The Pulse Bulletin.
The headline grabs my attention first:New Doctor Joins the Fun at Welcome Party.
Great.I officially can’t escape gossip.
I scroll through the photos.
There’s one of people stomping grapes with their bare feet.Disgusting.I’m definitely not drinking that wine.
Another photo captures the dinner table, glowing under soft lights, everyone gathered and chatting.I don’t even remember when that was taken, but there I am, mid-conversation with Diane, who was actually quite welcoming.
Then, more pictures, including one of me giving the speech and also dancing.Surprisingly, I don’t look terrible.The article itself isn’t bad either.It’s welcoming, almost kind.
But then, the twist.
Can he go against orders here as well?
A little jab.A subtle dig.And there, at the bottom, the name.
Amelia.
I stare at it, confused.I was expecting the sign-off to be Dr.Whisperer.So does that mean she’s both?
The rest of the bulletin is filled with a mix of news and gossip, some pieces signed, others anonymous.It feels like the town’s version of social media, where people spill everything.At least Russell, the turkey, seems to have moved on and found someone else to target.That article makes me chuckle.
Chapter 7
Amelia
Thescentofvanillaand jasmine reaches me before I hear the soft click of heels against the floor.
“Good morning,” Violet chirps, stepping into view.
I glance up and smile.“Oh, look at us,” I say, gesturing between us.“Matching outfits.”
She laughs, her dark eyes flicking down at her outfit.“Oh, we did!Cheers to unintentional coordination.”
She’s wearing tailored black pants, the straight-leg cut giving her an effortlessly chic look, paired with heeled ankle boots that click with every step.My pants are more fitted, hugging my hips and tapering at the ankle, comfortable, but not quite as polished.I’ve stuck with my classic black loafers: clean, practical, and a little predictable.
We’re both in shades of green, hers a deep forest, mine closer to olive, which leaves our hair as the only real difference.Hers is twisted into a messy bun, a few artful strands framing her face.Mine’s sleek and straight, tucked neatly behind my ears.Less romantic, more… controlled.
I wonder if I could pull off her look… if I let things be a little more undone.Next time I feel like my wardrobe’s in a rut, I’ll try something less precise.Or maybe I’m just imagining all this because she makes it look so easy.
“How was the welcome party?”she asks as she props herself against my desk.
“Actually, not bad.”
Which is true.I think about the fun my family had, and I’m grateful to Luna for taking them home.She texted me to let me know everything was fine, which helped me focus on getting pictures and notes.I saw a side of Adrian I wasn’t expecting; his speech and dancing were surprisingly good.
“Mad I missed it.”She pauses, then tilts her head.“Did you write something about it?”
I hesitate for a beat.“Yeah, I did.”
“Well, send it over.I’m curious,” she adds with a grin, clearly meaning it as a compliment, though something about it tightens my chest.
I tap at my keyboard and fire it off before I can second-guess myself.Since the offer of promotion, everything I write feels like it’s under a microscope.Luna’s watching my every move.Even though I bet no one else applied for this job, and it’s technically mine already, I can’t afford to screw up.
A whistle pulls me from my thoughts.
