woman across the street was stringingpapel picadoacross her window, bright tissue flags fluttering like sighs.

“You really came here for me?” I asked, hearing how dumb the words sounded only when I said them aloud.

No, Reggie, he just stumbled into San Miguel de Allende by accident.

He took my hand in his, lacing his fingers with mine and then unlacing them. “I came here forus,” he explained slowly. “I came here to beg forgiveness for all the fucking wrongs I committed against you. I came here to win the love of my life back.”

He could’ve punched me, and I would’ve been less out of breath.

Love of his life?Was the man drunk or what?

---