22.

Ava

The scent of fresh roses fills the air as I place the last hand-calligraphed name card on a table adorned with pearls and white linen. I step back, hands on my hips, surveying the room. It’s coming together—the glitz of our Great Gatsby-themed fundraiser is now tangible in every sparkling detail.

“Perfect,” Julia says, sidling up next to me with an approving nod. “Now, off with you. Tori and Paisley are almost done, and then it’s your turn.”

My heels click against the polished floor as I ascend the grand staircase toward the makeshift beauty parlor we’ve set up in Julia’s bathroom suite. As I pass by, I catch a glimpse of Tori and Paisley, their makeup flawless, laughter tinkling. Stepping behind a folding screen, I slip into the emerald-green flapper dress hanging on the door. The silky fabric hugs my curves, the fringe swaying with each movement.

“Stunning,” the hairdresser coos as I sink into her chair. She begins to work magic on my hair, twisting and pinning with dancing fingers.

“Everyone’s talking about how much you and Roman have put into tonight,” she remarks.

“Really, it was a team effort with so much help, especially from Julia and everyone here,” I explain.

“Come on,” Tori chimes in, crossing the room with a sly smile. “There’s got to be something going on between you and Roman, right?”

Paisley nods enthusiastically beside her. “He’s got it bad for you. It’s so obvious!”

“I don’t know exactly what’s going on,” I insist, heat creeping up my neck. I have no idea how to explain any of what might or might not be happening between us. “We’ve spent a lot of time together these last few months, but we have a history…”

“Uh-huh,” they chorus.

I blush. As I sit here, being fussed over, the truth nudges at me. Roman volunteered to work with me and has been supportive of the event and my personal goals. He’s apologized and made every effort to show me things are different. And he’s told me very clearly what he wants.

“I think you can figure it out,” Tori teases, winking at me through the mirror as she passes back by. “I don’t think you’re just colleagues.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Paisley adds.

I shake my head, trying to shed the conversation like loose strands of hair falling to the floor.

“Enough about Roman,” I say. “Let’s focus on making this evening perfect for King George House.”

“Of course, Dr. Winters,” Paisley responds with mock solemnity, her eyes still dancing with mischief.

The hairdresser places the last pin in my hair, and I stand, the dress swaying gently. I take a deep breath, preparing to face the night and whatever or whoever comes with it.

As I head down the polished marble staircase, the soft swish of the emerald-green fabric in my dress accents my every step. I pause at the bottom, taking in the scene before me—glittering lights, laughter bubbling through the air like Champagne, and the early murmur of an event coming to life.

“Stunning,” someone breathes, and it takes a moment to realize it’s my own thought slipping out. The Martins’ home is perfect, and I’m so grateful to be here.

Then my gaze lands on Roman, who stands amid the arriving crowd, shaking hands and offering welcomes. The cut of his tuxedo is flawless, accentuating his broad shoulders and the lean lines of his frame. He laughs at something a nurse from his department says, a sound that tugs at something deep within me. When he looks up, our eyes meet, and my heart does a reckless somersault.

“Hey!” the nurse calls, waving at me as she links arms with her date, a cardiologist from another ward.

“Hi, Ellen. Have a great evening,” I reply.

She and her date meld into the stream of guests, leaving Roman standing alone. He steps forward, closing the gap between us. His eyes never leave mine, and for a fraction of a second, we’re the only two people in the room.

“Ava, you look beautiful,” he says, his voice low and intimate.

“Thank you,” I manage, acutely aware of the heat rising to my cheeks. “You clean up quite nicely yourself. I love the shoes.”

He stands back, still holding my hands, and taps his feet to show them off, in all their black-and-white glory. Our shared smile is a fragile bridge over a chasm of unspoken words. Before I can traverse it, Dr. Charles Johns arrives, greeting us both—for once—with enthusiasm.

“Dr. Johns, I’d like you to meet Julia Martin, our phenomenal benefactor,” I say, steering him toward her. She’s a vision of grace, her silver hair styled in a perfect bob, pearls at her throat.

“Julia, this is the man who’s been singing your praises for weeks,” I continue, turning to her with a warm smile.

“Dr. Winters has been absolutely indispensable in putting this together,” Julia declares. Her hand finds my arm, a feather- light touch that somehow steadies me.

“Actually, Dr. Quinlan was—” I begin, but Roman’s gentle nudge halts me.

“Thank you, Julia. That means a lot,” he interjects, his gratitude directed at her, but his gaze holds mine.

As Dr. Johns moves away, caught up in another conversation, Roman leans closer, his voice a murmur meant only for me. “Julia and I discussed giving you credit tonight. I hope you don’t mind,” he confides.

“Mind? Why would I mind?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light. “But how do you feel about that? You’ve worked just as hard on this event, and there are scores of volunteers.”

“Let’s just say Dr. Johns has a certain…expectation about who does what around here, and Julia understands that,” Roman says, a wry smile playing on his lips. “And tonight, I wanted the spotlight to find the right person.”

My fingers itch to reach out, to trace the line of his jaw, to thank him not just with words but with touch. “Thank you,” I say instead.

“Anytime.” He grins, and for a moment, the world tilts on its axis.

I draw closer, impulsivity guiding my hand to his cheek. His skin is smooth under my lips as I press a grateful kiss there, lingering for just a moment. “Thank you,” I whisper again. “For everything tonight. But truly, what about you? Dr. Johns is the head of the promotion committee. This could ruin your chance at the chair of pediatrics—”

He shrugs. “I’m young, new to the hospital. If it’s meant to be, it will be.” His gaze lingers on mine, earnest and open. “But cardiology, managing fellows… That’s your dream. I want to support you in that.”

My heart flutters like a trapped butterfly. How does he do this, make grand gestures seem so simple? “Your selflessness is —” Before I can finish, a commotion at the entrance steals our attention.

Jack Flash strides into the room, his presence a beacon that draws everyone in. He wears a grin almost as bright as the flashbulbs that pop around him and a white, tiger-print tuxedo with tails. A rock star in our midst, yet there’s a humility to him that’s unexpected and…refreshing.

“Dr. Ava Winters, I presume?” Jack says, approaching with his hand outstretched. My nerves jolt awake, but his handshake is firm and friendly.

“Thank you for being here, Jack,” I manage. He’s even more charismatic up close.

“Are you kidding?” He laughs, vibrant and loud. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. This lady right here—” He motions to me while nodding to the group gathering around us. “—is the reason I’m here tonight!”

A surge of pride rushes through me, mingled with a twinge of embarrassment. I wrote an impassioned letter and asked the doctor who handled his surgery to pass it along.

“Can we get a photo with you and Dr. Winters?” someone calls out, and Jack readily agrees, slinging an arm around my shoulder. The camera clicks and captures a moment that feels both surreal and electrifying.

“Make sure they know Ava was the mastermind behind me being here,” Jack insists, winking at me as he moves on to greet the next group of starstruck attendees.

Roman watches this exchange, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Seems like you’ve impressed more than just the medical community tonight,” he notes, bumping his shoulder against mine.

“Let’s just hope it translates into donations,” I say, though my mind is less on the fundraiser and more on the man beside me, the one who’s slowly dismantling all my defenses, note by note, like only a true maestro can.

I step out into the grand tent, an oasis of warmth and light amidst the Vancouver chill. Our table, draped in fine linens and adorned with extravagant centerpieces, seems plucked straight from F. Scott Fitzgerald’s imagination.

“Isn’t this just divine?” Julia beams, gesturing grandly toward the lavish setup. She looks every bit the hostess of a bygone era, her pearls catching the light.

Roman nods in agreement, scanning the space. “Julia, you’ve outdone yourself.”

We take our seats, flanked by Julia’s family—Henry and Allison on one side, and on the other, Phillip and Tricia. Allison’s gold dress shimmers like liquid sunshine, and Tricia’s electric blue attire is no less stunning. Julia and her husband, Chip, and Davis and Paisley round out the table. Griffin and his date have been seated in another spot with a group of their friends.

“Tricia, darling, won’t you have some wine?” Julia offers, a bottle extended.

“Actually, I’ll stick to water tonight,” Tricia says, a tentative smile on her lips. Her fingers dance around the stem of her empty glass.

Allison’s eyebrows arch. “Water? On a night like this?”

A blush creeps into Tricia’s cheeks, and she glances around the table, her gaze lingering on each of us before it settles on Julia and Chip. “Well,” she says, her voice barely a whisper, “I’m pregnant. It’s still early, but—”

“Truly?” Julia gasps, her hands flying to her mouth. Chip reaches over, enveloping Tricia’s hand in his own before clapping Phillip on the back.

“Congratulations!” Roman and I say in unison, our voices mingling with the chorus of well-wishes.

“Thank you, everyone,” Tricia responds, her eyes glistening. “But please, let’s keep this just between us for now.”

“Of course, dear,” Julia assures her. “Your secret is safe with us.”

I feel a swell of happiness for Tricia and Phillip, a new chapter unfolding before them. And yet there’s an ache too—a yearning for something more, something perhaps not so far out of reach.

“Looks like we’re going to need another pediatrician soon,” I quip, trying to mask the sudden tightness in my chest.

“Good thing we’ve got an excellent pediatrics department,” Roman adds, his gaze finding mine.

I nod, my thoughts swirling, drifting to futures imagined, to possibilities that tonight, under a canopy of stars and dreams, seem just a heartbeat away.