“Please keep us updated?” she asks, reaching across to touch my hand.
I nod, just as Alaric brings over the tea.
And then we reminisce.
Tuesday morning flies by. Maybe it’s because of my anxiety. Because I’m really freaking anxious. At lunchtime, Heather strolls in, scrubs crisp and shoes scuffed from a long morning. She drops her bag by the door and waves at me as she scratches Nova’s ears.
“Hey, babe,” she says, grinning. “How’s my favorite painter?”
I shrug, smiling faintly. “Surviving. You?”
Heather flops into the chair across from me, pulling out her salad. “Oh, you know. Code blues, whining patients, people whoforget their meds. But someone has to save the world, right?” She leans back, sighing. “Anyway, that’s not what I’m here for. How’syourday going?”
I shrug again, spinning a paintbrush between my fingers. “Clients are steady. Hard, but good.”
Heather follows my eyes. “So...how did last night go?”
I flinch but nod. “Yeah. I...I’m nervous to see him tonight. I don’t even know what to expect.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
I shake my head. “No. I think I’ll be okay. I’ll call you after, though.”
She smiles. “My loving and brave little Emma.”
I flip the studio lights off one by one, each click echoing louder than it should in the quiet space. My pulse is already buzzing, jittery and uneven, as I grab my keys and wave goodnight to Dr. Cassie Waters. She’s locking up the back cabinets, humming something soft under her breath.
“Heading out?” she asks with her usual warm smile.
“Yeah. Long day.” My voice sounds surprisingly steady. Nothing like the storm tunneling through my chest.
“Drive safe, Emma.”
“I will. Night, Cass.”
Outside, the air is cold enough to sting my lungs. I pull my coat tighter and slip into my car. Before I even start it, I double-check my phone—Mrs. Kent already sent three heart emojis after I texted about letting Nova out and feeding her dinner.
Of course, sweetheart! I adore that little fluffbutt.
I exhale a tiny laugh. Good. One less thing to worry about. Everything else? A disaster I’m willingly steering straight into.
The drive isn’t long, but every mile makes my heart beat harder, faster. By the time I turn into a quiet little neighborhood of trimmed hedges and glowing porch lights, my hands are damp against the steering wheel.
Then I see a sleek, dark Audi parked in the driveway. It’s fartoo expensive and polished for this little town.Definitely Jude.My stomach drops like I’m cresting a rollercoaster. “This is it,” I whisper, even though saying it out loud doesn’t help.
I park across the street, sit there for a second, and try to calm my breathing. It doesn’t work. Eventually I force myself out of the car, legs shaky, and walk up the short path to the cute little house with the flowered doormat and wind chimes tinkling in the breeze. The backyard overlooks some dunes that barely block out the view of the ocean. I raise my hand. I hesitate.
Then I knock.
For a moment, nothing. No movement, no sound. I hear muffled chatter inside, but no footsteps. Then, finally, someone approaches, and the door cracks open. It’s the guy from that night, Jude’s friend with the shoulder-length blonde hair and distant blue eyes. His face appears in the gap, ready to tell someone off, but the second his gaze hits me, his eyes widen.
“Oh, shit.” He straightens, surprise sharpening into alarm. “Uh...Jude,” He calls over his shoulder, louder this time. “Jude, man, get out here.”
And just like that, every nerve in my body is on fire.
He steps back from the door just as Jude appears in the hallway behind him. For a second, he’s just a silhouette—broadshoulders, messy hair, uneven steps. Then the light hits him, and my breath catches hard in my throat.
God. He looks...horrible.