She smiles and turns around, leaving moments later as the professional that she is.
I sit there long after the door clicks shut, painfully aware that for the first time in my life, restraint feels like loss.
The next morning, I walk into Frank’s room, which smells faintly of antiseptic and coffee—real coffee, not the burned excuse they serve upstairs. He’s propped up against his pillows, watching us the way someone watches a slow-motion car wreck.
Melissa is checking his vitals. I’m pretending to review his chart. Neither of us is fooling him.
Frank snorts. “Good grief.”
Melissa freezes. I look up.
“What?” I ask.
He gestures lazily between us. “You two.”
I feel my jaw tighten. “Frank …”
“You’re exhausting,” he says. “I mean it. I can feel whatever this is, and I’m the one hooked up to machines.”
Melissa exhales softly, clearly trying not to smile.
“I’m serious,” he continues. “Every time you’re in the same room, the air gets … thicker. Like the damn humidity spiked.”
“That’s inappropriate,” I say automatically.
Frank lifts a brow. “So is pretending I’m blind.”
Silence stretches.
Melissa finishes adjusting the IV and steps back.
“I’ll grab more saline,” she says quietly.
She moves toward the door. I follow her without thinking.
The supply closet door clicks shut behind us. The space is narrow. Gloves are stacked on shelves, and linens crowd in from every side. The air is cooler here, but my skin feels hot.
She turns to face me. “Colton?—”
I step closer. Not touching her. Not yet at least.
“Tell me you don’t feel it,” I say.
Her breath stutters.
“That’s not fair,” she replies softly.
I brace my hand against the shelf beside her head, caging her in without actually touching her. The restraint is deliberate. Necessary.
“Do you know how hard it is,” I continue, voice low, controlled by sheer force of will, “to walk into a room and have my body react before my brain can catch up?”
Her eyes flick to my mouth. I see it. That’s the problem. I know the attraction is just as strong on her side.
“This doesn’t happen to me,” I say sharply. “I don’t … lose control like this.”
She swallows. “Then don’t.”
I lean in closer, close enough that her breath brushes my jaw. Close enough that the space between us is no longer theoretical. My forehead drops to the shelf beside her. One inch closer, and I’d kiss her.