But for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like the only thing in him worth noticing.
Chapter four
Chapter 4 – Terms and Conditions
Rose Pepper leaned against the counter at the nurses’ station, her forearms folded tightly across her chest, fingers tapping restlessly against the rough fabric of her scrubs. The overhead fluorescent lights were harsh enough to bleach the color from everything—her hair, the scuffed floor tiles, the weary faces of her colleagues.
She could feel the beginnings of a tension headache pulsing just behind her left temple.
The charge nurse, Carla, stood in front of her, clipboard clutched like a shield.
“You want me to do what?” Rose asked, voice flat enough to make Carla blink.
Carla cleared her throat, adjusting her grip on the clipboard. The plastic creaked under her fingers. “Home care,” she repeated. “The clinic’s short-staffed. He needs someone for basic wound care and mobility support for the next few days.”
Rose didn’t bother keeping the sarcasm from her voice. “And you’re picking me because...?”
Carla’s mouth twitched, like she was suppressing a smirk. “You live closest.”
“Bullshit,” Rose said evenly.
Carla tilted the clipboard so Rose could see the name on the chart.
Roman, Victor.
Her jaw tensed reflexively, teeth grinding.
She stared at the letters as if they might rearrange themselves into something less aggravating.
“You’re assigning me to babysit a half-feral adrenaline junkie with a concussion and a god complex,” she said, enunciating every word.
Carla didn’t even blink. She just raised her eyebrows. “He specifically requested you.”
Rose felt her scalp tighten. “What.”
Carla’s mouth did that twitch again, this time with amusement she wasn’t bothering to hide. “Said you were the only one who didn’t treat him like he was made of glass.”
Rose snorted, but it came out harsher than she meant. She could feel heat blooming in her chest—equal parts exasperation and something she didn’t want to name.
“He tried to punch an EMT last week,” she muttered, voice low, as if the walls might overhear.
Carla shrugged, unbothered. “He’s your problem now.”
Rose exhaled slowly, pressing her thumb to the space between her eyebrows. She could feel the blood throbbing there, the pulse a steady drumbeat of irritation.
She dropped her hand and snatched the pen out of Carla’s grip. Scribbled her signature on the bottom of the form with jerky strokes that dug into the paper.
“Fine,” she said. “But if he tries to pull out his stitches, I’m stapling him to the bed.”
Carla just smiled serenely and took the clipboard back.
The wind off the ocean hit Rose the moment she stepped out of her truck. It was a damp, salty gust that smelled of kelp and cold gray water, biting enough to make her eyes water.
She stood for a moment, squinting at the rental house perched at the edge of the cliffs. The Pacific roared below, the waves striking the rock face in dull, repetitive booms that seemed to shake the ground under her boots.
The house looked abandoned from the outside—weathered shingles, salt-stained windows, the kind of place that might collapse if you leaned on it wrong.
Fitting, she thought grimly.
