It's like Declan has burrowed himself into my mind, and no matter how much I try to focus on my work, he's there, just beneath the surface. I'm trying to focus, really, I am, but it's impossible not to replay last night over and over in my head. The way his hands moved over me, the way his voice dropped when he said my name. His moans. Everything about last night felt so...right. But then, that's what scares me the most. How easy it would be to just let myself fall for him completely. But am I ready for that? Is he?

I shake my head slightly, trying to clear the thoughts as I check the chart in front of me. It's not like I don't have enough on my plate without overanalyzing every interaction with Declan. But, of course, my brain doesn't want to cooperate. I find myself wondering what he's doing right now. Is he thinking about me too? Is he replaying last night in his head, questioning what comes next?

"Get it together, Val," I mutter under my breath, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand. I've been here before, caught up in the uncertainty of a budding relationship, and I promised myself I wouldn't overthink things this time. But Declan makes it hard not to. He's everything I didn't know I was looking for—steady, honest, someone who genuinely cares. And that's exactly what makes this so terrifying.

I've always been the kind of person who keeps her life compartmentalized—work, friends, and everything else neatly boxed up. It's how I manage, how I stay in control. I've always prided myself on being independent, on not needing anyone else to make me feel complete. But Declan...he makes me question that. He makes me wonder if maybe it's okay to let someone else in, to let them see the parts of me that I usually keep hidden.

That's what Emersyn did, and now look at her.

I'm so deep in my thoughts that I almost don't hear the nurse at the station calling my name, pulling me out of my reverie. I glance at the clock—break time.

My feet ache, and the idea of sitting down for a few minutes sounds like heaven. I make my way to the breakroom, the familiar scent of stale coffee hitting me as soon as I open the door. I grab a coffee from the machine, hoping the caffeine will give me the jolt I need to shake off these thoughts.

I lean back against the counter, closing my eyes for a moment, trying to center myself. But just as I start to relax, the door swings open, and in walks Adrian.

Adrian Stone, with his perfectly combed hair, his crisp white coat, and those piercing eyes that always seem to see straight through me. He's like a walking contradiction—distant, aloof, but somehow always aware of everything going on around him. Including me.

Adrian has always been a bit of an enigma to me. He's brilliant, no doubt about that, but there's a coldness to him, a distance that makes it hard to get close. I've worked with him for a couple of years now, and he's been like this the whole time. Still, there's something about him that draws me in, something that makes me want to understand what's going on behind those guarded eyes.

"Valarie," he greets me, his tone neutral as he moves to the coffee machine.

"Adrian," I reply, trying to keep my voice equally detached. It's not that I don't respect him—I do, immensely. But there's something about him that always puts me on edge, something that makes me feel like I'm constantly being tested, and I never quite know if I'm passing.

He grabs his coffee and then, to my surprise, turns to me instead of heading out the door like he usually does. "How's your hand?" he asks, his eyes flicking to where I'm holding the cup.

For a moment, I'm caught off guard. Adrian doesn't do small talk, and he definitely doesn't do concern. It's just not in his nature. But here he is, asking about my hand as if he actually cares.

"It's...fine," I say, flexing my fingers slightly to show him. "A little sore, but nothing I can't handle."

He nods, his expression unreadable as always. But then something shifts, just for a second, in his eyes—a softness, maybe even concern, before it's gone again, replaced by the usual cool detachment.

"You should be careful," he says, his voice low, almost too low to hear. "You're no good to your patients if you're not taking care of yourself."

The words are simple, clinical even, but there's something in the way he says them that makes my heart skip a beat. It's almost like...like he actually cares. But that's ridiculous, right? This is Adrian Stone we're talking about, the man who barely says two words to anyone unless it's about a patient.

I must have imagined it, that flicker of something more, that hint of warmth in his eyes. I've been working too hard, not sleeping enough. That's all it is.

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," I say, trying to keep my tone light, but it comes out more awkward than I intended.

He hesitates for a moment, his gaze locked on mine. "That cop you were with at the ER," he says, his tone casual but his eyes searching mine. "Is he your boyfriend?"

The question hits me like a jolt, and for a second, I'm too stunned to respond. Of all the things I expected him to say, this wasn't one of them. "Declan?" I ask, almost dumbly, trying to buy myself a moment to process. "No... I mean, we're seeing each other, but it's not... I don't know what we are yet."

Adrian nods slowly, as if weighing my words, his expression unreadable. "I see."

He nods again, and just like that, the moment is over. He turns to leave, and I'm left standing there, staring at the door as it closes behind him, wondering what the hell just happened.

It takes me a moment to shake off the weirdness of the encounter, to remind myself that I'm reading too much into it. Adrian's just being...Adrian. No need to overthink it.

But as I finish my coffee and head back out into the busy halls of the hospital, I can't help but replay the moment in my mind. The way he looked at me, the way his voice softened just a little. Maybe it's nothing. Or maybe...maybe there's more to Adrian than I've given him credit for.

I try to push the thought away as I return to my rounds, focusing on my patients, on the tasks at hand. But it lingers in the back of my mind, that strange little moment in the breakroom. And as much as I try to convince myself that I imagined it, that it was just a trick of the light or my own tired mind playing games with me, I can't quite let it go.

***

Declan's car rumbles quietly as we drive through the city, the low hum of the engine blending with the distant sounds of traffic. I glance out the window, watching the buildings blur into a mix of grays and greens, but my mind is firmly focused on the man beside me.

I give him a sidelong glance, studying his profile—the strong line of his jaw, the way his lips curve into a subtle smile, like he's enjoying keeping me in suspense. His hand rests casually on my thigh, fingers lightly drumming against my jeans, sending little jolts of warmth through my skin. It's the kind of touch that feels both possessive and comforting, and I can't help but lean into it just a little.

"So," I begin, my voice carrying that mix of teasing and genuine curiosity, "are you going to tell me where we're going, or are you planning to keep me in the dark until we get there?"

Declan chuckles, his eyes briefly flicking over to me before returning to the road. "And ruin the fun? Not a chance. You'll find out soon enough," he says, his tone playful but firm. "Just sit back and enjoy the ride."

"Just a hint," I plead, turning toward him in my seat. "Something small. Anything."

He chuckles, his voice low and warm, sending a pleasant shiver down my spine. "Patience, babe. You'll see soon enough."

He started calling me babe a few days ago, and I would be lying if I said I didn't get butterflies every time he says it. I've never been one to like cute little nicknames, but then again, maybe it's because I've never had a guy give me one. Babe is probably the most generic petname for your significant other, but I adore it.

I huff, crossing my arms over my chest, but there's no real annoyance behind it. If anything, I'm more intrigued by the mystery of it all. "You're lucky I trust you, you know. For all I know, you could be taking me to some sketchy warehouse in the middle of nowhere."

He laughs, the sound deep and rich, making my heart do a little flip. "I promise, it's nothing like that. But I do want it to be a surprise."

I roll my eyes, but a smile tugs at the corners of my lips. "Fine, keep your secrets, Mr. Mysterious. But I'm holding you to that promise."

As we continue driving, I let my gaze drift down to where his hand is still resting on my thigh, warm and steady. There's something about the simple act of him touching me like this—so casually, so confidently—that sends a thrill through me.

It's funny, really. I've always been the kind of person who likes to plan things out, to know what's coming next. But with Declan, I find myself enjoying the unknown, the way he keeps me guessing. It's like he knows how to push me just enough out of my comfort zone to keep things interesting, without ever making me feel uneasy.

I sneak another glance at him, taking in the way his fingers tap against the steering wheel in time with the music playing softly in the background. It's one of those easy moments where everything feels right, where the world outside the car fades away, leaving just the two of us in our little bubble of anticipation.

After what feels like both an eternity and no time at all, Declan finally pulls off the main road, guiding the car down a winding path that leads to a secluded area. I squint at the sign up ahead, and when I realize what it says, my heart skips a beat.

"A gun range?" I ask, my voice laced with surprise as I turn to him.

Declan grins, clearly pleased with himself. "Surprised?"

"Uh, yeah," I admit, my mind racing to catch up with this unexpected turn. "I mean, I was expecting something...I don't know, more romantic?"

He pulls into a parking spot, turning off the engine before facing me fully. There's a playful glint in his eyes, but beneath it, I can see something more—an understanding, maybe even a challenge. "Who says this can't be romantic?"

I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out. Because, honestly, he's got a point. Romance doesn't have to be candlelit dinners and roses. Sometimes, it's about sharing something new, something that pushes you out of your comfort zone and lets you see a different side of each other.

And if I'm being completely honest with myself, there's something undeniably sexy about the idea of Declan showing me how to shoot, his hands guiding me, his body pressed against mine. Maybe this date isn't so unconventional after all.

"Well, okay then," I say, my voice a little breathless as I reach for the door handle. "Let's do this."

We step out of the car, and Declan leads the way to the entrance, his hand slipping into mine as we walk. The warmth of his palm against mine sends a flutter of anticipation through me, and I find myself wondering just how close this date is going to bring us.

Inside the range, Declan wastes no time getting us set up. He's confident, at ease, and I can't help but admire the way he moves, the quiet authority in his actions. It's clear he knows his way around this place, and that only adds to the allure. There's something incredibly attractive about a man who's in his element, who knows exactly what he's doing and isn't afraid to take the lead.

Once we're in our designated lane, Declan hands me a pair of protective earmuffs and safety glasses, his fingers brushing against mine as he does. The brief contact sends a shiver down my spine, and I have to remind myself to focus on the task at hand.

"Have you ever shot a gun before?" he asks, his voice muffled slightly by the earmuffs.

"Nope," I admit, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. "This is a first for me."

He grins, that boyish charm coming through. "Don't worry, I'll walk you through it."

Declan sets the gun down on the counter in front of me, his expression serious as he turns to face me. "Okay, first things first," he says, his tone all business. "Safety. Always keep the gun pointed downrange, finger off the trigger until you're ready to shoot, and always be aware of your surroundings."

I nod, trying to take it all in, but it's hard to focus when he's standing so close to me, his presence so commanding. He picks up the gun, demonstrating how to hold it, how to aim, and I do my best to follow along.

"Got it?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Got it," I reply, though I'm pretty sure my voice sounds a little breathier than usual.

Declan steps closer, positioning me in front of him with my back to his chest. His arms come around me, guiding my hands as he helps me hold the gun. The solid weight of it in my grip is unfamiliar, a little intimidating, but with Declan's steady presence behind me, I feel more secure.

"Okay," he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. "We need to get your stance right."

His hands move to my hips, adjusting my posture with gentle pressure. The heat of his touch seeps through my clothes, making it hard to concentrate on anything other than the feel of his body against mine. My heart pounds in my chest, but it's not just from the anticipation of shooting—it's from the way Declan's hands linger on my hips, the way his breath tickles my neck.

"Spread your feet a little wider," he instructs, his voice low and reassuring.

I do as he says, trying to focus on the mechanics of the stance rather than the overwhelming awareness of him pressed against me. But it's impossible to ignore the way his chest rises and falls against my back, the way his fingers tighten slightly on my hips as he moves me into position.

"Good," he says, his tone approving. "Now, keep your arms steady and your eyes on the target."

His hands slide up my arms, guiding them into place. The movement is slow, deliberate, and I can't help but wonder if he's as aware of the charged atmosphere between us as I am. Every touch feels like a spark, igniting something deep inside me that I didn't even know was there.

"Take a deep breath," Declan continues, his lips close to my ear. "And when you're ready, squeeze the trigger—don't pull, just a slow, steady squeeze."

I nod, trying to follow his instructions, but my mind is spinning from the closeness of his body, the feel of his breath against my skin. I focus on the target in front of me, but all I can really think about is Declan—his hands on me, his voice in my ear, the way his presence seems to wrap around me.

I take a deep breath, just like he said, and then I squeeze the trigger. The gun goes off with a sharp crack, the recoil surprising me. But Declan is right there, his hands steadying mine, his body absorbing some of the shock.

"That was good," he says, his voice filled with a mix of pride and encouragement. "You did great."

I exhale, realizing I've been holding my breath, and a smile spreads across my face. "Thanks. That was...intense."

He chuckles, his hands still resting on my arms. "It gets easier the more you do it. You want to try again?"

"Definitely," I reply, the initial nerves giving way to excitement. "But maybe with a little less shaking this time."

Declan steps back just enough to give me room to adjust my stance again, but his hands remain close, hovering as if ready to guide me whenever I need it. The next few shots come easier, each one building my confidence, but the real thrill isn't just the shooting—it's the way Declan's presence surrounds me, the way his body feels pressed against mine, the way his voice murmurs softly in my ear, encouraging, guiding.

And as the session continues, I realize something unexpected—this might just be one of the most intimate dates I've ever been on. There's a vulnerability in letting someone teach you something new, in trusting them to guide you, to be there when you falter. And with Declan, that trust comes naturally.

By the time we finish, my arms are a little sore, and my heart is racing—not just from the adrenaline of shooting, but from the way Declan's hands have left a trail of warmth wherever they've touched. I glance over at him as we pack up, catching the satisfied smile on his face, and I can't help but smile back.

"So," he says as we walk back to the car, his hand finding its way to the small of my back, "was this date romantic enough for you?"

I laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. "You know what? It actually was. In a weird, unexpected way."

Declan grins, and there's that boyish charm again, the one that makes my heart do funny little flips. "Good. I'm glad you liked it."

As we drive back, I find myself thinking about how unpredictable this whole day has been. But it's also been perfect in its own way, just like Declan—full of surprises, a little rough around the edges, but with a heart of gold. And as we head back toward the city, I can't help but wonder what other surprises he has in store for me.