Page 51 of Six Month Wife
Gunner takes a sip of his coffee, his expression thoughtful. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something, anyway, so I'm glad I saw you. It's an opportunity, if you’re interested.”
I raise an eyebrow, curious. “What kind of opportunity?”
He leans forward, lowering his voice. “One of our assistant general surgeons is considering a move out of state. His wife got an offer at Columbia, and he’s looking to follow her."
"Oh, that is interesting. Tell me more."
"It’s not official yet, but if he goes, there’ll be an opening here—something that might suit your background, if you're still aiming for the OR.”
I blink, the implications sinking in. Assistant general surgeon. That’s a huge role, a step up from my current position in the ER. General surgery is my ultimate goal.
“And you think I’d be a good fit for it?”
Gunner smiles, setting his coffee down. “You’re more than qualified, Parker. The department head has brought up your name more than once when we talk about promising talent, especially with that general surgeryfellowship out of Tulane. Your work here only backed it up.”
I raise my eyebrows and nod, absorbing it. I don’t say anything as I wonder if I’ll even stay here once the inheritance comes through.
“Plus,” he continues. “You’ve already proven you can handle the pace and demands of this hospital. If you’re interested, I can make sure your name is on the shortlist when the position officially opens.”
It’s an incredible opportunity, one I hadn’t even considered. But it’s also a decision that could significantly alter my future. I don’t want to be considered for something if I don’t intend to be here.
“Wow,” I say after a moment. “That’s a lot to take in. Thanks for thinking of me, Gunner. I mean it. I’ll need some time to think about it, though.”
“Of course,” he says easily. “There’s no rush. I wanted to give you a heads-up before it becomes public knowledge. I'm sure you'll need to discuss it with Adair, but I know how much you’ve invested in your work here, and with your recent marriage, I figured staying on the island might be something you’d want to consider.”
The mention of Adair gives me pause.
It’s a logical assumption. From the outside, our marriage makes it look like I’m putting down roots, especially with Citrine thriving here.
But between the estate manager’s upcoming visit and the mess with my dad, I haven’t had time to think about where I want to land long-term.
The truth is, in six months, this marriage ends. And after that? I have no idea where I’ll be. But that’s not something I’m about to tell Gunner.
“Thanks, I appreciate it,” I say, and I mean it. “And absolutely, I’ll have to talk it over with Adair.”
It’s the obvious thing to say. Any man would discuss something like this with his wife. If our marriage were real, that would make sense. Either way, it buys me time. Keeps things clean.
“Understandable,” he says, standing. “Take all the time you need. If you decide it’s something you want, let me know, and I’ll make sure your name gets the attention it deserves.”
For a moment, I sit there, my dinner forgotten, as I mull over Gunner’s offer. On paper, it’s perfect. It's a step up in my career, the chance to stay in a place that’s starting to feel like home, and maybe even a way to solidify things with Adair.
But it’s not about the job or Palm Beach anymore. Everything’s changed since that phone call about this inheritance. Including the injection of Adair in it.
I stretchout on the couch, the cushions soft beneath me as I stare at my phone screen. The condo is quiet, save for the slight hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the distant sound of waves outside the window.
I think about Adair and wonder why she's avoiding me. She’s not next door, I'm assuming, since her car is now parked outside. She still hasn’t responded to my texts from this morning.
I grab my phone to see if my last text was answered. Sure enough, it’s the last on our thread.
Hey, Leeland, my dad, wants to meet you. We need to talk about this whole thing. Let me know when you want to chat.
I sent the message, the third of the day, hours ago.Nothing. Not even a read receipt. I hate this feeling. The kind that presses behind your ribs and makes your collar suddenly too tight.
She’s been distant today, and I can’t decide if it’s because of something I’ve done or if she’s simply stressed. Or maybe she’s genuinely busy. A woman like her isn’t one to sit around and do nothing all day.
I bet she’s tied up with work, or something came up with Bets.
Adair doesn’t ask for help. She builds, she deflects, she powers through. But if I wait for her to say the words, I’ll miss my chance to be the man she can lean on.
