Page 79 of Doctor’s Forbidden Match

“You’ve done a fabulous job. It’s looking superb. There’s always tomorrow,” Hannah says with a gentle smile.

The couple give her a half-smile back.

“And cut!” Dain calls out.

The crew erupts into applause for the wrap of the day, people calling out congrats and thanks. I watch Hannah glow under the praise, soaking it in. When her eyes find mine across the set, I give her a single nod, one that says I’m proud of her. She grins back like she was waiting for it.

She’s steadier on the scooter now, more confident in the way she navigates the makeshift path, less braced against every uneven joint in the wood. I walk alongside her rather than hovering behind.

At the trailer steps, she hesitates, glancing up at them, then at me. A silent, let me try to do this.

She grips the railing, and I stay close behind, ready to catch her if she needs it. But she makes it inside without any issues.

“Now what happens?” I ask as she collapses onto the trailer’s small sofa with a satisfied exhale, her head falling back against the cushions.

“PT, then it’s back to the Airbnb, shower, and sleep.”

She groans softly. “I forgot.” She stretches her arms above her head, her dress riding up slightly to reveal more thigh before she tugs it back down. I force my gaze away from her skin.

“I know. But you’ve been on your feet all day, and the swelling needs attention before you sleep on it.” I pick up her bag. “I’ll drive you and wait outside.”

She looks at me like she wants to argue. “Fine.”

The PT clinic is quiet by the time we arrive. Forty-five minutes isn’t a long time when you’ve spent the whole day watching someone push through pain without complaint. I take a seat in the waiting area while she disappears inside, and I pull out my phone. Opening the earlier message I haven’t read from Bri.

Bri: What are you up to today?

Me: Currently in a waiting room.

Bri: You’re in the hospital?

Me: No PT clinic for a patient

Bri: Do you wait outside for all your patients or just this one?

Me: It’s my job.

I could’ve had Channing be here and take her home, but she needs to eat and get help into bed, and I don’t want anyone else doing that. I turn my attention to emails until she comes out, looking tired, but visibly relaxed.

“Better?” I ask.

“Surprisingly, yes.” She adjusts her crutch. “He says I’m tracking well.”

“I know. He texted me.”

She stops walking. “He texted you?”

“I asked him to.” I hold the door open for her. “You’re my patient. I like to know.”

She shakes her head, but there’s a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth that she’s clearly trying to suppress.

As we walk back to the car, I mentally plan the drive back, how I’ll help her to her room, make sure she elevates her leg, and give her some more medication to keep the swelling down.

“I was wondering…” she pauses, suddenly looking uncertain, her teeth biting her bottom lip in a way that draws my attention to her mouth. “Could we grab dinner out? I haven’t really been able to enjoy much of Pulse Point since I’ve been here. I’ve basically seen the inside of the Airbnb, the set, and my trailer.”

The request surprises me. My first thought isn’t about dinner; it’s about the photographers that have been following her. “You’re aware of what happened last time you were in public.”

Her chin lifts slightly. “I’m aware. I’m injured, exhausted, but I just had a good day. I’d like to experience the town I’m supposed to be hosting a show about.”