Page 18 of Accidental Doctor Daddy
Maybe that was all I could ask for out of life. Some people don’t even get that. I should be grateful I met Dom at all.
But the thought of never seeing him again left me cold.
Chapter 6
Dom
Waking in a cold bed without Ella was unacceptable, but I didn’t have a say in the matter. Somehow, I’d wrapped my arm around her pillow, and I suspected that was her doing. It was like last night was a fantasy come to life, only for morning’s harsh light to illuminate the truth of the matter.
She was my fantasy. I wasn’t hers.
I shook my head at myself while staring over the beach from the balcony. The connection between us was too strong for her to have pretended, and I knew for certain she hadn’t faked her orgasms, so why did she leave me without a word?
I didn’t understand.
And without her phone number, I never would.
At least she had left her scent behind on the sheets. Vanilla, sugar, and her. I’d never smell cookies or cake the same way again.
Perhaps this was all she wanted from me—a night of passion after a bad breakup. Something to soothe the hurt I heard in her voice when she spoke of her ex-boyfriend, the bastard. I hoped I gave her what she needed. She had certainly done that for me.
I should have been glad for the experience, and I was, but I had wanted more.
Truly, no matter how much waking up alone stung, it wasn’t personal. We hadn’t gotten to know each other well enough for this to be personal. She got what she wanted, and so did I. To an extent.
Until this morning. I had hoped for another round or two this morning. But I supposed it was not meant to be. We had spent my last night here together, which would have to be enough.
It had been a long time since I’d slept next to someone. The comfort found in the arms of another person was unique to that person, but still a comfort all the same. It didn’t matter that we had been strangers, and to a degree, we still were. Spooning Ella had soothed something raw inside of me. Maybe it shouldn’t have, but it did.
Packing my suitcase was a mechanical process, my movements automatic as the vibrant memories of the night replayed in my mind. Her laughter, the way she quaked under me. Laying in bed and talking about life or talking about nothing at all. The silent seconds of merely touching, before we started up again. Every moment with Ella had been special.
The tropical paradise that had seemed so inviting now felt empty, a sandy stage for a play that had ended too soon. The palm trees swayed outside my window, their silhouettes a stark contrast against the midmorning sky. This picturesque scene now felt like mockery.
I was both glad for my night with Ella and also glad to be leaving. I wouldn’t feel grounded again until I was home.
But in New York, the city slammed into me like a steel door—horns blaring, crowds pressing in, the chaos too loud and too fast. Same old streets. Same old skyline. But everything felt…off. My high-rise apartment, once a badge of success, now felt like a glass box. A gilded cage.
I set my bags down and stared at the skyline. Concrete. Steel. Miles of cold indifference.
Nothing grounded me here—not when I could still feel Ella’s warmth pressed into my skin.
I shouldn’t have thought of my hometown that way, but it was hard not to. Perhaps not a cage, but a maze, and somewhere in the labyrinth was a woman who vexed me. The poet chef who gave into every one of my base instincts. Not merely gave into them, but enjoyed them as much as I did.
I would never meet another woman like her. It wasn’t possible. Last night was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Better to have that memory than to have nothing at all. Wasn’t it?
I slept fitfully and woke up with my arm over the second pillow, a hollow imitation of the day before. I shoved that pillow off and got out of bed. There were lives to save. Another day, another night, another shift in the ED.
First day back after vacation, and the walls of the hospital already felt like they were closing in.
The moment I stepped through the staff entrance, the familiar scent of antiseptic hit me like a punch to the gut. Monitors beeped in rapid rhythm, gurneys squeaked along polished floors, and someone somewhere shouted for a crash cart.
Home sweet home.
A few heads turned as I passed the nurses’ station. The newer ones offered soft smiles, subtle glances that lingered just a little too long. One even straightened her scrubs and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as I walked by, eyes raking over me like I was on the menu.
I didn’t slow down.
Let them look. I had shit to do—and none of it involved making small talk or entertaining flirtations I didn’t want.
