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Melissa King doesn’t know when all these feelings started. Was it while waiting hopelessly by the ambulance entrance of the ER? Sitting on the floor of the break room, questioning her abilities? Or while watching Fourth of July fireworks alone?
She had always been good at solving crises that had nothing to do with herself. Maybe that was what made her such a good emergency physician—her ability to act quickly under pressure. But for someone working in emergency medicine, she cared too much. She was sensitive.
“Mel… you’re a sensitive person.”
The sentence echoed in her mind. The ER was undoubtedly a difficult place for sensitive people. But people needed her. Frank Langdon had told her that once.
“I need you.”
And there it was—the common thread connecting every moment she’d been questioning herself lately. Someone would enter the room with a calm, reassuring voice and pull Mel out of the melancholy bubble she had trapped herself in.
Frank Langdon.
Melissa King had never been the girl people desired or noticed. It wasn’t a problem, because she had never particularly wanted that kind of attention anyway. For a long time, she had lived life in survival mode. After her father’s death, she hadn’t even been given the chance to grieve before she had to deal with her mother’s illness. Then, while still in medical school, her mother died too, leaving Mel as the sole guardian of her sister, Becca.
Mel King was twenty-seven years old now.But the moment she had started acting like she was twenty-seven, she had only been seventeen.
Ten years later, when she finally felt seen for the first time, she discovered a feeling other than the anxiety that usually sparked in her mind and climbed from her stomach into her chest. Understanding and identifying emotions had always been difficult for her, but there was one truth she was absolutely certain of—and it terrified her.
She was in love with Frank Langdon.
Lately, though, Mel had been overwhelmed by every emotion she possessed, and today was testing the limits of her patience.
Near the end of a long, exhausting shift, she realized she had left the keys to her apartment on top of her dresser. She immediately called Becca to ask whether she happened to have her spare key with her at daycare.
“Tonight I’m having dinner and a movie marathon with Adam and his family,” Becca said excitedly.
“But I don’t have my keys,” Mel replied, her voice cracking slightly.
At this hour, she had no desire to deal with locksmiths, changing locks, or any of that nonsense.
After hanging up, she stared at the computer screen where she had been writing patient reports and let out a long sigh. Deep down, she wanted to stomp her feet and cry. She felt overwhelmed, exhausted, and irritated.
Most of all, she was angry at herself. That morning, she had remembered to bring her lunch, her water bottle, and even her fidget toy—but somehow had still forgotten her keys. Internally, she was already scolding herself for it.
“Hey, Mel. You okay?”
She turned around at the sound of the voice.
Frank Langdon stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, looking tired yet somehow still bright-eyed. His blue eyes softened in a way they only ever seemed to around her, though he probably hadn’t even realized it himself.
“Uh… yeah. I just forgot my apartment key on my dresser, and Becca’s staying over at her boyfriend Adam’s place tonight. So now I can’t get into my apartment,” she explained, trying to sound casual even though anxiety seeped through every tremor in her voice.
“Oh. I know a really good locksmith. I can give you his number if you want. When I first moved into my apartment, I kept forgetting my keys too,” Frank said reassuringly.
Mentioning his new apartment didn’t surprise Mel. Like everyone else, she knew Frank had quietly divorced his wife five months ago, shared custody of his children, and moved into a place of his own.
Mel’s feelings about the divorce weren’t complicated the way her other emotions usually were. For someone who hated seeing families fall apart, she had been far too happy the first time she saw Frank without his wedding ring. She kept telling herself it was better this way—for both Frank and his ex-wife, Abby.
Even she didn’t believe that lie very much.
“Thanks, but I don’t want to deal with a locksmith. My lease is ending soon, so I’m trying to save money. Paying for one just doesn’t seem financially smart,” Mel said.
“That makes sense.” Frank hesitated briefly. “Hey… would you want to stay at my place? Just for tonight. We’re heading back to work together tomorrow anyway.”
He tried to sound casual about it, but God was his witness—anyone except Mel would have noticed how red and flustered he looked, like a nervous teenage boy.
Mel opened and closed her mouth several times. A million thoughts raced through her mind within seconds, but her tongue refused to cooperate.
“Well… yeah, that makes sense. But you don’t have to invite me over just because I mentioned it. If you want to take the offer back, I won’t be offended,” she blurted out in one breath.
Even though they had developed a friendship everyone at the hospital had noticed over the past few months, Mel still felt overwhelmingly guilty whenever Frank did something for her.
Once, on her way to work, her bicycle tire had burst. She chained it near the ER’s back entrance and mentioned it casually in conversation. Frank had skipped lunch just to fix it for her.
Mel had thanked him nonstop for two days afterward.
“Friends are supposed to do things like this,” Frank had insisted firmly, telling her to stop thanking him.
God knew Mel King had spent that night kicking her legs against her mattress with flushed cheeks, imagining her friend in positions no friend should ever imagine another friend in.
She still blamed ovulation for that one.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mel. Friends are here for days like this. Go change so we can head out,” Frank said calmly, trying very hard to stay composed.
If Santos saw him like this, he’d tease him mercilessly for weeks. Frank could practically feel his ears burning beneath his dark hair, and the way he kept tightening his crossed arms to hide the slight trembling in his hands.
No matter how he looked at it, hiding his feelings for Mel King was becoming impossible for a thirty-year-old divorced man.
Neither of them really knew how they managed to change out of their scrubs and make it to Frank’s apartment in his car. The drive passed with awkward conversations about the pop songs playing on the radio and the strange patients they’d had that day. Usually, they could talk for hours whenever they were together—history, Renaissance fairs, hospital gossip despite being two grown doctors who enjoyed gossip far too much.
But tonight’s clipped, nervous conversations were something entirely new.
Frank unlocked the apartment door using the colorful beaded keychain his children had made for him and let them both inside.
This wasn’t Mel’s first time there. She had come over before to watch the cheesy 2000s romantic comedies Frank loved so much, or to spend weekends painting with his children Tanner and Penny while eating the surprisingly excellent lasagna Frank somehow knew how to make.
But tonight felt different. Because this time, she knew she was in love with him.
After taking off her shoes, Mel struggled for several seconds to hang her coat on the rack. Twice, it slipped off and fell to the floor as if mocking her.
Frank let out a soft laugh.
God, he thought. I’m in love with this woman.
“Don’t laugh,” Mel muttered with a small frown, though she couldn’t stop the corners of her lips from twitching upward.
“I think your coat just doesn’t like you very much. Here, let me,” Frank said.
Ignoring the ache in his back, he crouched down, picked up the coat, and carefully hung it up.
“Ta-da.”
“Now you’re just showing off,” Mel shot back.
Frank grinned at her teasing, and together they walked into the living room.
“Do you want to take a shower?” he asked before thinking twice about the sentence.
To Mel, the words felt like a cannonball to the chest.
Her mind instantly betrayed her with fantasies and a few embarrassingly vivid dreams she’d had before.
A bathtub. A wet Frank. His husky voice moaning her name against her ear—
When she realized she was imagining all of this while Frank stood directly in front of her waiting for an answer, she swore she could feel herself blushing from forehead to fingertips.
“Uh… yes. Could I maybe borrow some clothes?” she asked quietly.
Frank nodded immediately and headed toward his bedroom. Mel didn’t trust herself enough to follow him, so she stayed frozen in the middle of the living room, trying desperately to suppress the thoughts racing through her head.
Idiot, she scolded herself. Frank is just helping you as a friend, and you’re acting like some horny teenager.
Within moments, Frank returned carrying two clean towels—one for her body and one for her hair—a T-shirt, sweatpants, and a still-packaged pair of boxers.
Without making a big deal out of it, he walked into the bathroom, switched on the lights, and neatly set everything down before turning back to her with a reassuring smile.
“Bathroom’s ready. Make yourself at home. There are two shampoos in there—the lavender one might be too strong for you. You’d probably like the other one better.”
Mel smiled faintly.
Frank always noticed little things about her without her ever needing to explain herself. He made her life easier in quiet, effortless ways.
How could I not fall in love with him? she thought.
“Thanks, Frank.”
“You go shower. I made beef sauté yesterday, so I’ll heat it up and set the table.”
Mel nodded quickly and hurried into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. It didn’t even occur to her to lock it. The level of trust she felt toward Frank sometimes surprised even her. Carefully undressing, Mel tossed her clothes into the washing machine before stepping into the shower. She adjusted the water temperature and opened the shampoo Frank had recommended.
She inhaled deeply.
“Oh my God… it smells exactly like him,” she murmured to herself.
Talking aloud when alone was a habit she had developed over the years. During Frank’s rehab period—when loneliness had consumed him—he had caught himself doing the same thing many times. Dana had noticed too and often teased him about it.
As warm water soaked her blonde hair, Mel focused on washing quickly.
Meanwhile, Frank stood in the kitchen reheating dinner while his mind screamed one very obvious fact at him:
MELISSA KING IS SHOWERING IN YOUR BATHROOM. COMPLETELY NAKED. ONLY A FEW FEET AWAY.
He rubbed a hand over his face, trying not to feel guilty for having thoughts like these about a friend who trusted him enough to stay in his home. He attempted to justify himself.
He was single now. He hadn’t had sex in over a year—not even during the final months of his marriage. And he was hopelessly in love with Melissa King. Still, he shook his head firmly, forcing himself to focus.
By the time Mel emerged from the bathroom, she had taken the fastest shower of her life.
Frank’s oversized Pittsburgh Penguins T-shirt hung loosely on her frame, and her damp blonde hair was tied into a low ponytail.
Frank had already set the table.
“That looks good on you,” he said carefully, trying not to make things awkward.
Mel blushed faintly.
“Thanks. I never pictured you as a hockey fan,” she teased, tugging lightly at the shirt.
“You know I played football for a while in college. Besides, anything related to Pittsburgh automatically interests me,” Frank replied.
They sat down and ate quietly. Mel was always amazed by Frank’s cooking. She had watched him cook several times before. He never followed recipes, constantly adding random spices he thought would work. Sometimes she teased him that his ADHD showed itself in the kitchen just as much as it did in the ER.
Jokes aside, Mel was certain Frank had ADHD. And Frank was equally certain Mel was somewhere on the autism spectrum. But neither of them felt ready to talk openly about those things yet. Most of the time, they understood each other in ways no one else ever had anyway.
After dinner, they cleaned the table and washed the dishes together like a couple that had been married for years. Neither of them spoke.
It felt as though the moment they broke the silence, one wrong sentence might ruin whatever fragile magic existed between them tonight.
Eventually, they returned to the living room.
“I’ll change the bedsheets for you,” Frank offered.
Mel immediately protested.
“I’m not sleeping in your bed.”
“Why not?” Frank asked, genuinely confused.
“I’m not letting you sleep on the couch. You don’t have to give up your bed for me.”
“Mel,” Frank said softly in that affectionate tone he always used with her, “I can sleep on the couch.”
“No, you can’t. I know your back isn’t doing great. Please. You’ve already done too much for me tonight. If I steal your bed too, I literally won’t be able to sleep,” she argued.
Frank couldn’t even fight her on it. Around her, he became embarrassingly weak.
“‘Steal’ is a little dramatic, don’t you think?” he joked gently.
Mel’s furrowed brow relaxed.
“Okay… maybe slightly dramatic,” she admitted.
Chuckling, Frank brought her blankets, pillows, and clean sheets. As Mel sat curled up in the armchair watching him make up the couch for her, a warm feeling bloomed inside her chest.
She couldn’t stop smiling.
“Your bed’s ready,” Frank said. “You know where my room is. If you need anything, please wake me up, okay?”
Mel nodded and pulled the blanket up to her chin. Frank turned off all the lights in the living room—except for the warm yellow lamp in the corner. She hated complete darkness and harsh white lighting. Of course Frank knew that.
She smiled involuntarily.
Frank smiled back.
For a few silent seconds, they simply stood there smiling at each other. For both of them, it felt like finally breathing after being underwater too long.
Then Frank murmured softly, “Goodnight, Mel.”
“Goodnight, Frank.”
He walked to his bedroom and quietly shut the door behind him. Mel stared up at the ceiling for a while, listening to the silence around her. Wrapped in the warmth of the blanket and surrounded by the scent of Frank lingering on her hair, she felt safe. Slowly, she pulled the hair tie from her ponytail and buried her face in her hair.
It smelled like him. To Mel, Frank’s scent meant safety.
It meant not needing to explain herself after years of being misunderstood. It meant lazy days filled with comedy movies that made her laugh until her stomach hurt, warm homemade meals that never overwhelmed her senses, and tiny thoughtful gestures that made her feel loved.
That scent was Frank Langdon.
And Frank Langdon meant love.
Suddenly, courage flooded her chest. Without thinking about consequences or reasons or fear, she threw the blanket aside and walked toward Frank’s bedroom door. The moment her hand reached the handle, the door opened. And she nearly collided with Frank himself. They had both reached for the door at the exact same time.
Their faces were flushed, breaths uneven, the sound of it filling the apartment. For several seconds, neither of them spoke. Then suddenly they crashed into each other.
Mel cupped Frank’s face in both hands while Frank wrapped his arms around her waist, and their lips met.
In all her fantasies, Mel had imagined their first kiss would be slow and gentle.
But God—
The warmth, the desperate way their mouths moved together, the feeling of finally tasting each other—it was beyond anything she had ever imagined. They kissed like they were starving.
When Mel let out a soft moan against his mouth, Frank felt his knees nearly buckle beneath him. He stopped trying to suppress the sounds escaping him. Mel pushed him gently against the bedroom wall, fingers tangling in his hair as she kissed him harder.
For the first time in her life, Melissa King allowed herself to fully enjoy having the thing she wanted most.
“Mel…” Frank breathed shakily between kisses. “I love you so much. God, I can’t keep it inside anymore.”
He loves me.
He loves me.
“I love you too,” Mel whispered back through uneven breaths and swollen lips. “I love you too.”
Frank stared at her as though he needed confirmation.
“Really?”
Mel nodded immediately.
Looking overwhelmed, Frank wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and pulled her against his chest. Mel instantly buried her face in his neck, her arms circling him. They stood there clinging to each other, breathless and trembling, hearts pounding hard enough to burst from their ribs.
“Your heart’s beating really fast,” Mel murmured, feeling it against her own chest.
Frank laughed nervously, happiness practically spilling from his voice.
“I’m really excited.”
“Me too,” Mel admitted instantly.
Still flushed and overwhelmed by the realization that their feelings were finally mutual, they stayed wrapped in each other’s arms. That night, Mel fell asleep curled against Frank’s chest in his bed while they whispered softly about their feelings until sleep claimed them both.
The next morning, neither of them managed to hide their brand-new relationship from Santos’ nosy stare.
“Finally,” Santos said.
Mel thought the exact same thing.
Finally.