That seems to catch his attention.
“Yeah?”
I nod. “I didn’t know what else to do after. So, I figured maybe I could be on the other side of it this time.”
He studies me for a long second, an unreadable flicker passing through his eyes.
“That makes sense,” he says quietly.
The barista hands me my coffee. I wrap my fingers around the cup, grounding myself in the warmth.
“Does it … make things strange?” I ask. “Working together now?”
His gaze drops briefly, then returns to mine. Steady. Thoughtful.
“No,” he says after a beat. “It makes things clearer.”
Clearer.
I don’t ask what he means by that. Instinct tells me this conversation is already toeing a line neither of us is ready to cross.
We step aside to let the next person order, standing shoulder to shoulder now instead of one behind the other. It feels … easier than it should.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
“For what?”
“For remembering him.”
His jaw goes rigid again. Not in discomfort this time, but restraint. The barista hands him his coffee.
“Of course,” he replies. “He mattered.”
We stand there for a moment longer than necessary before the spell breaks and reality presses back in.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Let’s go.”
We walk to the elevator. The elevator doors slide open, and we step inside together.
He presses the button for our floor, then shifts to stand beside me instead of across the car. Close enough that I can feel the warmth of him again, subtle but unmistakable.
“So,” he says after a moment, eyes fixed on the glowing numbers above the door, “you moved through nursing school quickly.”
I glance at him. “I did.”
“That’s not easy,” he adds. “Especially not full-time. Most people stretch it out.”
I shrug, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I didn’t really have anything else to focus on.”
“That kind of focus doesn’t come from nowhere,” he says quietly.
The elevator hums as it begins to rise.
“I had a background in physical therapy,” I explain. “It helped. And I already knew how hospitals worked. How exhausting they could be.”
His gaze flicks to me then, curious. “You chose trauma first.”