Page 41 of The Love Operation

“He works at the hospital.”

“But he’s not your boss.”

“Isaac isn’t your boss.”

“Not technically, but it’s super gray. Chief committee, remember?”

“I’m surprised you haven’t figured out a way to date him anyway.”

I pelt her with a biscuit chunk. “Delenn. Stop. You know that goes against everything I stand for.”

She sobers. “I do. I get it. But . . .” She hesitates. “It’s just—you’ve never really been into anyone since Benedict.”

I freeze. We never say his name. Even now, after all these years, hearing it is like ice water down my spine.

“That’s not true,” I deflect. “No one has been into me.”

Delenn scoffs. “That’s what you keep saying. But whatever the problem is, I think Benedict is part of it. You’ve never let anyone in the same way you did him.”

“Did you take truth serum this morning?” I mutter.

While she is being blunt, she’s wrong. I’ve given plenty of other guys a chance.

“You’re my best friend. I want to see you happy.”

“I am happy.”

“But you want to be with someone.”

My throat tightens. “I do.”

Delenn’s shoulders curve in as her mouth turns down in a pitying frown. “I saw the way you and Isaac looked at each other. It was special. And Isaac doesn’t have to be on that selection committee. It’s a small sacrifice for love. I bet if you gave him a chance, he’d be willing to recuse himself.”

I think of what Isaac said: Love makes room. Is that what he meant? That he’d step down from the committee for us?

My mind swirls back to Benedict. Even if Isaac did remove himself so we could date, it would probably be a waste.

“Yeah, well, I thought what I had with Benedict was special.” I force a laugh. “And he still walked away.”

Benedict Calder. The man I was going to marry. We talked about our future, made plans. Then, one day, we were eating ice cream, and he put down his spoon, looked me in the eye, and said he couldn’t pretend anymore.

Just like that, it was over. He walked out of my life.

Delenn tilts her head. “But that was different. There were signs.”

I stare at her, baffled. “What are you talking about? There were no signs. We were happy. And then he left.”

“But he told you he was struggling.”

I shake my head, hard. “No, he absolutely didn’t.” The words come out with an edge, but Delenn is wrong. There were no signs.

A weird, foreign irritation curls in my gut, then whips around like a tapeworm.

“I have to get to the OR,” I say.

I don’t wait for her to say anything else. She doesn’t even ask me about the study, the whole reason I came to her office in the first place.

“Hey, Cord,” Dahlia says as I walk up to the scrub sinks.