Zayn indicates a figure on his spreadsheet. “If Cooper contests the historic designation, he’s looking at six to eighteen months of delays minimum. His investors get nervous, permit applications get held indefinitely.” He taps the page for emphasis. “Or he accepts our offer, walks away with a clean twenty-thousand-dollar profit after owning the property for maybe eight weeks total. No complications, no headaches.”
I lean back, crossing my arms defensively. “What if he calls your bluff?”
“I’m not bluffing.” Zayn shrugs with casual confidence. “That’s the elegance of it.”
The door swings open and Dr. Martinez bustles in, reading glasses perched atop her head, white coat wrinkled from a long day wrestling animals.
“Apologies for my tardiness.” She deposits a thick stack of patient files on the table. “Mrs. Davidson’s cat ingested a ribbon. Emergency surgery ran longer than anticipated.” Her eyes dart between us, missing nothing. “So what’s this plan I keep hearing whispers about?”
I observe her expression while Zayn explains his strategy. She nods, asks questions about interest rates and loan terms and property taxes. I watch it happen—that small spark of hope igniting in her eyes. The same spark trying desperately to flicker in my own chest, no matter how hard I try to extinguish it.
Dr. Martinez sighs heavily. “It would stretch our finances dangerously thin,” she admits, studying Zayn’s numbers. “But owning this building instead of renting? That’s always been the impossible dream.”
“What about the loan?” My pen taps anxiously against my notepad. “Interest rates are brutal right now.”
“Already spoke with Bellrose Credit Union,” Zayn says without looking up from his documents. “They’re willing to work with us on favorable terms. The clinic’s established community presence counts for something.”
I suppress a comment. Of course he’s already contacted the bank. Of course they’re eager to accommodate him. That’s Zayn—making impossible things materialize with a phone call and that disarming smile. I used to adore that about him. Before it terrified me.
“But what happens when the boiler fails?” I press. “Or we need to replace the X-ray machine? What about property taxes and insurance and maintenance costs?”
Dr. Martinez’s warm hand covers mine. “All legitimate concerns, mija. But sometimes you must take the leap, even when you’re frightened.”
I swallow hard. “I can’t bear watching this clinic collapse.”
“None of us can,” Zayn says quietly. When I look up, his eyes are already waiting for mine. “That’s why this plan makes sense. It gives Dr. Martinez control instead of leaving us at Cooper’s mercy.”
Something in his tone makes my shoulders drop slightly. I inhale deeply. “Okay. What’s our next move?”
“I’ll draft the purchase proposal tonight,” Zayn says, leaning forward. “We need to move fast though. Cooper’s already consulting with demolition companies.”
Dr. Martinez pushes back from the table and stands. “I need to complete those patient charts, but you two can handle the details.” She gives me a loaded look before walking out—the kind that says a million things I’m totally going to ignore.
The second she’s gone, the room shrinks to half its size. Zayn starts gathering up his papers, putting them in perfect little stacks like he always does.
“Look, I understand your skepticism,” he says, eyes on his work. “You have every reason to doubt. But Sophie, I swear I won’t let Cooper demolish this place without one hell of a fight.”
I find myself watching his hands—the same ones I used to know intimately, now decorated with ink crawling up from beneath his cuffs—as they arrange everything with just so. Something inside me softens a little. Not enough to forgive everything, but maybe enough to trust him with this one crucial thing.
“I know,” I say, barely audible. “That’s why I came tonight.”
He looks up, surprise washing over his features, followed by something that makes my mouth goes dry. For one dangerous heartbeat, I let myself imagine us finding our way back tosomething—not what we had before, but something new that might actually last this time.
Then reality crashes back. I grab my notebook and stand abruptly. “I should go. Mia’s been alone all day.”
He simply nods, not pushing for more. “I’ll have the proposal ready by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Perfect,” I say, and actually mean it. “Text me when you need me.”
The words hang in the air between us, weighted with unintended double meaning. When you need me professionally. When you need me at all. When you needed me five years ago but chose Seattle instead.
“You have arrived”, the GPS announces in that robotic voice, but I double-check the address Zayn texted me anyway. The house on the hillside catches me off guard—not the bachelor pad I was expecting. It’s a charming craftsman with a big porch, lavender planted in window boxes, and an amazing ocean view. I sit in my car for a moment while Mia whines impatiently from the passenger seat. I take a deep breath, grab the clinic papers, and remind myself: this is just work. We’re saving the clinic. Nothing more.
I clip Mia’s leash and hoist my overstuffed work bag. Little lights illuminate the walkway, glowing softly as dusk settles. The air feels fresher up here—salt and eucalyptus carried on ocean breeze. My shoes crunch on gravel as we approach.
Before I can knock, the door swings open. There’s Zayn in dark jeans and a heather-gray henley, looking more relaxed thanI’ve witnessed since he came back. The porch light catches his face at an angle that makes my stomach execute that irritating flutter I wish I could suppress.
“Found it okay?” he asks, stepping aside.
