Page 61 of I’ll Find You

“Yeah,” I say. “Fellow doctor. Thought you might remember him from your graduating class.”

For a second, I see him look me over, trying to place me, maybe where he knows me. Then recognition. Maybe I’d describe it even as hesitation, before his voice smooths over asking, “And who would your father be?”

“Dr. Victor Flores.”

His expression stills. He’s still controlled, but there’s a subtlety in the way the set of his shoulders tenses and the tic in his jaw. “Of course,” he says after a moment. “I do know him. A good surgeon.” There’s something in his words that makes me believe him, but it’s the faintest hint of a smile that touches his mouth that tells me otherwise. “Small world.” He gives me a short nod before stepping past me and continuing down the hall.

I turn back to Rose. She hasn’t moved much. She’s still standing where he left her, shoulders tight and drawn up protectively.

“Hey,” I say, my voice softening. It always does when it comes to her.

Her eyes lift to mine. There’s worry in them.

“You okay?”

She nods, too fast. “Yeah. I’m fine,” she says quickly, no matter if she really is or not. I choose not to push it, especially not here, when all I want to do is get out of here. Instead, I step closer, sliding an arm around her and pulling her into me without thinking. She lets me. In fact, she melts into it, needing something solid against her. The weight of what just happened crushes her.

“Come on,” she says after a second, her voice lighter now. “They’re probably wondering where we went.”

We head back upstairs and into the crowded restaurant together. Callie looks up first. “There you guys are,” she says. “We thought you disappeared on us.”

Rose laughs like nothing is wrong. “We just got held up.”

Denver raises a brow but doesn’t question it. “We were just wrapping up anyway.

Chairs scrape against the floor as we stand, pulling on our jackets before stepping out into the cold. We say our goodbyes, making plans to see each other again at the fundraiser.

Outside, the air is colder as Rose steps into me without thinking, and I wrap my arms around her again, pulling her even closer this time. She exhales against my chest, her hand finding my jacket and pressing herself into it.

“Ready?” I ask.

She nods. “Yeah.”

She doesn’t pull away immediately, and I’m in no hurry to let her go. When we finally start toward my car, I keep her close, unable to shake the feeling that something is trying to take her from me. I won’t let it.

Chapter

Thirty-Five

Rose

The air bites at my neck as I pull my hat over my ears and put on the lightweight wicking gloves I purchased for this race. They’re hot pink, standing out against my black moisture-wicking shirt and compression tights. March in New England never fully commits to spring. So, as the afternoon settles in, the air grows crisper and the sun begins its slow descent toward the horizon. The cold lingers in shadows, tucked beneath the trees and woven into the damp earth where the snow once held it captive. My breath fogs in front of me as I pull my little wind jacket tighter. The scent of pine and thawing earth fills my lungs with each breath. Soft light spills through the bare branches, where tiny buds have begun to swell in anticipation of warmer days. It’s beautiful.

The sun dips lower, stretching long shadows across the dirt and gravel as volunteers move between folded tables. Their voices carry across the clearing as volunteers check runners in as they flip through papers and issue bibs. Laughter cuts through the chill, and somewhere behind it all, a fiddle starts up, joined by the steady beat of a bodhrán as the band launches into a lively reel. Their music carries through the trees, making me half expect a wickedly handsome Highlander from one of my favorite Scottish romances to emerge in a kilt.

String lights glow beneath the covered beer tent, casting a warm light over rows of tables and the makeshift dance floor. Gas lanterns wait along the edges, ready to chase away the evening chill once the sun disappears. Everything is in place.

“Rose!” I turn from the registration table, my bib pinned low on the front of my shirt, and spot Callie waving me over. Denver stands beside her, already holding two cups of something steaming.

“Coffee,” he says as I approach, handing one to me. “You look like you need it.”

“I always need it,” I reply, curling my gloved hands around the cup as its warmth slowly reaches my fingers.

“You pulled this off,” Callie says, glancing around. “Your ideas for the lighting, band, and beer garden are a hit. We’re close to five hundred registrations. I’d call that a pretty huge success.”

“Anything to raise awareness is a success,” I say. “And it’s actually happening.” I follow her gaze. The trailhead sits just beyond the clearing, marked by a simple wooden sign and a line of green ribbons tied along the path. Beyond that, the woods stretch beneath long, waiting shadows. “It all came together.”

More people filter in as runners stretch, adjust, and modify their layers for the start. A few shelter dogs bark excitedly, their tails wagging as staff and volunteers hold their leashes. The beer tent is already drawing a crowd, voices mingling with the music.