Romance
Dust and Resilience: The Hardships of Living Off-Grid in the High Desert. Content Warning.
The city had been a cage, its bars forged from fluorescent lights, endless deadlines, and a $1,800-a-month mortgage that felt like a noose around my neck. I was Keri, 25 years old, a marketing graduate with a gym-toned body from daily runs, but my spirit was wilting under the weight of a life I never wanted. Sixty-hour weeks in a glass tower, air conditioning humming at a sterile 68°F, and the constant buzz of notifications on my phone—it was a script I hadn't written, a life of marriage, mortgages, and monotony that society expected me to follow. But I felt the earth's pulse beneath the concrete, a whisper of something wilder, something truer. I was a nature witch, a druid in the making, my magic stirring in my blood, yearning for a place where I could learn from the land itself. The high desert called to me—a rugged expanse near the New Mexico border, 40 acres of sand and sage, close to Indian reservations and the haunting remnants of the Old Salt City ghost mine, where salt had once been king and spirits still lingered. I knew I had to go.The decision to leave wasn't easy. I'd been "successful" by the city's standards—a steady job pulling in $60k a year, a house I'd bought for $260k, a sedan worth $12k, and furniture that had cost me $1,500 (a couch for $150, a bed for $200, a TV for $300). I even had a guitar I'd played in college, worth $300, and a childhood ring, a small silver band with a moonstone, valued at $500. But those things were anchors, tying me to a life that felt like a slow death. I sold it all, liquidating everything in a whirlwind of garage sales, online listings, and tearful goodbyes. The house went for its full $260k, the sedan for $12k, the furniture for $1,500, the guitar for $300, and the ring for $500—netting me $274k after fees. I spent $15k of that on my new life: $10k for the 40 acres, $3k for a beat-up truck that could handle the desert's rough terrain, and $2k on gear to survive off-grid. The rest I banked, a safety net for the unknown, though I knew the desert wouldn't care about my savings. It would test me in ways I couldn't yet imagine.Packing up was an emotional gauntlet. I stood in my stripped-down house, the walls bare, the echoes of my old life bouncing off the hardwood floors. I packed my sketchbook, its pages filled with drawings of forests and moons, a reminder of the magic I'd always felt but never fully explored. The movers came for my cedar chest, a family heirloom I couldn't take, and I watched them carry it away, my throat tight with grief. That last night, I sat on the floor of my empty bedroom, clutching a photo of my mom, her smile a bittersweet anchor to the life I was leaving. I mailed her heirloom necklace back to her—a delicate chain with a jade pendant—knowing I couldn't carry its weight into the desert. I sobbed, the sound raw in the empty space, but as I wiped my tears, I felt a spark of something new: terror, yes, but also a fierce, wild aliveness I hadn't felt in years. I whispered a spell with the small quartz crystal I'd brought, a $10 talisman I'd bought at a metaphysical shop in the city. "Spirits of the earth, give me courage," I murmured, holding the crystal to my chest, feeling its cool energy pulse against my skin. The city faded as I drove away, the skyline shrinking in my rearview mirror, my heart pounding with the promise of freedom.The drive to the desert was long, the truck rattling over highways and then dirt roads, the air growing drier with every mile. I arrived at my 40 acres just as the sun hit its peak, the thermometer in my truck reading 105°F at 2 p.m. The land stretched out before me, a rugged expanse of mesquite and rocky dirt, dotted with sagebrush that shimmered in the heat. In the distance, I could see the crumbling ruins of the Old Salt City ghost mine, its salt-crusted remnants a testament to a boom-and-bust history, the air around it humming with the whispers of spirits. I stepped out of the truck, my boots crunching on the parched earth, and felt the land's energy surge through me—a sharp, ancient pulse that made my magic stir. I knelt, pressing my hands to the ground, and whispered a spell of welcome. "Spirits of this land, I am Keri, a witch seeking to learn from you. Accept me, guide me, teach me." The sagebrush rustled in response, its energy protective and wary, but I felt a tentative acceptance, a promise that the desert would be my teacher if I proved myself worthy.I'd packed smart, knowing I'd be far from stores, and as a witch, I'd brought tools for my craft. The truck bed held a 16-foot yurt ($1,200), a 150W solar panel ($150), a car battery for power, six 5-gallon water jugs ($30), a wood stove ($150), a sleeping bag ($50), a mylar blanket ($5), a first-aid kit ($20) with painkillers for cramps, a multi-tool ($25), a shovel ($15), a mallet ($15), a 12V pump ($80) for water, a Sawyer filter ($25), a cookpot ($10), a 50-lb bag of rice ($30), 20 lbs of beans ($25), 5 lbs of salt ($5), a fishing net ($5) for quail, a shotgun ($200) with birdshot, a crate of clothes (cotton tanks, wool socks, fleece, $100), a yoga mat ($10), and a crate of personal and witchy items—my journal ($5), a solar-powered speaker ($20), a discreet vibrator ($30), tampons, pads, a menstrual cup ($30), a hot water bottle ($10), a photo of my mom ($0), a small altar cloth ($5), a quartz crystal ($10), sage bundles ($10), and a copper bowl for offerings ($15). The total came to $2,680, plus the land and truck, a small fortune for a new life, but I knew it would take more than money to survive here.That first night was a brutal introduction to the desert's extremes. I set up a temporary tent, the canvas flapping in a 35 mph wind that kicked up swirling dust, the air thick with the scent of sage and sand. By 1 a.m., the temperature had plummeted to 65°F, frost creeping over the tent flap, my breath fogging in the air as I huddled in my sleeping bag with Luna, my dog, her warmth a small comfort against the cold. I heard a coyote's snarl in the distance, a sound that sent a shiver down my spine, but as a witch, I knew the Paiute lore: Coyotes were spirit messengers, their howls carrying warnings and guidance. I whispered a spell with my sage bundle, lighting it with a match and letting the smoke curl around me, offering it to the wind. "Spirits of the coyote, speak to me, guide me," I murmured, feeling their energy shift, a message of caution but also of welcome.The desert didn't care about my strength, my degrees, or my womanhood—it tested every part of me, from my cramping body to my restless heart. My first period here had hit like a sandstorm, cramps doubling me over at 110°F, no pharmacy for miles. I'd brought a six-month supply of tampons and pads ($50), a menstrual cup ($30) for sustainability, and a hot water bottle ($10) for relief, but the pain was relentless, amplified by the heat. I brewed sage tea from foraged plants, a Paiute remedy I'd read about, the bitter taste grounding me as I sipped it, doing yoga stretches on my mat—child's pose, breathing through the ache, channeling the desert's energy to ease my pain. I whispered a spell with my quartz, "Spirits of the earth, soothe my body, lend me your strength," and felt a faint warmth spread through me, the land's magic a small mercy.The solitude was a double-edged sword—freedom I craved, but loneliness that gnawed at my soul. At 70°F, I carved stick figures into a piece of mesquite wood, imbuing them with protective charms, their small forms a comfort against the vastness of the desert. I brought a journal to pour out my fears, writing by lantern light, the words spilling onto the page: "I'm so alone, but I'm free. Is this what I wanted?" I played music on my solar-powered speaker, old playlists that reminded me of friends, of dancing, of feeling alive, the notes a lifeline in the silence. I talked to Luna, her warmth grounding me as I sobbed into her fur, missing human touch, the ache as real as thirst. I cast a spell with sage smoke to lift my spirits, the desert's magic a balm for my soul, its energy whispering, "You are enough."My body, at 25, was fit and humming with energy, amplified by the desert's rawness—sweat on my skin at 110°F, the wind's howl at 70°F like a lover's whisper. My high sex drive was a challenge in this isolation, the ache as real as thirst, and there was no one to share it with—except for the thought of Damien, my neighbor, a were-panther I hadn't yet met but had heard of, his primal power haunting my dreams. I'd brought a small, discreet vibrator, solar-charged, and used it under the stars, the release grounding me, but I channeled the rest into my magic, dancing under the moon to honor the earth, my body a conduit for the desert's power. I imagined Damien watching me, his amber eyes glowing with feline intensity, his growl a spell that could bind me, a fantasy that made my heart race as I moved through the night.I hadn't met Damien yet, but I'd heard whispers of him—a were-panther on the next plot, 2 miles away, a man of primal power who'd lived off-grid for years. I imagined him: towering, muscular, his eyes glowing with the intensity of his panther spirit, his growl a spell that could draw me in. I wondered if he'd sense the witch in me, if he'd feel the same pull I felt just thinking of him, our magics entwining in the desert's wild embrace. I journaled about him that night, the lantern flickering as I wrote, "He's a were-panther, a warrior, a man of primal magic. I want to feel his growl against my skin, his strength around me, his magic entwined with mine." The thought of him was a spark in the darkness, a promise of connection in this lonely land.The desert was a crucible of relentless sun, sub-zero nights, ceaseless winds, swirling dust storms, and a wildness that spared no one, but it was also rich with minerals and lore, its plants and animals my allies in survival and magic. I spotted milky quartz chunks scattered across the ground, their energy amplifying my spells, and a turquoise vein near the mine, its protective power perfect for charms and trade ($20/oz raw). I pocketed a piece of turquoise, a talisman for my journey, feeling its cool energy against my skin. The Paiute legend of the Sun and Moon—siblings who fought, creating the desert's temperature swings—echoed in my mind as I whispered to Luna, "We're in their battleground now," feeling the land's ancient pulse, my magic stirring in response.The desert was my teacher, its lessons harsh but true, and I was ready to learn. I layered for the 40°F swings—cotton tank for the day, wool socks and fleece for the night, a mylar blanket to trap heat. For my cramps, I kept my hot water bottle filled, stretching daily to ease the tension, whispering spells to the earth for relief. For my magic, I greeted the land each morning, offering sage to the wind, listening to its whispers, feeling its energy guide me. I was Keri, a witch in the wild, and this was my new beginning—a life unplugged, untamed, where I could find myself in the dust, learn the desert's magic, and maybe, just maybe, find a love as wild as the land itself.
By Randy (TheShiftingBard)10 months ago in Chapters
Locker Room: Wild Games . AI-Generated.
Chapter One: A Game of Desire The bell rang, signaling the start of another school day at Ridgewood High. Harmony stepped out of her dad’s car, adjusting the hem of her sweater self-consciously. The morning air was crisp, yet she could already feel the familiar heat of insecurity creeping up her neck. She wasn’t ugly—not in the way some girls were whispered about—but she wasn’t the kind to turn heads either. She was plump, soft in all the places society told her she shouldn’t be. But none of that had ever really mattered. Not until Jason Carter. “Harmony, hurry up!” Mia called, flipping her long, honey-blonde hair over her shoulder. She was effortlessly stunning, the kind of girl who walked into a room and commanded attention without trying. Next to her stood Alyssa, their other best friend, scrolling through her phone with disinterest. Harmony tightened her grip on her books and caught up with them. “You won’t believe what happened,” Mia said, her voice laced with excitement. “Jason freaking Carter broke up with Rachel last night.” Harmony’s heart skipped a beat. Jason Carter—the school’s golden boy, star of the basketball team, and every girl’s wet dream. He was the kind of guy girls fantasized about in the dark, whispering his name between shallow breaths. “Why’d they break up?” Alyssa asked, unimpressed. Mia smirked. “Rumor has it he’s got his eye on someone else.” Harmony knew she had no business feeling anything about Jason Carter. Guys like him didn’t go for girls like her. But the way Mia was looking at her now, with that knowing glint in her eye, sent a shiver down her spine. “You should totally go for it,” Mia said, nudging Harmony playfully. Harmony scoffed. “Yeah, right. Jason Carter doesn’t even know I exist.” Mia grinned. “He does now.” Before Harmony could ask what that meant, she felt it—the weight of someone’s gaze. She turned just in time to catch Jason walking past, his athletic frame towering over the crowd. His scent lingered—a mix of expensive cologne and sweat. And then, just as quickly as it happened, he was gone. Harmony exhaled, trying to ignore the way her stomach flipped. She was in trouble.
By adebayo omobolarinwa10 months ago in Chapters
Between Two Realms
Chapter 1: The Maiden of Eldoria In the heart of the human kingdom of Eldoria, there lived a maiden whose beauty was said to rival the dawn. Her name was Elira, a young woman of unmatched grace, with eyes as deep as the midnight sky and hair that shimmered like woven gold. The people of Eldoria often whispered that the gods had blessed her, for no other mortal possessed such ethereal charm. Elira lived a simple yet fulfilling life, tending to her family’s modest trade. She was a merchant, selling finely crafted fabrics and delicate jewelry. Despite her beauty, she was known not for vanity but for her kindness and intelligence. Suitors from near and far sought her hand, yet she turned them all away, believing that love should not be rushed but found in its own time. The young King Aldric, who had only recently ascended the throne after his father’s passing, was among those who admired her. His rule was still fragile, and though he had a kingdom to govern, his heart found itself drawn to Elira. He watched her from afar, entranced by the way she carried herself with quiet confidence. She was not of noble blood, yet she seemed more regal than any princess he had met. Meanwhile, in the unseen realm beyond the human world, another pair of eyes watched her just as intently—Kaelen, the newly crowned Spirit King. Kaelen’s kingdom was one of mist and whispers, where spirits roamed unseen and ancient forces governed all. He had long been fascinated by the human world, often crossing the veil to observe their ways. And from the moment he laid eyes on Elira, he knew he wanted her. Not as a fleeting curiosity, but as his queen. But where Aldric sought love, Kaelen saw possession. Where Aldric wished to win her heart, Kaelen intended to take it by any means necessary. Chapter 2: The Spirit King’s Obsession Kaelen had watched Elira for years, his presence unseen, his desire growing with each passing day. Unlike mortals, spirits did not age as humans did, and time had only deepened his fascination. He had studied her, learned the sound of her laughter, the rhythm of her steps, the way the sunlight kissed her skin. She was unlike any woman he had ever encountered, and for the first time in his immortal existence, he longed for something beyond his world. But spirits and humans were never meant to coexist. The realm of spirits was a place of shadows and illusions, bound by laws older than time itself. The kings of his kind were forbidden from interfering with the mortal world beyond mere observation. Yet Kaelen was not like his ancestors. He had inherited the throne after his father’s sudden demise, and unlike the rulers before him, he believed that rules were meant to be broken. One evening, as twilight bathed the human world in golden hues, Kaelen took on a human form. His silver eyes dimmed to a deep gray, his pale skin warmed to the color of sun-kissed bronze, and his long, flowing hair darkened to the shade of midnight. Cloaked in secrecy, he stepped into the marketplace of Eldoria, blending in among the mortals. He approached Elira’s stall, where she sold her precious fabrics and trinkets. She greeted him with a smile, the same way she did with all her customers, unaware of the danger that lurked beneath his charming façade. “I would like to purchase some of your finest silks,” he said, his voice smooth like flowing water. Elira, unaware of his true nature, nodded and began showing him her wares. Kaelen listened to her speak, enthralled by the warmth in her tone. He watched the delicate way her fingers moved as she handled the fabrics, and he felt an unfamiliar sensation within him—impatience. He had waited long enough. After selecting a generous amount of goods, Kaelen spoke again. “I am a traveler from a distant land. I do not carry coin, but I assure you, I will pay you handsomely. Meet me at the edge of the Eldermere Forest at midnight, and I shall give you more than what your wares are worth.” Elira hesitated. She had never done business in such a manner before. Something about the stranger unsettled her, though she could not quite place why. But the promise of payment was too great to ignore—her family needed the money. Reluctantly, she agreed. Kaelen smiled, knowing that the first step of his plan had fallen perfectly into place. Chapter 3: A Price for Love As the night deepened, a thick mist curled through Eldermere Forest, wrapping around the ancient trees like ghostly fingers. The moon cast an eerie glow upon the path as Elira approached the meeting place. She clutched her shawl tightly around her shoulders, her heart pounding with unease. She had debated whether to come at all. There was something unsettling about the stranger—his eyes, his voice, the way he had watched her. But the promise of wealth had outweighed her fear. She needed the money to care for her aging mother, to expand her business, to secure a better future. A cold wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it a voice. “You came.” Elira turned sharply. Kaelen stood before her, his presence seeming almost unreal in the moonlight. He was no longer dressed as a common traveler but wore robes woven with threads that shimmered like liquid silver. His appearance was impossibly perfect—his sharp features, his commanding stance, his eyes that gleamed like polished steel. “Where is my payment?” she asked, forcing herself to stand firm. Kaelen smiled, his expression unreadable. “Come with me, and I will give you more than you could ever imagine.” Elira hesitated. “Come with you where?” “To my kingdom,” he said, his voice smooth and persuasive. “I am no ordinary man, Elira. I am a king. I rule a land far beyond this one—a place of wonders, of riches beyond comprehension. You need only step forward, and everything you have ever wanted will be yours.” Something inside her screamed no, but curiosity and greed warred against her instincts. A king? If he truly was royalty, then he had the power to change her life forever. She could live in a palace, never have to struggle again. “How do I know you are telling the truth?” she asked. Kaelen extended a hand. “Let me show you.” The air around him shimmered, and behind him, a portal of swirling darkness opened between the trees. A gust of wind surged from it, carrying scents unlike anything Elira had ever known—exotic, intoxicating, forbidden. Her breath caught In her throat. This is madness. This is impossible. “You have nothing to fear,” Kaelen assured her. “Step through, and all shall be revealed.” Elira’s pulse pounded in her ears. She had come for money, not for magic. Not for this. But the temptation pulled at her, an irresistible force she did not understand. She took a deep breath. And then—she stepped through.
By adebayo omobolarinwa10 months ago in Chapters
LISA JENSEN. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
Chapter One Lisa Jensen walked through the pristine halls of Crestmoor Private Hospital, her heels clicking against the polished floor. The scent of antiseptic filled the air, a sharp contrast to the delicate floral perfume she had chosen that morning. This wasn’t a place she was used to. Luxury hotels, private clubs, exclusive business meetings—those were familiar. But hospitals? Hospitals meant vulnerability. And if there was one thing Lisa despised, it was feeling powerless. Her father, Jonathan Jensen, a self-made multimillionaire, had been admitted here last night. The news had sent a shiver through her core. He was more than just a father—he was a symbol of strength, a man who built an empire from the ground up. Seeing him weak, confined to a hospital bed, was a reality she wasn’t prepared to face. Lisa’s beauty was the kind that didn’t need exaggeration. She had a presence that demanded attention—long golden hair that framed a face of effortless allure, high cheekbones, full lips, and striking green eyes that could hold a man’s gaze longer than was polite. Her figure, sculpted in a sleek black dress, moved with an elegance that was neither forced nor exaggerated. It was natural, effortless. But today, beauty was the last thing on her mind. Her pace quickened as she neared the reception desk. Just as she turned a corner, she collided with something solid. A firm hand caught her waist, steadying her before she could stumble. “I’m sorry,” a deep voice said. Lisa blinked, momentarily disoriented. Standing before her was a man—a tall, broad-shouldered figure clad in a white coat. He had dark, assessing eyes that flickered with brief surprise before settling into a composed expression. His grip was steady but brief, releasing her the moment she found her balance. “It’s fine,” Lisa said, smoothing her dress, her voice even. “You seem in a hurry,” he observed, stepping back. “My father was admitted here,” she replied, glancing past him toward the hallway she needed to take. A moment of silence. Then, a small nod. “I see. I hope he recovers soon.” Lisa gave a curt nod before continuing toward the reception desk, not sparing another glance at the man. She was halfway through checking in when she heard a name called behind her. “Dr. Paul Beckford.” Her fingers stilled against her purse. She turned slightly, watching as the same man who had steadied her took a clipboard from the nurse. So, he was a doctor. But Lisa didn’t linger on the thought. Her priority was her father. Later that evening, Lisa found herself seated in Dr. Beckford’s office. His workspace was tidy, sterile, free of personal clutter except for a neatly stacked pile of files and a single framed certificate on the wall. He sat behind his desk, reviewing a report before lifting his gaze to her. “Your father is responding well to treatment,” he said, his tone measured. “His vitals have stabilized, and if this progress continues, he’ll be discharged within the next few days.” Lisa exhaled, a subtle relief washing over her. “That’s good news.” Beckford nodded. “It is. However, there are precautions to take. His recovery doesn’t end here. He’ll need a regulated diet—low cholesterol, controlled portions. Exercise is important, but nothing too strenuous. A monitored routine will be essential.” Lisa absorbed every word, her posture poised but attentive. “I’ll make sure he follows through.” Beckford studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Good.” He reached for a pen, scribbling something on a notepad before sliding it toward her. “These are some dietary recommendations. I’ve also included a few therapists who specialize in post-recovery counseling. Emotional well-being is just as important as physical.” Lisa took the note without hesitation. “Thank you, Dr. Beckford.” He stood, signaling the conversation had come to an end. Lisa followed suit, extending her hand. He shook it—a brief, firm handshake, strictly professional. “Just doing my job.” Lisa gave a small nod and turned to leave, her mind already shifting to the next steps for her father’s care. Behind her, Beckford exhaled lightly before returning to the medical files on his desk. Another case, another patient. Chapter Two The morning sunlight streamed through the hospital windows, casting a warm glow over the private suite where Jonathan Jensen sat on the edge of his hospital bed. The beeping monitors had been silenced, the IV drip removed. He looked healthier—stronger than he had in days—but Lisa could still see the faint traces of exhaustion lining his features. “I can’t wait to get out of here,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders. “Hospitals make me feel like an old man.” Lisa smirked. “You are an old man.” Jonathan scoffed. “Watch your mouth, young lady. I’m still sharp enough to cut your allowance.” Lisa chuckled. “Allowance? I haven’t taken a dime from you in years.” Jonathan leaned back against the pillows, a satisfied grin on his face. “That’s true. You’ve done well for yourself.” Lisa folded her arms, tilting her head. “You sound surprised.” “Not surprised. Proud.” He studied her for a moment, his expression softer now. “You’ve built your own success, Lisa. You’re smart, hardworking, and you don’t take nonsense from anyone. That’s my girl.” Lisa felt a warmth spread through her chest. Compliments from her father were rare, and when they came, they meant everything. Before she could respond, a knock at the door interrupted them. Dr. Paul Beckford stepped inside, dressed in his usual white coat, clipboard in hand. He greeted them with a polite nod before focusing on Jonathan. “How are you feeling, Mr. Jensen?” “Much better, thanks to you,” Jonathan replied. “I appreciate the care, doctor.” Beckford gave a slight smile. “That’s good to hear. Everything is in order for your discharge today. I’ve prepared a list of dietary recommendations and some light exercises to follow at home. If you experience any discomfort or have any concerns, don’t hesitate to reach out.” Lisa watched as Beckford handed her father a folder, his professionalism unwavering. There was something about him—composed, competent, and meticulous. The kind of man who never seemed rattled. Her father, however, seemed more interested in assessing Beckford than in listening to his instructions. “You’re a good man, doctor,” Jonathan said suddenly. Beckford raised a brow but nodded politely. “I appreciate that, sir.” Lisa shot her father a look, silently telling him to behave. Beckford checked his watch. “The nurses will be in soon with your discharge papers. Take care, Mr. Jensen.” He nodded at Lisa before heading for the door. The moment the door shut behind him, Jonathan turned to his daughter with a knowing smirk. “He’s a fine man.” Lisa sighed. “Oh no. Here we go.” “I’m just saying, Lisa. You’re not getting any younger. I’m not getting any younger. Don’t you think it’s time to start thinking about settling down?” Lisa rolled her eyes. “Dad…” “Hear me out,” Jonathan interrupted. “You’ve got beauty, brains, and success. But all of that means nothing if you don’t have someone to share it with.” Lisa leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Dad, I’m happy with my life right now. My focus is on my work.” Jonathan shook his head, chuckling. “That’s what they all say until they wake up one day with ten cats and no one to share their morning coffee with.” Lisa laughed. “I hate cats.” “Then do something about it before it’s too late,” he teased. Lisa sighed, shaking her head with amusement. “So, what, you think I should go after Dr. Beckford?” Jonathan grinned. “He’s successful, intelligent, and, let’s be honest, easy on the eyes. What’s not to like?” Lisa gave him a pointed look. “I just met the man.” Jonathan shrugged. “All great stories start somewhere.” Lisa chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.” Jonathan leaned forward, resting a hand over hers. “I just want to see you happy, Lisa. Before I go, I want to know that you’re with someone who deserves you.” Lisa squeezed his hand. “You’re not going anywhere anytime soon, Dad.” Jonathan sighed, but a small smile played on his lips. “Maybe not. But humor your old man, will you? At least… think about it.” Lisa smirked. “Fine. I’ll think about it.” “Good,” Jonathan said with satisfaction. “Now, let’s get out of here before they change their minds and decide to keep me.” Lisa laughed. “Deal.” As the nurses arrived with the paperwork, she couldn’t help but reflect on their conversation. Settling down? It wasn’t something she had thought about seriously in a long time. But her father had a way of planting ideas that lingered. Chapter Three Lisa stood by the hospital entrance, watching as a nurse wheeled her father toward the car waiting outside. The cool breeze brushed against her skin, carrying the scent of fresh rain from earlier in the day. “Are you sure you don’t want me to carry you on my back, old man?” she teased. Jonathan scoffed. “Don’t tempt me. These nurses act like I’m made of glass.” Lisa laughed, shaking her head. Just as she reached for the car door, a familiar voice interrupted. “Lisa.” She turned to see Dr. Paul Beckford walking toward her, his usual professional demeanor slightly softened. He had removed his lab coat, leaving him in a neatly pressed shirt and dark trousers. Lisa arched a brow. “Doctor.” Beckford glanced at her father, then back at her. “Mind if I steal a moment?” Lisa hesitated, then looked at Jonathan, who smirked knowingly. “Go on. I’ll wait in the car.” As Jonathan settled in, Lisa turned back to Beckford, folding her arms. “What’s on your mind?” For the first time, Beckford looked slightly hesitant. Then, with a small smile, he said, “I realized something today.” “Oh?” Beckford exhaled. “That I’d regret it if I let you walk out of here without at least asking for your contact.” Lisa blinked, caught off guard. She tilted her head, studying him. “Oh? So you suddenly noticed me?” Beckford chuckled. “I wouldn’t say suddenly. But sometimes, we don’t really see what’s in front of us until it’s about to walk away.” Lisa smirked. “Smooth.” “I try,” Beckford replied, holding out his phone. “So, will you humor me?” Lisa hesitated for a brief second before taking the phone from his hand and typing in her number. As she handed it back, she arched a brow. “Don’t make me regret this, Doctor.” Beckford chuckled. “I’ll do my best.” Later that week, Beckford sent a message. Beckford: Hope you’re taking good care of your father. Lisa: Of course. Did you think I’d neglect him? Beckford: Just making sure. Also, would you like to have dinner with a man who saves lives for a living? Lisa: Hmm… tempting. But do I get a free medical consultation along with dinner? Beckford: If that’s what it takes to get a yes, I’ll throw in a flu shot. Lisa laughed as she typed. Lisa: Fine. One dinner. But no flu shots Beckford: Deal. The Date Night The restaurant was elegant yet cozy, the soft glow of candlelight casting a warm ambiance over the neatly set tables. Lisa arrived in a sleek black dress, her hair cascading over her shoulders in soft waves. The moment she stepped in, heads turned—but Beckford only had eyes for her. As she approached their table, he stood up instinctively, drinking in the sight of her. “Wow,” he murmured, unable to hide his admiration. Lisa arched a brow as she sat. “What?” Beckford shook his head, a slow smile playing on his lips. “You’re stunning.” Lisa smirked. “You just noticed?” “Oh, I noticed,” he said, his voice lower now, more intimate. “But seeing you here, dressed like this, in this light… it’s different. You’re breathtaking.” Lisa felt warmth rise to her cheeks, but she masked it with a playful tone. “Careful, Doctor. Flattery can be addictive.” Beckford leaned in slightly. “Good. Because I don’t plan to stop anytime soon.” Their conversation flowed effortlessly, filled with teasing, laughter, and genuine curiosity about each other. “So, tell me, Doctor, how many of your patients do you usually take to dinner?” Lisa teased, taking a sip of her wine. Beckford chuckled. “You’re actually the first. Should I have led with that?” Lisa pretended to think. “Hmm… I don’t know. Makes me feel special, but also like a test subject.” Beckford laughed. “If it helps, I promise this is completely unprofessional.” Lisa took a slow sip of her wine, her eyes holding his for a beat longer than necessary. “I’ll take your word for it.” He tilted his head. “You have this way of looking at people… like you’re studying them.” Lisa smirked. “Maybe I am.” “Oh?” Beckford leaned forward slightly. “And what do you see?” Lisa let her gaze trace his features—the sharp jawline, the confident yet thoughtful eyes, the way his lips curved into a teasing smile. “I see a man who is used to being in control but secretly enjoys being thrown off balance.” Beckford chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s… unsettlingly accurate.” Lisa took another sip of her wine, her smirk widening. “I have my ways.” Beckford stared at her for a moment before murmuring, “I think I could get addicted to this.” Lisa arched a brow. “To what?” Beckford’s gaze was intense now, the playfulness replaced by something deeper. “To you.” For the first time in a long time, Lisa felt something stir inside her—a thrill, a dangerous excitement, like standing at the edge of something unknown but enticing. “Careful, Doctor,” she whispered. “You might just be playing with fire.” Beckford’s smile was slow, deliberate. “Maybe I like the burn.” The night continued with an electric undercurrent between them, neither of them wanting it to end. And for the first time in a long time, Lisa found herself thinking—maybe, just maybe, she was ready to let someone in.
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