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I resisted the urge to pump my fist. “I’m done at the clinic by five. How’s that sound?”
“That works.” A hint of surprise colored her tone, making me wonder if she was as affected by this rekindling connection as I was.
“Five p.m. at Dove Key marina, then?” I asked, my pulse racing at the thought of seeing her again.
“Yes.” She slipped off the cot and stood, offering me a smile that reached deep into her eyes—maybe a smile that held a whisper of things to come.
As she walked away, I was left with a sense of hope. Perhaps this small town held more for me than just a medical practice. Maybe it held possibility—the possibility of righting the biggest wrong of my life.
Chapter Twelve
Stella
As I walked back to my booth, the sting of the needle lingered. With every flex of my fingers, I could feel the pull of the stitches on my outer palm—a dull, throbbing pain that echoed Aiden’s precise handiwork. Yet, it was more than physical discomfort distracting me. Aiden had surprised me. Not so much how quickly and effortlessly he’d stitched my hand—I’d always known he’d be a great doctor. It was more the unexpected tenderness he’d shown. The way he’d kept me talking and distracted while he worked.
His quiet confidence was not just in his profession but in the way he approached life, and it had a calming effect on me. I might be a woman who thrived on self-reliance, but I wasn’t immune to a comforting touch. Especially when a disarmingly handsome, tender, and competent man gave it. I frowned, unsure whether that was a good thing.
“Stella, you’re back! Let me see.” Grace reached for my bandaged hand with concern etching her features. Then her face smoothed after a close examination. “Very professional-looking. You all fixed up?”
The disposable gloves felt foreign as I slipped them over both hands, the latex sticking awkwardly to the gauze. “A few stitches. Nothing I can’t manage. Besides, we’ve got hungry mouths to feed.”
“Uh-uh, no knife work for you,” Grace insisted, her tone brooking no argument as she steered me toward the grill. “Felicia, you’re on chopping duty!”
From behind the counter, Felicia gave a hearty laugh and selected her knife like a seasoned warrior preparing for battle. “Got it.”
“All right, all right.” Conceding, I turned my attention to the flames before me. Cooking was so second nature, I lost myself in the rhythm of flipping burgers and charring corn on the cob, the sear of meat merging with the salty sea breeze.
“Smells incredible, Chef!” A guest who’d been a regular at Orchid leaned over the barrier with an appreciative sniff.
“Thanks,” I replied, pride filling me despite the day’s misadventures. “Try the blackened hamburgers—seasoning, not burned!”
“Bring it on.” He beamed, accepting the plate Grace handed over with a flourish.
I passed the next order to a waiting guest with care. “Here you go—Stella’s signature shrimp skewers. Watch out, they’re hot.”
My movements were slower, more deliberate, but the quality remained unaltered. Today’s hurdle hadn’t dampened my spirit, nor my determination to shine, even if it was just at a small-town beach festival. And my confidence had soared since settling into my new role. I still had moments when the spotlight of being on center stage brought forth butterflies, but I reminded myself that I wasn’t just a seasoned chef. I was a Markham, working at Calypso Key Resort’s own restaurant.
If this wasn’t fate, I didn’t know what was.
Amidst the sizzle and crackle of the grill, my gaze wandered across the festival grounds and the cornhole platforms now being collected. It landed on the medical booth where Aiden, with his dark-blond hair falling over his forehead, was gently placing an adhesive bandage on a young boy’s arm.
He must have sensed my observation because he glanced up, locking eyes with me. We both stilled, frozen in a moment that seemed to stretch beyond the mere seconds it occupied. His gaze didn’t waver, and those deep blue eyes pierced mine. Warmth spread through me, not from the grill’s heat but from the unexpected connection we’d forged over a simple injury. After a small smile, he bent back to his patient, and I returned to the grill.
“Another round of shrimp, please,” Grace called out.
“Coming right up,” I answered automatically, turning over several skewers while my mind continued to dance with thoughts of Aiden.
As the afternoon waned, the festival’s energy mellowed, and the crowds began to disperse. Guests returned to their cottages, and locals to their homes.
“So.” Grace bumped my elbow with a gentle nudge as I plated a blackened fish taco. “Is your hand holding up?”
“Yes. Surprisingly well.” After handing the taco to a waiting customer, I sighed at a break in the action, the hungry celebrants now sated. “It’s sore, but I can work fine. Aiden was… thorough.”
“And?” she prodded, her eyes sparking with curiosity.
“He asked me out.”
Her hand, poised to stack some paper plates, froze mid-air. “Really?” Excitement lit up her features.
