Maggie’s jaw worked. “It’s efficient.”
Evie smiled sadly. “Those aren’t the same thing.”
When they stood to leave, Maggie was Maggie again—spine straight, mask in place—but something underneath had shifted.
“This doesn’t happen again,” Maggie said quietly, outside the café.
Evie nodded. “Okay.”
They stood there a beat too long. The power dynamic felt strong.
Neither moved.
Evie broke the silence first. “For what it’s worth… I’m glad you asked me.”
Maggie met her eyes. Something unguarded flickered there.
“So am I,” she said.
They walked back toward Oakridge separately.
But Evie knew—deep in her bones—that this hadn’t closed anything.
It had opened something Maggie Laurel was no longer pretending didn’t exist.
5
MAGGIE
It was close to midnight when Maggie’s pager went off again.
She’d been sitting alone in the on-call room, coat folded neatly over the chair, tablet open on the desk in front of her. Daisy Carter’s chart glowed back at her, familiar and infuriatingly unresolved.
She had already reviewed it three times.
She wasn’t reading it now.
Her mind kept circling back to the café. To Evie’s voice. To the way she’d saidthose aren’t the same thingwhen Maggie had called loneliness “efficiency.”
Maggie frowned faintly and scrolled through the chart again, more out of habit than need.
Evie Brooks had signed the most recent note.
It was clean. Thorough. Thoughtful.
Maggie stared at Evie’s name longer than she should have.
This was ridiculous.
She exhaled, rubbed a hand briefly over her face, then reached for the pager clipped at her waist. Not her personal one—the service pager. The neutral one. The one that didn’t mean anything.
She typed a short message before she could talk herself out of it.
CARTER – STATUS UPDATE?
She told herself it was appropriate. Necessary. Clean.
She did not tell herself she hoped Evie would respond.
