"Not a one. I've delivered half the babies in this town, set bones for three generations of the same family, watched kids I vaccinated grow up and bring their own kids to me." He shrugged. "It's not glamorous. But it's meaningful. That's worth more than prestige."
Tessa nodded slowly. That was it exactly. Meaningful. The work she'd done in Chicago had been important, lifesaving even. But it had also been relentless, grinding, soul-crushing. This was different. Smaller, yes. But she could feel the impact, see the gratitude, and know the people she was helping.
At four-thirty, the last patient left. Gloria shut down the front desk while Tessa finished her charting. Dr. Hendricks poked his head into her office.
"Good first day. Same time tomorrow?"
"I'll be here."
"Good. And Tessa?" He paused in the doorway. "Welcome to Copper Moon. Officially."
She walked out to find Brian leaning against his truck, arms crossed, watching her with that half-smile she loved.
"Dr. Callahan. How was your first day of small-town medicine?"
"Surprisingly fulfilling." She rose on her toes and kissed him. "Take me to dinner. I'm starving."
The Italian place was small and crowded, with red-checked tablecloths and candles in wine bottles. They got a table by the window, looking out at the water. The sun was setting, painting the bay in shades of gold and orange.
"I talked to Diaz today," Brian said after they'd ordered. "Carla's lawyer tried to get her bail reduced. Judge denied it."
"Good."
"Webb's trial is set for March. Federal prosecutor wants you to testify."
"I know. They called last week." She took a sip of wine. "I'll do it. I'm not afraid of him anymore."
"No?"
"No." She set down her glass. "I spent months being afraid. Jumping at shadows, looking over my shoulder. And then Carla had her hands around my throat, and I thought I was going to die. And I didn't." She met his eyes. "I survived. Because of you, because of Diaz, because of everyone who showed up. I'm done being afraid of men who are locked in cells."
Brian reached across the table and took her hand. "Have I mentioned lately that you're incredible?"
"You could stand to mention it more often."
"Noted."
Dinner was pasta, garlic bread, and a second glass of wine that made her pleasantly warm. They talked about everything and nothing. Brian's next shift with EMS. The vintage Triumph that Hank was restoring. Bree's latest painting, which she wanted to show them this weekend.
Normal conversation. Normal life.
After dinner, they walked along the pier. The air was cool, salt-tinged, the water dark beneath the rising moon. Other couples strolled past, families with tired children, teenagers laughing too loudly.
"I want to show you something," Brian said.
He led her to the end of the pier, past the restaurants and the bait shop, to a wooden bench facing the water. They sat, and he pointed up.
"Look."
The copper moon hung full and heavy over the bay, its reflection stretching across the water like a road of light. Stars scattered across the sky, more than she'd ever seen in Chicago.
"It's beautiful," she said.
"This is where I used to come. After Lily. When I couldn't sleep, and the walls were closing in." His voice was quiet. "I'd sit here and watch the moon and try to figure out how to keep going."
"Did it help?"
"Sometimes. Not always." He turned to look at her. "But I don't need it anymore. I've got something better now."
