And suddenly I realize something:
I don’t want to leave.
More than that?—
I want to build a life here.
With Finn.
I just pulled my emergency brake.
Now I need to run after the train.
CHAPTER 33
FINN
Painting Lessons
(Or How a Grumpy Doctor Learns to Add Color Back Into His Life)
Like the rest of Glenfield this early in the morning, the medical clinic sits wrapped in silence.
My gaze drifts across the walls that are now almost completely stripped bare after Nate started the renovations. Only one section still needs work—the wall that looks disturbingly like a shrine dedicated to the eternal glory of McKinnon.
I set my coffee thermos on the platform of a construction ladder and walk toward the wall.
Then, without giving myself time to overthink it, I take down the first photo of McKinnon.
Then a second.
Then a third.
The frames pile into the cardboard box sitting in the middle of the waiting room. His smiling face slowly disappears from the walls along with his diplomas, certificates, and the photos from grateful patients who adored him.
Everything that reminded me I was only a temporary replacement needs to go.
Because I’m not a placeholder anymore.
It takes several minutes to clear the wall completely, and when I finish, I step back to study it.
I’ll leave the wallpaper removal to Nate.
A wave of satisfaction rolls through me.
Who would’ve guessed that tearing down old memories could feel this good?
I open the paint can.
Blue-gray.
The exact color Mary suggested weeks ago.
I pour paint into the tray and dip the roller into it. My hand trembles slightly.
Not from exhaustion.
From what it means.
