Page 94 of Doctor’s Forbidden Match

“What happened last night?”

“We went to his place after dinner. And things—” I stop myself, choosing words carefully, even for Brooke. “Things progressed. Not completely, but enough.”

“Hannah!” she squeals.

“I know.”

“Does he know how you feel?”

“He knows I want him. I’ve told him that much.” I stare at the ceiling. “But feelings are different.”

“Then tell him.”

“And then what? I leave in a few weeks, regardless. Nothing about the situation changes. It’s probably better for both of us if I just let it run its course and go home.”

“Would probably be better for him, but I don’t think that’s what you actually want.”

I don’t answer, because she’s right, and we both know it.

“Just talk to him properly. When the time feels right.”

“Yeah.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “I will.”

“Good. Now go rest before you need to go back on set.”

“Going. Talk soon.”

I hang up, letting the phone fall onto my chest. A few weeks. That’s all I have. The question is whether I’m brave enough to do something with them.

Chapter 31

Hannah

After another day of filming, we make a quick stop at the grocery store, where Zac insisted on pushing the cart while I hobbled alongside on my crutches, then head back to the Airbnb.

While I was at the store, he must have taken notes on everything I said, because the moment we’re through the door, he sets a clean towel on the bathroom counter within easy reach. Moves my laundry down from the high shelf without being asked. Lays out my pajamas on the bed so I don’t have to juggle them with my crutches. Lines up my evening medication beside a full glass of water on the nightstand, already timed for after dinner.

Then he disappears into the kitchen and starts on dinner, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Go shower,” he says over his shoulder. “Take your time. It’ll be ready when you’re done.”

I stand in the hallway, taking it all in. All the things he’s done without announcement or expectation of thanks. The whole evening engineered, so that nothing is harder than it needs to be.

It’s easily the most someone has ever taken care of me.

“Okay,” I say, then take my time in the shower.

The warm water falls over my shoulders, and I let myself stay longer. Through the bathroom door, I can hear him moving around the kitchen: the soft thud of cabinet doors, the rush of the tap. When I finally emerge in my comfortable sweats and an oversized t-shirt, my hair damp, the place smells amazing.

We’ve found this easy flow in such a short time. But Reality Renovation ‘Spring Edition’ wraps up in two more weeks, and then I’ll be back in LA. Back to my regular hosting gigs and my cramped studio apartment. I’ve been texting Brooke over the last few days, though there’s nothing new to report.

Me: Still hobbling around.

Me: He’s honestly the hottest orthopedic surgeon I’ve ever met. Still doing nothing about it.

His hair is slightly mussed, like he’s run his hands through it a few times, and there’s a concentrated furrow between his eyebrows as he focuses on finely chopping the basil.

“Pasta with pesto tonight?” I call out as I make my way toward the kitchen island on my crutches. “And let me guess… you made that pesto from scratch?”