Ben regards him with detached eyes, but nods. "Yeah. We do a lot of emergency ortho, too."
"Interesting. I've had a persistent issue with my elbow. It's been giving me nightmares, especially recently." He taps on his arm. "Could use a doctor to finally have it examined."
I frown at him. What is he up to? He knows hundreds of doctors, and could've checked it months ago.
Is this a filler or is he plotting something?
Ben recalibrates instantly, pulls out of the crossfire and nods his chin on it. "Want me to check it?"
Richard shrugs like that's not where he was angling. "Sure."
And then Richard's telling him about his billiard vice, and Ben is checking his arm, his touch clinical and brisk—nothing like the way he'd examined me, fingers mapping places that had nothing to do with it—and I'm bewildered because I didn't expect our first meeting to go like this.
But I also crack a little smile, because Ben has every reason not to help and still, he does.
Because that's who he is at the end of the day—he's a good guy.
"Feels like lateral epicondylitis," Ben says, gently flexing the joint. "Classic tennis elbow. It's just inflamed, not serious, butkeep pushing and you'll be down a month with pain meds and PT."
Richard frowns, his face serious. "I can't afford that. It's where all the business happens."
Ben steps back and brushes his hand off, done with the whole exchange. He doesn't even care how it comes off, or that we all notice.
Then, striking the classic Ben move that makes you puzzled, he says, "I could get you a referral. Fast-track it for mid-September."
Richard lifts a brow, surprised. "Really?"
Ben nods. "Yeah. Emma and I are friends. Why not."
Richard smiles. "That'd be great."
I frown at Richard.Absolutely not. He's not having Ben as his doctor.
"Excuse me," I cut in, politely done. "I have an important appointment, and I'm already very late. Let's talk some other time. Have a nice day."
Ben frowns at me, but I'm already walking away, leaving them behind.
Am I overreacting? For sure. I wanted this. A double date.
But now that the universe handed it to me like a gift, I'm choking on the ribbon.
There's no way we could do that—too much history, too muchwhateverto be honest.
"Em." Richard catches up outside. I barely turn and he already holds my hand. "I'm sorry, darling. I came down to tell you that my reaction before was exaggerated."
I blink. It's rare he admits he's wrong.
"Let's not fight." He squeezes my fingers, face regretful. "I hate when we fight."
I exhale a long breath. "Me too."
"I should have known you didn't want my opinion," he adds, suddenly disappointed, and I wince.
"Really? That's your apology?" My hand goes dead in his. Richard gives his opinion on everything, and I follow it more than anyone with a working gut instinct would.
He shakes his head instantly. "That came out wrong. You're right. I'm sorry. I just—I love you. I hate seeing you exposed—figuratively, or literally. I want to protect you."
"It's just a dress," I say, my lips pursed.
