Idiot.
“Sorry,” he says, after a pause. “I have plans. You didn’t need to come in person, but I appreciate it.”
He doesn’t want to see me.
God, I made such a mistake outside that church. What was I even thinking?
I force a smile, though it feels brittle, like it might shatter under the weight of his indifference. “Right. Of course. Sorry to bother you.”
He nods, already halfway out of the conversation. “Okay, right, well, have a good—”
“I just wanted to say, also . . . you’re a really great guy.”
His brows lift slightly.
But I’m already in too deep, so I push through the cringe. “Honestly, you might be the best guy I know. You’re intimidating and grumpy and you sometimes make me feel like a complete idiot, but that’s mostly my fault, and—” I take a breath, because apparently, I’ve decided to embarrass myselffullybefore leaving. “Yeah. That’s it. Just. You’re a great guy.”
I want to evaporate into the pavement.
He lets out this small, almost reluctant huff of laughter, shaking his head. It’s barely anything. But it’s alsoeverythingbecause it makes my heart do something really, really dumb—likehope.
“Why did you ask me out?” I blurt before I can lose my nerve.
“I thought you’d already worked that out. You explained it rather eloquently outside the church.”
“I want to hear it from you.”
His jaw tenses. He looks like he’s debating whether to answer or just dramatically walk off instead.
“Daisy, the answer is simple. I asked you out because I wanted to.”
Then, after a beat, he adds, “Until you helpfully reminded me of the glaring fact I’d been conveniently ignoring—ourtotalincompatibility.”
Ouch.
I shift my weight, trying to hide how much that stings.
“What if . . .” My voice comes out all high and squeaky, so I clear my throat and try again. “What if our incompatibility is actually oursuperpower? You know, like opposites attracting?”
His mouth twitches. “Like oil and water? Puppies and vultures?”
I fumble for a better comparison, twisting the hem of my jacket between my fingers. “I was thinking more . . . mustard and mayonnaise.”
His brow lifts. “That sounds revolting.”
“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” I shoot back, my stomach now fully tangled in knots. Before I can stop myself, I go all in. “You could . . . give me another chance? Go out with me?”
There it is. The words hang between us.
He blinks, like I’ve genuinely surprised him.
His eyes flick to the hospital entrance where she’s waiting—the elegant doctor, someone who could never be described as chaos.
Oh god.
“Not now!” I blurt. I cringe at myself but keep going, because apparently, I’ve decided to double down on this self-destruction. “I mean, not like,right nowright now. I’m not suggesting I tag along on your date like some third wheel—because that would be insane. Just . . . maybe . . . some other time?”
For the briefest moment, his expression softens. Then, just as quickly, he straightens, slipping back into that careful, unreadable version of himself.
