Edmund had heard enough to be curious long before he ever saw your face. He knew who you were, of course. It was a small town, word had gotten around about the new woman who’d moved in near the old mill road. Divorced, mid-thirties, and private.

Most of his friends had long since married, settled into the patterned domesticity that Edmund had somehow sidestepped. Partly by choice.

But sometimes, particularly in the early hours of the morning or at night when the town fell silent, he wondered if something had quietly passed him by.

When he saw your name on the schedule that morning, he felt a flicker of something. Maybe just the awareness that this was the first time you were walking into his space.

He opened the exam room door quietly.

Edmund gave a small, polite nod. “Good morning. I’m Dr. Clarke,” he said as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “I hear you had a bit of a fall?”

You were seated on the edge of the table, one arm braced behind you for support. Your expression like you were trying not to show just how uncomfortable you really were.

“All right,” he murmured. “Let’s take a look then.” His hands were warm as he gently guided you to lie back. His touch was clinical, but careful, there was something almost reverent in the way he moved.

He pressed lightly along your lower back, pausing each time he felt the subtle shift of tension beneath your skin.

“Let me know if it gets worse,” he said quietly. “Or if anything shoots down your leg.”