The fluorescent lights catch the faint crease between his brows as he looks me up and down. His voice turns flat. “You got laid.”
I simply remove my gloves, toss them in the bin, and offer him a mild shrug. “Time for my break.”
“It is not?—”
“Check the time.” I smile and pat his shoulder.
He does, then grimaces. “Fine. Go on break.”
“I wasn’t asking your permission, Meron. I was telling you. Try to keep up.” I smile again and stroll away. For years, his needling has sat under my skin like a splinter. Tonight, it slides off because for the first time in a long while, something else occupies that space.
Something far better.
The night air behind the hospital is sharp enough to feel medicinal. Refreshing. The alley is quiet except for the faint hum of the AC units and the distant echo of traffic on the main road. Snow Valley looks tame from this angle—brick buildings, dumpsters, old brickwork that hasn’t been updated in decades.
Scout is already there.
He materializes from behind the recycling bins the moment I step outside, tail wagging cautiously at first and then with more commitment once he recognizes me.
“Evening, Scout,” I say, crouching.
He approaches slowly, as if maintaining the illusion that this is still his territory and I am the visitor.
That’s fine by me. I unwrap my sandwich and tear off a corner of bread before taking a bite. He sits, ever patient. I toss him that bite, which he gobbles happily. “You don’t have to pretend you’re aloof.”
He blinks, waiting for another bite or a round of ball. So, I toss the ball once. He chases it with the same determined energy he’s had since last winter. I watch him run, feel the tension of the hospital peel off in layers.
Meron’s tone. The administrative oversight. The deliberate hovering.
It doesn’t cling the way it usually does, because I’m still replaying her laugh in my head. The way she teased me. How she looked at me when she said it was the best date she’d had in years. The hesitation in her tone this morning before speaking, like something sits heavy behind her eyes.
I wish I knew what it was, and whether it’s the same thing sitting heavy in me.
I lean back against the brick wall and take another bite of my sandwich. “You ever think you’re too old for this?” I ask the dog.
He ignores me and drops the ball at my feet.
So, I throw it again. I’m aware of the risk. My department head is my former best friend. His fiancée is my ex-wife. My son is Perry’s former boyfriend. Snow Valley thrives on perception and narrative, and I am actively creating one that will invite scrutiny. Blah, blah, blah.
None of it matters, because the thought of stepping away feels wrong. All those other concerns feel like self-sabotage disguised as prudence. Like if I tell myself those factors are reasons to call it quits and I call it quits, then I’m being protective of myself and her. After all, what kind of woman dates her ex’s father? People will talk.
But I find I care less and less about such things. Perry knows the score around here. She is well aware that people in Snow Valley will give us shit for all of that. And she’s choosing me anyway, just like I’m choosing her.
So, it would not be prudence to end this now. It would be self-sabotage, plain and simple. Because Perry Lawson is the best thing that’s happened to me in years. I’m not giving her up just to make some gossipy old people happy.
Scout returns again, panting lightly. I crouch and scratch behind his ears. “You’re still not coming home with me, are you?”
He licks my hand.
It still bugs me that he prefers living here rather than my apartment, but that might be my own selfishness talking. My place is too big for me, so it was nice to have another person—or well, dog—for company. But when he stopped eating, I knew I had to do something about it. The vet said that forcing change can be more harmful than leaving them where they feel grounded, and I brought him back here.
I wonder if Perry feels grounded. Or am I disrupting something delicate? She’s been single for a long time. At least, that seems to be the case.
Scout nudges the ball against my shoe. I throw it one last time, then finish my sandwich and brush crumbs from my hands before giving Scout a chance to sniff his goodbyes. He sniffs my hand, as is his custom when he sees I have no more food. I’d pet him, but he’s still weird about that, so I don’t push my luck. “Stay warm, Scout.”
Inside, the hospital continues its relentless churn. And I find myself thinking not about career fallout, not about Meron’s smirk, not about Amber’s eventual reaction.
I think about calling Perry again. Not texting. Calling. Because hearing her voice is better than navigating uncertainty alone.
