You’re still flushed from the compliment, barely able to keep the small smile off your face. The visiting oncologist had praised you during rounds—eloquent, charming, and razor-sharp in his feedback. “This intern’s got a future,” he’d said, flashing that million-dollar grin in front of half the department.

You catch Wilson leaning against the wall just outside the conference room. His arms are crossed loosely, but his jaw is tight. He’s watching you, quiet and unreadable.

“Jealous?” you tease, walking past him slowly, shoulder brushing his.

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t look at you. “Should I be?”

“Depends. He invited me to lunch. Said he liked the way I think.”

Wilson finally glances at you—one quick look that lingers just a second too long. “He likes the way everyone thinks,” he replies dryly. “It’s sort of his thing.”

You laugh, tilting your head. “Huh. And here I thought you didn’t care.”

Wilson pushes off the wall with a sigh, his voice quieter now. “I care that you don’t forget who noticed you first.”

You blink, stunned, but before you can say anything, he’s already walking away—back stiff, shoulders tense.

And for the first time, it’s not the compliment that keeps your heart racing. It’s him.