No patients.
No pressure.
No Declan.
I exhale and tell myself it’s relief.
But I’m not so sure.
The smell of grilled meat hits me before I even reach the backyard gate—charcoal, spice rub, and something slightly sweet. Probably Erin’s brown sugar ribs. I push through the fence, carrying chips and napkins.
“Back here!” David calls out.
The yard’s already set up: folding chairs clustered around propane heaters, drink buckets bracketing the patio steps, Maya setting the Bluetooth speaker to some tween-friendly playlist.
It’s more than I expected.
Not in a bad way, just… not the quiet family hangout I’d envisioned.
I spot Erin near the grill and wave. She’s in a puffy vest and jeans, her strawberry-blonde hair pulled into a braid.
“Hey! This smells incredible.”
She grins. “You’re just in time. Maya’s planning a duet with Sophie after dinner.”
Wait. Sophie?
And then I hear it—the deeper rumble of a voice I wasn’t expecting.
Declan.
He’s in the far corner of the yard, quarter-zip and dark jeans, braced knee stretched out, one crutch leaning casually against the table. He’s smiling at something David just said. An actual, full-on,realsmile.
I hadn’t seen him give one of those yet.
The sight of him like this knocks something loose in my chest.
There’s an ease to his posture I haven’t seen before, a beer bottle dangling from his fingertips.
This version of him—unhurried, unguarded, at ease—definitely isn’t the one I’ve spent the past week working with.
David’s beside him in a zip-up hoodie and backward cap, all relaxed limbs and easy charisma.
A girl’s perched on the bench next to Declan—chatty, animated, her legs swinging as she talks. She’s got dark hair, bright blue eyes, and a smile that mirrors his so closely I don’t need to ask who she is.
That has to be Sophie.
My breath catches.
I blink, try to keep my expression neutral. This isn’t a big deal. It’s not like I asked who else would be here.
Still, I wasn’t expecting to see him.
And I definitely wasn’t expecting the way my chest softens when I see how he looks at his daughter—easy, proud, that rare smile breaking loose like he forgot to hold it back.
She says something that makes him laugh, and he reaches out instinctively, tugging one of her braids.
Is this really the same person I’ve been working with all week?
