Chapter 13

My final nursing exam ended with two minutes left on the clock.

I closed the booklet and felt four years of exhaustion leave my body all at once.

Outside, Mia nearly tackled me on the steps.

“We’re free!”

“We still need results.”

“Do not destroy my happiness with facts.”

A familiar voice called my name.

Daniel, our class representative, jogged toward us with sandy hair falling into his eyes and a hopeful expression I did not immediately understand.

“A group of us is celebrating tonight,” he said. “I thought maybe I could pick you up?”

“That’s sweet, but I can’t. Family dinner.”

Disappointment crossed his face before he hid it.

“Next time?”

“Sure.”

After he left, Mia nudged me hard.

“Ow.”

“You are blind.”

“To what?”

“That man has liked you for months.”

I laughed. “Daniel is friendly.”

“Daniel offered to pick you up like a man who had rehearsed the sentence in a mirror.”

I dismissed it because I had larger problems.

Alexander was coming to dinner.

Dad was finally home, recovering under strict orders to avoid stress. By five o’clock I was in the kitchen wearing an apron and praying over a roasting pan.

At six-thirty, the doorbell rang.

Alexander stood on the porch in a navy shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms and black trousers.

Civilian clothes should have made him less imposing.

They did not.

“Good evening, Grace.”

“Good evening.”

I stepped aside.

He carried a narrow black box.

“For you.”

“What is it?”

“Later.”

Dad tried to stand when Alexander entered the living room.

Alexander crossed the space before I could intervene.

“Please stay seated, sir.”

It sounded like an order, but the concern beneath it was unmistakable.

Dinner went better than I expected.

Alexander listened to Dad’s contracting stories with the same concentration he gave everything else. When I watched him taste the roast chicken, I felt absurdly as if I were awaiting exam results.

“It’s good,” he said.

“Really?”

His gaze met mine. “I do not flatter for convenience.”

After dinner, I stood to clear the plates.

Alexander stood too.

“I’ll help.”

“You’re the guest.”

“I am your fiancé.”

The word struck strangely deep.

Dad found the ceiling fascinating.

“I have it,” I insisted.

Alexander paused. “Is that an order, Miss Zane?”

He was using my own rule against me.

“A strong suggestion.”

“Noted. Declined.”

He carried the plates into the kitchen.

Dad laughed behind me. “You’ve met your match.”

At the sink, Alexander rinsed while I dried.

“Your father looks better,” he said.

“He is. The doctor thinks stable blood pressure will make a huge difference.”

“Then we will keep it stable.”

The certainty in we caught me off guard.

“Thank you,” I said. “For doing this.”

“You don’t need to thank me.”

He left shortly afterwards.

Upstairs, I opened the black box.

Inside lay a silver medical-grade stethoscope, far better than anything I would have bought for myself.

Three words were engraved on the chest piece.

Nurse Grace Reeves.

I traced the lettering with my thumb.

He had remembered my exams.

He had remembered what I wanted to become.

And, for some reason that made my pulse unsteady, he had already imagined my name carrying his.