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I traced his jawline. “Just when I thought you couldn’t make me like you more.”

He winked. “I’m just getting started, Maddy. I’m just getting started.”

I lay back on my pillow with a sigh.

That was what I was afraid of.

I was finding Matthew VanRyan very hard to resist.

And I wasn’t sure I wanted to really try.

We texted over the next few days. He sent pictures of funny things in the hospital. An impromptu potluck one day in the staff room. He circled his contribution—a bag of nacho chips and jars of salsa and queso.

Bachelor side dishes, he texted, making me laugh.

He told me a story of a little girl who needed stitches and was terrified, so he stitched up a ripped seam on her teddy bear, showing her how brave he was, then she allowed him to stitch her hand. Her mom took some photos of them that he shared—his head bent over the task of sewing up the bear while the little girl watched. Then another of her holding up her hand showing her stitches, and finally one of her hugging Matthew, the look on his face so sweet. I had to admit my ovaries might have perked up a little at that particular picture.

I didn’t have anything as cute to share, but I took pictures of cakes I decorated and one of the sunset off the steps leading up to my apartment. I told him it wasn’t as beautiful as the one I saw when I was with him, and his reply bowled me off my feet.

Nothing is as beautiful as your face touched by the sunset.

My breath had caught in my throat at his words. No one had ever said anything like that to me before. I was certain no one had ever seen me the way he seemed to see me. I didn’t when I looked in the mirror. I saw me. Simple, ordinary Madison. I wasn’t ugly, but I was just me. I was short, with plain brown hair, average features, and a figure that leaned toward curvy rather than slim. My eyes were pretty, but not as fascinating as he seemed to find them.

But given Matthew’s words, maybe there was more to me than I realized.

I just wasn’t sure what.

Sunday, I was anxious. Anxious to see him. Anxious about cooking dinner. Anxious to be alone with him. I wanted the evening to be a nice one. I was looking forward to it as much as I was worried about it.

I couldn’t recall ever being this nervous about spending time with someone before. I wanted everything to go right.

He was off at four, so I expected him around five. He texted he might be late, so I held off dinner, and it was closer to six when he arrived. He looked exhausted. Beaten down. He smiled at me when I opened the door, but I could see it was forced.

Instantly, I knew it had been a bad day in the ER—and why.

I took his coat, brushing off his apologies. I turned after hanging up his coat and, without a word, stepped close and embraced him. His arms came around me, and he let out a long exhale of air as he dropped his head to my neck. I hugged him hard, running my hands up and down his back.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured.

“How did you know?” he replied, his voice low.

“I’ve seen that expression before.” I stepped back, cupping his cheek. “Do you want to cancel? Go home and sort out your emotions? Be alone with your thoughts?”

“I don’t want to be alone, but I’m not sure how good of company I’ll be.”

“I don’t mind. I’d like you to stay.”

He smiled, still looking weary. “I’d like that.”

I tugged on his hand. “Then come sit.”

Matthew

Maddy led me to a chair in the corner, gently pushing me onto the thick cushioned seat. She headed to the small kitchen and returned with a glass of wine for each of us. She sat on the ottoman in front of me, offering me a sweet smile.

“Tell me about your patient.”

I scrubbed my eyes. “He—Tom—was an older guy. Lots of health issues. A regular in the ER.”