"Loud. Soft. Obsessed with socks. The puppy class instructor says he has 'main character energy,' which I think is an insult wrapped in glitter."
Isaiah laughed, low and real. "Main character energy is how you survive being small in a big world."
They stood in the mist with the dogs negotiating the terms of acquaintance. Claire could feel the fork in the path: polite goodbye, or the harder thing.
She chose the harder thing. "Can I say something awkward while we're both citizens and not a chart?"
Isaiah's eyes steadied. "Prefer awkward honest to smooth weird."
"I keep replaying the cereal night like it's a meet-cute, and then I remember you have a job with rules, and I have a puppy who still thinks gravity is optional, and I don't want to be the person who turns your professionalism into a challenge. Also I think you're—anyway. I needed to put that in the air so it's not just living in my green sweater."
Isaiah looked at the river for a second, then back. Rain beaded on his jacket. "I keep replaying it too. That's the part I shouldn't confess, but here we are. Claire, I meant what I said in the exam room. While Nash is my patient—or even recently my patient in a way that still feels like care continuity—I don't get to turn that into a date. Not because you're a risk. Because the power imbalance is real, and I've watched colleagues get sloppy and animals pay for it in delayed care and awkward transfers."
Claire nodded. The honesty hurt in the clean way. "So what does that leave? Friendly strangers who wave in parks until the vaccines are done and then... what? A rain check with a calendar invite?"
His smile went rueful. "Something like that. Nash's series finishes in a few weeks if you're staying on schedule. After the chart is closed on my end—meaning he's fully transferred to a primary clinic and I'm not the name on his emergencies—I would like to get coffee that isn't in a place that smells like disinfectant. If you still want that. If the replay is still mutual."
"And if it isn't?" Claire asked.
"Then we were two people who shared a ridiculous night and a decent follow-up, and Birdie got to mentor a golden tornado, and nobody got sued by HR." He sobered. "I need you to know I'm not stringing you along for ego. I'm tired a lot. Overnight politics are petty. My mother is currently campaigning for me to join a daytime practice so I 'stop living like a bat.' I don't have capacity for a secret romance threaded through my workplace. I do have capacity for clarity."
Claire exhaled. Nash chose that moment to sit on her foot, warm and heavy. "Clarity is attractive. It's also annoying."
"I'll take annoying over unclear."
They walked one loop of the path together, not touching, leashes occasionally brushing. Isaiah asked about her job; Claire told him about the humble donor and the way universities loved words that sanded down money. She asked about the dachshund with the foreign body; Isaiah told her the dog had done well, then caught himself and said he couldn't say more, then laughed at his own reflex. He told her about Amina, who taught middle school science and believed Isaiah needed more friends who weren't animals. Claire told him about Priya, who believed Claire needed more courage and fewer playlists named after emotional evasions.
At the fork near the bridge, Isaiah slowed. "I should get Birdie home before she starts judging my life choices more than she already does."
Claire smiled. "For the record, Nash still has excellent judgment."
Isaiah held her gaze—soft, intense, the midnight echo in daylight. "So do you. Even when you're embarrassed. Especially then."
He didn't kiss her cheek. He didn't ask for her number again; he already had it on the chart, which was precisely the problem. He said, "Rain check, Maddox," like a promise with a lock on it.
"Rain check, Dr. Voss," she said, and then, because she couldn't help herself, "Isaiah."