CHAPTER TEN: THE DATE

As the door clicked shut behind her, silence filled the consultation room. Lance stared at the space she'd just occupied, then let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. A rare smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

He sat back in his chair and looked at his phone, scrolling through the contact Lily had just added. Lily Storm. Even seeing her name on his screen sent a strange warmth through his chest.

A quick call to one of his favorite places—Cedarwood Resort—set the night into motion. Nestled just past the city limits, the resort had the charm of a countryside cottage, complete with stone fireplaces, soft-lit lantern paths, and quiet nooks overlooking a stream. He booked a private dinner in one of their enclosed patios surrounded by hanging wisteria. Something peaceful. Unrushed.

He dialed Lily.

She picked up on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey. It's Lance."

A pause. Then a warm smile came through her voice: "Hey."

"I just booked the place. A cottage-style resort near the edge of the city. It's quiet. Nice views. Nothing too formal."

"It sounds lovely," she said. "Should I meet you there?"

"I'd rather pick you up, if that's okay."

"You're very persistent, Dr. Davis."

He smiled. "I prefer thorough."

Another soft laugh. "Okay, thorough. I'll text you my address. Just don't get lost."

"Not a chance. I'll see you tonight."

They hung up.

He did in fact know where lily and her dad stayed, he did not want to come on to her too strong yet.

Lance leaned back for a moment longer, allowing himself to sit in the warmth of anticipation. Then he stood, the hospital day still waiting.

The oncology floor was buzzing by the time he returned. Nurses passed charts between hands, infusion pumps hummed quietly in the background, and the faint scent of disinfectant clung to the air.

His first stop was Elias—a twelve-year-old boy in the midst of his third round of chemotherapy. Lance crouched by the bed as Elias's mother gave a tight smile. The boy, cheeks pale but eyes alert, offered a thumb's up.

"Still drawing superheroes?" Lance asked.

Elias grinned weakly and reached for a sketchpad. A new hero—a masked girl with a bow made of lightning—covered the page.

"She shoots cancer," Elias said proudly.

"I'd recruit her in a heartbeat," Lance said. "She's got good aim."

After checking his vitals and medication notes, Lance moved on to the next patient—a woman in her early thirties recovering from a successful tumor resection. She was sitting up, flipping through a fashion magazine, and greeted him with a relaxed smile.

"We're clearing your discharge papers," he told her. "Bloodwork looks stable, and your scans are holding steady. You'll follow up with Dr. Lin for integrative care."

"I'll miss the tea," she said with a wink. "And Nurse Ayesha's playlists."

"You're always welcome to visit," Lance replied.

It wasn't all hopeful cases.

He stepped into the private room of Mr. Jahan, a man in his late sixties whose pancreatic cancer had spread aggressively despite multiple rounds of treatment. His wife sat at the bedside, holding his hand.

Lance reviewed the latest scans with a silent grimace. The metastases had reached the liver, the spine.

In the hallway afterward, he met with Dr. Finch, the radiologist.

"I double-checked the scans. There's nothing we've missed," Finch said. "We're out of therapeutic options."

"He's barely eating," Lance murmured. "And in too much pain."

"Palliative care is still available. But curative… it's beyond what we can give him now."

Lance nodded grimly, then left to find Dr. Lin.

The integrative medicine specialist was adjusting the position of acupuncture needles on another patient when Lance approached.

"He's in pain," Lance said without preamble.

"He's also exhausted," Dr. Lin added gently. "Sometimes what they need most is not more medicine—but peace."

Later that afternoon, Lance sat with Mr. Jahan's family. He spoke slowly, carefully, explaining the reality of where things were headed, offering options for hospice care. His voice remained steady even as the wife's eyes welled.

It was never easy. But sometimes letting go was part of the healing.

The hours passed with a steady rhythm. A toddler getting her port accessed. An elderly man grumbling about hospital food. Nurses laughed, pages rang out, and Lance moved between it all with focused purpose.

By midafternoon, he was reviewing final charts and signing off on Amira's discharge—the young girl with the mysterious brain lesions. The anti-inflammatory treatments had stabilized her symptoms. She grinned when he walked in.

"Can I go home now?"

"You can," he said. "But only if you promise not to use your recovery as an excuse to avoid school."

She wrinkled her nose. "You sound like my mom."

"Smart woman," Lance said, and handed her mom the official discharge paperwork.

He watched as Amira packed her sketchbook and books, chatting with her mother about the weekend. Not every goodbye was sad.

By 4:30 PM, Lance had cleared his remaining tasks and handed off late rounds to Dr. Kael.

"Big plans tonight?" Kael asked, raising an eyebrow as he accepted a chart.

Lance shrugged lightly; his tone casual but the upward curve of his lips giving him away. "Dinner reservation."

Kael smirked. "Didn't know you did dinner reservations. Thought your idea of a date was a consult over tea and turmeric."

"I'm evolving."

Kael let out a low whistle. "Well, don't forget we have that board meeting Monday. I want a full report on your emotional transformation."

Lance chuckled, already loosening his tie. "Noted."

He didn't head straight for Lily's place—not yet. Instead, he drove home for a much-needed breather. His apartment, though minimalist, felt warmer than usual as he stepped inside. Shedding his hospital clothes, he headed straight to the bathroom, the hot water of the shower washing away the exhaustion of the day. The scent of cedar and sage from his soap lingered in the steam.

For the first time in weeks, he took his time getting ready. He opened his closet and paused for a moment before settling on a crisp slate-gray button-down, a navy blazer, and tailored trousers. Formal, but not stiff. He ran a hand through his damp hair and checked his watch—still on time.

Before leaving, he stood in front of his mirror for a moment, adjusting the collar of his coat. He wasn't sure why he felt nervous. He'd met world-renowned surgeons and argued treatment plans with the best minds in medicine. But this—this evening—felt different.

Not because he had anything to prove, but because it mattered.

As the sun began to lower, casting the sky in strokes of peach and lavender, Lance grabbed his keys, his phone, and headed out the door. He punched in Lily's address into the GPS, the voice prompting him to head east.

The city slowly fell behind him, swallowed by suburban streets lined with budding trees and narrow sidewalks. The route to her place was quiet, quaint. The kind of neighborhood where wind chimes danced on front porches and ivy clung lazily to fences.

And at the end of one of those streets, Lily was waiting.

* * *

Lily pulled her car over to the shoulder of the road, heart still racing from the way Dr. Lance's voice had dipped ever so slightly when he asked for her address. The moment Lance ended the call, she exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, then quickly typed out a message with her address, hands a little shaky with adrenaline. She double-checked the message three times before hitting send.

There. Done.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the quiet hum of traffic and her wildly spinning thoughts.

She had a date. A date. With Dr. Lance.

"This is really happening," she whispered, and then—because there was no one else around—she gave a little squeal.

A giddy laugh bubbled up from her throat as she merged back into traffic, practically vibrating with excitement. Her cheeks were burning, her palms were sweaty, and her thoughts were a carousel of What do I wear? What do I say? Don't mess this up, Lily! But mostly, she just couldn't stop smiling.

By the time she pulled into the driveway, the sun had started its golden descent, casting long shadows across the lawn. She barely remembered turning off the engine before she was bounding out of the car and up the front steps.

She shoved the door open and yelled at the top of her lungs, "DAD! I! HAVE! GOT! A! DATE! TONIGHT! AAAAHH!"

From the living room, there was a startled clatter—probably a spoon hitting the floor—then her father's voice called back, laughing, "With who? Chris Hemsworth?!"

Lily kicked her shoes off and all but skipped into the room, her eyes alight. "Better," she declared, "Dr. Lance!"

Her dad raised his eyebrows, grinning. "The Dr. Lance?"

"Yes!" She threw her hands up in the air like she couldn't contain the energy. "That Dr. Lance! The one who's been treating you like royalty. And who saved my life. And who kept showing up in my hospital room, he just called! Said he made a reservation and everything!"

Her dad set his pen down slowly. "Well, I'll be damned. I thought he had the look. You know, the quiet type who's actually plotting world domination through charm."

Lily let out a helpless laugh. "He's not even trying to be charming, Dad! That's the worst part—he just is!"

He let out a warm chuckle and leaned back on the couch. "I had a feeling. The way he kept checking on you even after the surgery... and chatting with your Aunt Claire like an old friend. Dead giveaway. Its also about time someone made a move. You've been all work, no play since college. I was starting to think I'd have to submit your name to a reality dating show."."

"Gross," Lily said with a shudder, then softened. "It's just been… hard, you know? With you getting sick, and everything else, dating wasn't even on the radar."

Her dad's expression gentled. "I know, honey."

There was a beat of quiet, warm and full of unspoken understanding.

Then Lily sprang to her feet again. "I need to clean my room or I'll just sit there overthinking all day. And I need to plan what to wear and—ugh! —I'm already spiraling."

Her dad gave her a wink. "You'll knock him dead."

"I'd rather not murder anyone on the first date, but thanks."

With a dramatic swirl of her arms, Lily marched toward her bedroom, already shedding her jacket as she went. She couldn't write. She couldn't sit still. But she could organize her space, maybe light a candle, and start mentally prepping for the evening.

Her boots thudded softly against the hallway floor.

Tonight.

Tonight, she was going on a date with a man who felt like he'd walked out of one of her novels—but was real, and warm, and somehow even more fascinating in real life.

And this time, it wasn't fiction.

Later That Evening

Lily stood in front of the mirror, smoothing the front of her dress. She'd chosen a long-sleeved, warm-toned knit dress that hugged her form without being too tight, paired with a soft beige trench coat and her favorite dark brown boots. The ensemble felt effortless but intentional—comfortable, but pretty.

Her hair fell in loose waves down her back, and she'd kept her makeup simple—just enough blush and eyeliner to keep her from looking like she'd been writing all day (which, for once, she hadn't).

She took a step back and smiled nervously at her reflection.

Her first real date.

And it wasn't just anyone—it was Lance.

Not Daniel from her novels. Not the vague silhouette from her dreams.

Lance.

Her phone buzzed from the nightstand, and her heart skipped.

A short message. (I am here)

* * *

Lance stood at the foot of the Storm family porch, straightening the cuffs of his slate-grey shirt under a blazer. He looked like he'd just stepped out of a quiet, polished evening in a European novel—calm, crisp, and far too handsome for his own good.

His phone buzzed softly.

LILY STORM

(Coming. Don't ring the bell).

He blinked. Then smirked.

A few seconds later, the front door cracked open. Out peeked a cascade of soft hair, followed by Lily herself, tiptoeing like a spy in ankle boots and a soft beige trench coat. The hem of her deep wine-colored dress flickered around her calves as she stepped outside with exaggerated caution.

"Shhh," she whispered theatrically, placing a finger to her lips. "My dad's in full interrogation mode and I'm not emotionally prepared to explain lipstick to him tonight."

Lance chuckled, stepping back to give her space. "So, we're making a stealth exit?"

"I am stealth," she whispered again, then gave up and laughed as she tugged the door shut behind her. "Come on, let's move before he realizes I've deployed evasive maneuvers."

Lance opened the car door for her, bowing slightly. "Your getaway chariot awaits."

She slipped in quickly, grateful for the smooth leather seats and the fact that her coat had cooperated so far—no dramatic tripping on the way out, no embarrassing shoe mishaps. Small miracles.

By the time Lance rounded to the driver's side and started the engine, she was already peeking at him with a mixture of awe and nerves. He smelled like cedarwood and something cool, almost like rain on pavement. His hair was slightly damp, like he'd just stepped out of the shower not long ago, and he looked completely different in civilian clothing—less doctor, more dream sequence.

"You clean up too well," she said before she could stop herself.

He glanced her way, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he shifted gears smoothly. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should," she murmured, eyes flicking toward the window, embarrassed at how easy the words had slipped out.

Lance didn't say anything for a beat. The gentle hum of the engine filled the silence between them. Then, in a voice both calm and sure, he said, "You are beautiful. And tonight, you are mesmerizing."

Lily turned to him, her breath catching just slightly. She wasn't used to being looked at like that—like someone had finally tuned in to all the colors she'd hidden beneath hospital gowns and manuscript deadlines. Her cheeks flushed, warmth blooming in her chest like a secret garden.

"...You're really good at this," she said with a shy smile, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"At what?"

"Making a girl feel like she's in the middle of a movie."

Lance chuckled softly, eyes still on the road, but that smile deepened—just a little.

"Good," he said. "Because tonight, I want you to forget everything else. I want it to feel like a pause in the noise."