He shoved back the covers and stood, drawing in several slow breaths until his pulse steadied. The hardwood floor felt cool and solid beneath his feet, and he let himself focus on that. Not the ocean. Not the spinning horizon. Just wood. Just a house. He rolled his neck once and pushed a hand through his hair.
He walked the length of the bed and opened the door, then padded barefoot down the hall toward the second bedroom May used as an office. The house smelled faintly of herbal tea and rain. The storm had settled into a steady rhythm against the roof. He paused at the doorway and watched her for a second before speaking.
She was curled into her desk chair with her knees pulled up, a file folder balanced across them. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, and the small heater in the corner hummed softly. The rain streaked the wide window behind her, turning the trees into a blur of dark green and gray.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” She closed the folder and tossed it onto her keyboard.
He stepped inside and glanced around. He liked this room. It was small but orderly. Bookshelves lined one wall, crammed full of medical texts and paperbacks. A couple of framed photographs hung between them, nature shots she had taken herself. A bald eagle mid-flight. A hillside scattered with fireweed. Tiny blue flowers he couldn’t name, bright against wet ground. She saw things most people missed.
“Why are you up?” she asked.
He moved toward her. “Why are you?” he shot back, then slid an arm around her waist and lifted her straight out of the chair.
She laughed, planting one hand on his bare chest.
He dropped into the seat and stretched his legs out, then pulled her back against him. She tucked her feet in and rested her head just below his collarbone.
“I’m sorry I woke you up earlier,” she said.
“You didn’t.” He rested his chin lightly against her hair. “I don’t sleep much.” That part was true. The other part he didn’t say was that he had slept deeper beside her than he had in years. “Are you working on anything interesting?” he asked.
“Just some patient charts.”
He smiled. “Thrilling.”
“Sometimes they are,” she replied. “You start noticing patterns in people and figure out a way to help them. I like that.”
His arm settled more firmly around her waist.
“Did you know there are new cancer treatments that are actually changing outcomes?” she asked.
He kissed the top of her head. “No.”
“They’re using immunotherapy now in ways we couldn’t even talk about ten years ago. They modify a patient’s own T-cells so they recognize cancer cells as targets. CAR T-cell therapy. Monoclonal antibodies that bind directly to tumor markers and personalized vaccines built from a person’s specific cancer mutations are increasing survival rates. We’re not just poisoning everything and hoping the cancer dies first anymore.”
He listened to her voice more than the terminology. It steadied him. “That’s incredible.”
She hummed. “It gives people more time. Sometimes that’s everything.”
He settled in the chair and let the rain fill the quiet between them. His heart had finally stopped pounding. The house felt normal again. “Why did you become a doctor?”
She kissed beneath his jaw. “I wanted to make people’s lives better, and I also wanted to be a part of them, you know? Without a family, I found one in my patients. In a small community, anyway. It’d be different in the city.”
Ah. One more reason she’d chosen Knife’s Edge. He could understand that.
She nudged her nose up beneath his jaw, and her breath brushed warm against his neck, sending a pulse of desire straight through him. He was only dressed in boxers, but he usually ran warm anyway.
“Ace.”
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Do you think we rushed this? I mean… you and me?”
He stilled a little at that. “We’ve been circling each other for months, and I don’t feel rushed. Are you having second thoughts?”
“No.” She shook her head against him. “I just like to think things through.”
