Page 166 of The Love Operation

He asked me multiple times if I was sure I wanted the job. Whether I could be a mother, a surgeon, and a chief. He said his family’s expectations weren’t his—but he clearly wasn’t on my side the way I thought he was.

He sat across from me. Kissed me like he believed in me. Held my hand like we were in it together. But he wasn’t—not the way I thought he was—and he knew it.

My stomach turns. I feel hollowed out.

I trusted him.

And he lied.

I don’t need a plan. I don’t need to rehearse. I don’t even need time.

I just need to look him in the eye.

Isaac opens the door before I knock. He wears the smile on his face like he wears his blazer: exactly at the right slant.

He’s in a button-down and jeans, sleeves rolled to his forearms, hair slightly damp. He looks good. Too good. He knows this is the look I like best.

If I didn’t know what I know now, this would be the sigh of relief at the end of the day, the moment to walk through the door and find home.

But this isn’t home.

“Hey,” he says, voice warm. “You made it.”

I nod. He leans in to kiss me. I let it happen. Then he pulls me inside, where soft music floats quaintly in the background. The table is already set with wine glasses, cloth napkins, and expensive china. The air smells like garlic and thyme and effort.

“It smells amazing in here,” I say, my voice light, like he hasn’t been stabbing me in the back this entire time.

He grins and disappears into the kitchen. “I hope you’re hungry. Go ahead and sit. I’ll bring everything to you.”

Candlelight flickers across the table. Everything about this is curated for closeness, a night designed for a beginning. And I wonder, just for a second, how this would’ve gone if I didn’t know, if Tenpenny had kept quiet. If I’d walked in here and seen only the Isaac that lived in my head and heart.

But I know better now.

After sitting with my mom, after hearing my dad talk about knowing—really knowing—who you want beside you when everything else changes . . . I know that even if Tenpenny hadn’t told me, I would’ve ended up in the same place: not with Isaac.

It just would’ve been harder.

Still, I let him pour the wine. I let him place my plate in front of me. We talk about clinic, his niece’s birthday party, a new restaurant downtown he wants us to try.

And then, lightly, I segue. “I talked to Tenpenny today. Sounds like this whole incident didn’t hurt my chances. I think the chief position is as good as mine.”

There’s a microsecond where his face shifts from one surprise to another. If I hadn’t been looking for it, I might’ve missed it.

“Oh yeah?” He swallows and pushes food around his plate.

I sip my wine. Let the silence stretch just long enough.

“I wasn’t sure I could believe you when you said our relationship wouldn’t influence your vote,” I say. “I think a part of me would’ve always wondered if I got the job because you pushed for me.”

“I always told you I thought you deserved the job.”

Deserved. The word hits different now.

Because he hadn’t planned to vote in a way that reflected that belief.

“Did you really believe in me? That I deserved the position?”

He looks up and studies my face. “Of course I did. Why would you ask that?”