“Organized chaos.”
“The best kind.”
He glances down at me as we wait.“Do you see that kind of chaos in your future?”
The question is simple.But something in the way he asks like it matters surprises me.I’ve spoken about it with Liz and Scarlet, but that’s it.
“Yeah,” I say shifting the tray in my hands.“Eventually.I mean, if I ever get out of work on time enough to actually date.”
He grins.“That’s fair.The survival rate isn’t great.”
“What about you?”I ask.
The memory of him throwing Dusty in the air earlier flashes through my mind.
“You seem like the family type.”
“Oh, definitely.”We start crossing, moving carefully with our drinks.“I’ve always wanted that.”
“You already have practice with your niece.”
He nods.“True.But I always pictured the real thing.A family.Loud mornings, soccer practice, cereal on the floor… the whole deal.”
My chest tightens a little as I wonder why it hasn’t happened for him yet.Someone like Brant, who’s stable, caring, and successful, should’ve been snatched up years ago.Has he been in a serious relationship?Did it end badly?Or is he waiting for the right person?“That’s rare.”
“What do you mean?”he asks, seeming surprised.
“Most people I’ve dated hated my schedule.”
“Same,” he admits.“They wanted dinners at seven and spontaneous weekends.Not… surgeries at midnight or charting at dawn.”
“Exactly,” I murmur.
We’re across the street now.I’m shocked he’s been through the same thing, that he understands what it’s like to be made to feel like you’re choosing wrong when you’re just choosing your calling.It’s validating in a way I didn’t know I needed.
“I mean, I’ve had flings,” I add, giving a shrug, feeling more comfortable with opening up, because if anyone’s going to understand my choices, it’s him.
“Me too,” he says.“You tell yourself you’re fine with casual until someone gets annoyed that you’re on call again.”
Our eyes meet.Something flickers between us that’s warm and slow burning.
“That’s why I like talking to you,” I say softly.“You get it.”
He winks.“Ditto.”
Back at the picnic blanket, Brant hands Scarlet her iced mocha, then sets a kid-sized juice boxes down for Aria and Dusty.Aria is showing Brant’s father how to twirl a ribbon like a ballet dancer.Dusty’s also trying, but his footwork needs some help.Watching him stumble and laugh makes heat radiate through my chest.
“Regan, would you like to sit?”Brant’s mother asks, patting the blanket.
“Actually,” I say, noticing the time.“I need to head off soon.I promised my dad I’d help with the next room.”A part of me doesn’t want to leave because I’m enjoying myself, but the other part wants to spend time with my dad and continue rebuilding the relationship.How did two hours go so fast?Brant arches an eyebrow.“Next room?”
I nod, brushing lint off my sleeve.“We’re renovating the house.He’s the demo guy, and I get to be the interior designer and painting assistant.”
Scarlet snorts.“You?Painting?I don’t believe it.”
“I’m excellent with a brush.Just don’t ask about rolling.”
“That’s nice that you're helping him,” Brant says.
