"That's the plan."
We ate at my small dining table, and the conversation flowed easily — small talk about her crew's reaction to my cooking, gentle teasing about my tendency to overcomplicate breakfast, comfortable silence punctuated by shared glances that carried the weight of everything that had changed between us.
It felt domestic in the best possible way. Natural. Like we'd been doing this for years instead of hours.
"I have to go in soon," she said eventually, checking the time on her phone. "I need to catch up on paperwork after leaving early yesterday, and Thompson texted that C-shift is having vehicle issues. I should probably help them out if they need it."
The reminder that the outside world existed, that our bubble of morning intimacy couldn't last forever, sent a small pang of disappointment through my chest. But I understood. Her sense of duty was part of what made her who she was, part of what I loved about her.
"Of course," I said. "Do what you need to do."
She stood and carried her plate to the sink, then turned back to me, something shifting in her expression. The easy domesticity of the morning gave way to something more intense, more charged with the memory of last night.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For everything. For last night, for this morning, for just... being here."
I stood and moved closer, my hands settling on her waist. "You don't have to thank me for wanting to take care of you."
"Yes, I do," she said, her hands coming up to rest on my chest. "Because no one ever has before. Not like this."
The words hit me square in the chest, a reminder of how carefully she'd had to guard herself, how rarely she'd been able to let someone else be strong for her. I leaned down and kissed her, soft and lingering, trying to pour everything I felt into the connection between us.
"I love you," I said against her lips.
"I love you too," she replied, and the words felt different now than they had before. Deeper. More certain. Like they carried the weight of everything we'd shared and everything we were building together.
An hour later, I stood in my doorway watching her walk to her truck, already missing her even though she'd only been gone for thirty seconds. The apartment felt too quiet withouther laughter, too empty without her presence filling the spaces between my furniture.
I was loading the last of the dishes into the dishwasher when my phone rang. Unknown number, but with a local area code, the first digits of which were ones I recognized for numbers that usually came from our hospital.
"Hello?" I answered.
"Mr. Dalton? This is Sarah Martin from Metro General Legal Affairs. I'm sorry to bother you on your day off, but we've received a subpoena regarding your patient care, and we need you to come in to discuss it. Can you come in tomorrow at 2 p.m.?"
I paused, dish towel in hand. "Tomorrow? That seems kind of urgent."
"I know it's short notice, and I apologize. But we need to review the details with you before we respond to the court."
I ran through my mental calendar. "Yeah, I can make 2 p.m. work. Is this about a DUI blood draw? Those are usually pretty straightforward."
"We'll discuss all the details when you come in," Sarah said, her voice professionally neutral. "Just bring your employee ID and we'll take care of everything else."
"Okay," I said, though something nagged at the back of my mind. Usually these subpoenas came through email, with a simple "acknowledge receipt" response required. A face-to-face meeting seemed like overkill for routine blood work testimony.
But then my phone buzzed with a text …
Izzy
My crew won’t stop asking what you're cooking next. You've ruined them for normal food.
… and the warm glow of contentment pushed away any lingering concerns about work.
I typed back:
Tell them I'm thinking carnitas next time. If they're good.
Izzy
They'll be angels. I’ll make sure of it. Promise. Love you.
