Chapter 33

Kent

The next day, I slide into one of the high-backed booths at the back of Joey's restaurant, a strategic choice for privacy. The upholstery feels cool against my skin through the thin fabric of my shirt. I'm early, anxiously drumming my fingers on the dark wood of the table, listening to the murmur of other diners.

A server approaches with a practiced smile, her flirtation as subtle as the scent of her perfume. "Can I start you off with something to drink?" she asks, her gaze lingering a bit too long.

"Uh, yes, a bottle of fizzy water and one of plain, please," I mutter, barely looking up. I want Amelia to have her choice when she arrives. It's a small detail but one that matters to me.

The server nods and sashays away. My eyes flick to my watch—five minutes past the hour. She should be here any minute now; Amelia is punctual, a trait I've always admired. Another five minutes crawl by, and I find myself checking my watch again, its ticking suddenly too loud in my ears. Ten minutes late. That's unlike her. A knot tightens in my stomach. Has something happened? Or has she changed her mind about meeting?

As I contemplate a plan B, considering a visit to her apartment after this if she doesn't show—I'm not above a little persistence—a familiar silhouette catches my eye.

"Kent!" Amelia calls, slightly breathless as she arrives.

Relief floods me, and I stand to greet her.

"Sorry I'm late," she says, sliding into the booth opposite me. "Overslept."

"Mornings aren't your thing," I tease. "And I'm sure you were exhausted after the event last night," I quickly add.

The server materializes almost instantly and asks which water Amelia prefers. When she points to the flat, the server pours it into Amelia's glass with a flourish before taking our orders. Amelia requests the roasted half chicken with steamed vegetables while I opt for the teriyaki rice bowl.

"So, tell me about the new job," I suggest as I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table.

Amelia's face brightens. "I'm the manager of the Divine Delight account, and I also work for a small plumbing company and a company that sells airplane seats to airlines. It's like a breath of fresh air. Danica, my boss, she's incredible, so supportive. It's totally different than what I was doing before."

"I'm so happy for you," I say, meaning every word. "Sounds like leaving Creative Seed was a blessing in disguise."

"Definitely," she agrees with a grateful sigh. "They could've let me go in a better way, though."

I nod, understanding the mixed feelings of gratitude and regret. But seeing Amelia thrive now, the sparkle back in her eyes, makes me believe everything happens for a reason. And I'm thankful to be here with her, sharing this moment.

The server returns with our meals, and the aroma of my rice bowl fills the space between us. As we start on our food, I decide to get right to the heart of the matter.

"By the way, Kent's Alumni Association has officially disbanded," I say, managing a clump of rice with my fork.

She pauses. "Really? I left the group after Leah…" She trails off, looking uncomfortable for a moment.

"Yes, I know. And I left the group after Leah too." I offer her a wry smile. "What happened with her brought out everyone's true colors. Joanna has reached out to me since then—I do think she's a true friend—but I recognize that the group wasn't a healthy situation. And I'm going to do better with boundaries going forward."

Amelia nods, her lips pressing into a thin line. "It was awkward." She takes a sip of water, eyes meeting mine. "You don't need to apologize, though," she adds.

"Still," I insist, "I should have seen it coming. Leah and the others, they were part of my past, but I liked them, and I tried my best to help them out. Then somehow, I ended up the bad guy. Anyway, like I said, turns out Jo is the only one really interested in being a friend to me. And for the record, none of them ever commanded my attention the way you do."

A softness enters Amelia's eyes, and she smiles, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. "I've missed you, Kent," she confesses, causing my heart to skip a beat. "I should have reached out to have a conversation with you after that night with Cordelia and William. I never stopped wondering about you. Been trying to fill the time. Joined a bike club, actually."

"Really?" I ask. "How's that going?"

"I'm finding I enjoy it. It's good exercise, and I get lots of good thinking and processing done. But…let's just say it makes my hooha numb," she deadpans.

I burst into laughter. "That's the last thing you want numb."

I'd love to tell her I'll make sure she's feeling something down there, but I don't want to press my luck. We linger over our meal, the conversation soon flowing as easily as it always has between us. Eventually, we leave the restaurant behind to stroll through the neighborhood. Our path is aimless, but the company feels necessary, like a missing piece slotting back into place.

"Look at this little spot," Amelia says, pointing to a quaint tea shop nestled between a bookstore and a florist.

"Perfect place for a break," I suggest, urging her inside.

We settle into the warmth of the tea shop, Amelia nestling into a plush armchair while I snag the adjacent couch. This is exactly where I want to be, with Amelia, sharing laughs and reconnecting. Here, in this small corner of the world, everything else fades away, leaving just the two of us and the comfort of old times.

Amelia rests her chin on her palm, eyeing me with that soft curiosity that always manages to unravel me. "How are Rhonda and Spencer doing back in England?" she asks, her voice warm.

"Actually," I note, blowing the steam from my cup, "Cordelia may have convinced them to move to Vancouver. She's going to need a governess for her new baby."

"Baby? Cordelia's pregnant?" Amelia's eyes widen. "She's only been married a little over two months."

"Yeah," I say. "It's still early, so only a few people know. But she's a pediatrician; she loves kids. I guess they couldn't wait to start a family of their own."

Amelia smiles, but it's tinged with disbelief. "Wow, I never would've guessed. And Rhonda and Spencer are moving across the pond?"

"Looks like it." I nod.

"What about your mom?"

"She knows Rhonda and Spencer are retiring from working with her, but I don't know if Cordy and William have told her what's happening. I know for certain they haven't told Father. And I can't ask Mum because she's not talking to me."

"Why isn't she talking to you?"

I look out the window. "She was putting pressure on me to move back to England, and I just couldn't do it. I love it here. I don't want her life in Parliament and taking care of a bunch of sheep. Yuck! I love the energy of the emergency department."

"That's huge."

I shrug.

"And you don't think your parents will be excited to be grandparents?"

"They weren't particularly excited to be parents, so I'm not sure this will be much different. But Rhonda and Spencer are thrilled."

"Now, the pressure is going to be on you." Amelia smiles as she drinks from her teacup.

"Or on us," I correct, watching her eyebrows disappear in her hairline. I just shrug and smile.

When we leave the tea shop, the sun has started its descent, painting long shadows on the pavement. As we walk side by side, the cool air brings us closer together.

"Hey, Amelia," I say as we near her apartment building, "Starting tonight, I'm working the night shift for the next three days. But can I stop by and see you in the morning after I finish?"

"I'd like that," she replies without hesitation, and something inside me loosens.

I feel a rush of relief, maybe, or just plain happiness. "Great," I reply, unable to keep the grin off my face.

When we reach her door, I linger for a moment. This is where we part ways—for now. I lean in, drawn by the familiar pull between us, and press my lips to hers. It's a long, luscious kiss, the kind that stirs memories and promises more. A soft sigh escapes her, mingling with the afternoon air, and when we part, her cheeks are flushed, her eyes brighter.

"Goodbye, Amelia," I whisper, my voice unsteady with the effort to step away.

"Goodbye, Kent," she whispers back, her hand lingering on my arm before she turns to go inside.

I watch her disappear behind the door before heading home to gear up for my hospital shift. My steps are light, my heart still racing from the kiss. I'm already anticipating the morning when I'll see her again, this tangle of past and present weaving a future I suddenly dare to hope for.

Walking in for my shift takes me from zero to one hundred in mere seconds. Looks like it's going to be a crazy night.

As I move between beds and curtained areas, my focus is pulled to a man who's been living on the streets, his face carved by the harshness of a life unhoused.

"What's your name?" I ask.

He looks at me and at the opening in the curtain. I can tell he's ready to make a run for it, and he just might if his foot wasn't a jigsaw of blackened flesh, reeking of decay, the cruel work of frostbite, which looks like it could be turning gangrenous.

"Let's get you sorted out," I murmur, keeping my tone steady, my movements slow and clear. We administer antibiotics straight away and hook him up for oxygen therapy. His eyes, filled with apprehension, follow every movement I make.

"Hey," I say gently, trying to offer some comfort, "we're going to do everything we can to save your foot."

He nods, and I hope for a positive outcome with the whole fiber of my being. It's a battle against time and infection, though. As I turn him over to the surgical team, I make a mental note to check on him post-op. I want to see this through.

No sooner have I typed my notes on his chart than a boy limps in, supported by his mother. His ankle is swollen, an angry testament to the misstep taken during a game of basketball with his brothers. The other two brothers orbit their mother like untamed satellites, their energy levels off the charts compared to her evident fatigue.

"All right, champ," I address the boy with a smile. "Let's send you off to X-ray to see what's going on in there." He nods bravely. To his mother, I offer a cafeteria card. "You look like you could use a break. Take the boys and have some dinner. It's on me."

She hesitates, pride and exhaustion warring in her features, but I press the card into her hand. "You deserve it," I assure her, and finally, she relents with a grateful smile.

A little while later the X-ray comes back. Just a sprain, nothing broken. Relief washes over the mother's face as we wrap the boy's ankle. It's a small victory, but these moments are precious breathers amid the chaos.

"Thank you," she says as they leave, and her smile fills up the empty spaces in my tired heart.

"Anytime," I reply, already turning to the next patient, the relentless beat of the ED carrying me forward.

"What's next?" I ask Susan.

"We've got severe abdominal pains and an anxious father behind curtain three."

I nod and pull the curtain back to find a young girl's face contorted with pain. "Where does it hurt?" I ask gently. Her father paces nearby, his anxiety a palpable force in the cramped space.

"Here," she gasps, clutching at her abdomen. Her unease is evident, and I signal a nurse with a nod. She understands immediately, engaging the father in conversation and leading him away to give us room to work.

"Could you be pregnant?" She seems very young, but the question slips out almost mechanically; it's a necessary inquiry in these situations.

She shakes her head vehemently, eyes wide with shock. "No, I can't be."

But something about her symptoms tells me there's more to this story. I call another nurse over for assistance as I start an internal exam, my hands steady despite the gnawing suspicion in my gut. It takes only a moment for the reality of the situation to hit me—a baby is crowning.

"Page the OB on call and call Cordelia," I instruct without taking my eyes off the task at hand. "Now! And let's get a warming bed with giraffe lights in here."

The nurse steps to the phone and pages my sister, the on-call pediatrician tonight. The OB arrives just in time, and we deliver the baby, a tiny girl who enters the world with a fragile whimper. As I wrap the newborn in a blanket, the mother—a child herself—whispers, "I don't understand how this happened."

Outside the curtain, the father's voice rises in fury, demanding the police, shouting his daughter's innocence. His baby girl, just thirteen, couldn't be anything but a victim. My chest tightens as I step out to confront him, his world crumbling before my eyes. "We're here to help," I assure him, though no words could possibly comfort.

Cordelia arrives breathless, taking charge of the struggling infant with professional calm that belies the chaos. I stand beside her, watching her work, while simultaneously summoning a social worker to aid the overwhelmed father who's now slumped in a chair, face buried in his hands.

The night wears on, pulling me through its tide until the dawn signals the end of my shift. Exhaustion clings to me like a vine, but there's only one place I want to be.

When I arrive at her place, she opens the door and her smile, warm and inviting, erases the harshness of the hours passed. She leads me to her bed, and we curl up together. As sleep claims me, holding her, I'm home. Now to ensure I never leave again…