Page 40 of Wrong Number Right Doctor

“No.”

“All right.”

“In two days—” I say, then stop.

His eyes lift slightly.

I shake my head. “Never mind.”

“Maggie.”

My name in his voice doesn’t feel like pressure. It feels like he has put a hand near me without touching.

I hate how much that matters.

I set the fork down. “In two days, my life gets complicated,” I say.

It’s not the whole truth. It’s barely a corner of it.

But it is something.

D absorbs that without flinching. “And tonight?”

Tonight.

I look around the restaurant. The small table. The curry cooling between us. His hand resting near his glass. The rain blurring the window. The part of me that was laughing ten minutes ago feels close enough to touch, but I can’t quite get back to her.

“Tonight was not complicated,” I say.

His expression changes, almost imperceptibly. “Was?”

I look at him. I press my lips together and try to smile. “I don’t know.”

He leans back a little. Gives me room. “We can leave.”

The offer is simple. Just an exit.

I should take it.

I should go home, reply to Petra, wash my face, take off this top, and sleep. I should stop pretending this night exists outside the rest of my life.

Instead, I hear myself ask, “Do you want to?”

“No.”

My breath catches before I can hide it.

He doesn’t look away.

“But we can,” he says.

I believe him. That’s the problem.

Dinner continues, but something has changed.

Not ruined. Just more honest.

The conversation slows. We keep talking. He tells me the Thai place started learning his order because he came in too late too many times and always ordered the same thing. I tell him that is either loyalty or a cry for help. He says both can be true. I laugh, and this time it feels real.