"Ella, you don't look as pumped as the others."
A soft voice came from behind. I turned and saw Mark leaning on the doorframe in his white coat, hands in his pockets.
"I... It's just a shock." I forced a smile, hiding the chaos in my eyes.
He stepped closer, handing me a chilled bottle of mineral water. "Thinking about Paul? You know, the world doesn't dish out miracles timed this perfectly."
I stayed quiet.
"Ella," Mark said, gazing out at the blue ocean, his tone turning serious, "that question I asked the other day, about us,about giving it a shot. Have you thought it over? If you want, I could apply to the hospital to tag along to Europe with you."
My grip tightened on the bottle. Mark was damn near perfect—kind, thoughtful, always there with selfless help over the years. But nodding yes would've been the cruelest thing I could do to him.
"Mark, I'm sorry." I looked up, eyes full of regret but steady. "I can't. I haven't let him go. I've tried for six years, but when he showed up again, when he actually wanted to change... my walls just crumbled."
Mark went silent for a long beat, then sighed deeply and shook his head with a bitter smile. "I should've seen it coming. The way you look at him, it's different from anyone else. Even with the hate mixed in, there's still that spark. Ella, I like you, but I respect what you want."
He straightened up, came over, and clapped my shoulder. "The day he braved that downpour to grab meds for Tommy, soaked to the bone when he got back... I had to admit, the guy's got guts. If he really loves you, if he's willing to flip his whole world for you, then I wish you luck."
"Thanks, Mark," I said, sniffing back emotion.
"No need," he replied, scratching his nose with a grin, but then got serious. "But Ella, if he hurts you again or makes you shed one tear, you tell me. I'll deck him."
That evening, Paul came over for dinner. Tommy had already scarfed his down and was sprawled on the rug, piecing together the toy model Paul had brought. Paul sat across from me, ditching his usual crisp shirt for a simple gray tee, sipping the veggie soup I'd made.
"Paul." I set down my utensils, testing the waters. "You hear about the anonymous donation to the hospital?"
His spoon paused for a split second. He didn't look up, voice calm. "What donation?"
"You know what I mean—the one funding free conference spots for nurses. Paul, was it you?"
He set the spoon aside and met my eyes.
"Yeah, it was me." His voice was low, earnest. "But not to flaunt cash, Casey. I know you hate special treatment, hate my old condescending fixes. So I did it differently. I wanted to back your career dreams, let you and your team all level up. That way, it doesn't feel like charity. It's what you've earned."
My eyes welled up instantly. I got up, walked over, and before he could react, wrapped my arms around him.
"Thank you, Paul."
He froze for a second, then pulled me close.
"Casey, I'm sorry it took so damn long," he whispered in my ear. "I know I've got a lot to fix, but I'll keep working at it, learning how to love you right."
I melted into his broad chest, that familiar, long-missed safety washing over me. He smelled of faint laundry detergent now, nothing like the cologne from our Boston days.
"Paul, you know what I'm thinking right now?"
"What?" His voice was muffled.
"I remember six years ago, us sitting by the Charles River, talking about going somewhere we could spot whales. I said I'd open a language school, and you said you'd start a surf shop next door, teaching waves by day, cooking with me at night. Remember?"
He chuckled. "Of course. We'd sit there for hours till dark, not wanting to leave. You in that blue jacket, hair whipping everywhere in the wind. I'd tuck it behind your ear, and you'd duck your head, pretending to watch the water, ears turning red."
"I did not."
"You did. Every time I touched your hair." His hand slid from my waist, fingers threading into my strands, gently brushing them back. "Like this."
I buried my face deeper. He laughed softly and kept going.
