1
Opal had exactly three suitcases, two boxes, one overstuffed purse, and absolutely no idea what she was doing.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true.
She knew she was standing outside a Pittsburgh apartment building with a transfer to Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center confirmed, a new job waiting for her, and a room to rent in the home of a surgeon she’d met precisely once over a video call.
What she didn’t know was whether moving halfway across the state—or, more accurately, halfway across her life—was going to turn out to be the best decision she’d ever made or the beginning of a very expensive mistake.
Her phone buzzed.
Brendon Park: You here?
Opal looked at the building number, then at her phone.
Opal: Unless Pittsburgh has two buildings with the same address, yes.
Three dots appeared.
Brendon Park: Funny.
Opal: I try.
Brendon Park: Third floor. Door on the left. Come up. I’ll get the door.
Opal grinned.
Well. At least the man had a sense of humor. Sort of.
She wrestled her suitcases inside, managed the stairs with considerably less dignity than she’d have preferred, and reached the third floor just as the apartment door opened.
And there he was.
Brendon Park.
The surgeon.
The man who’d offered her the spare bedroom.
The man whose face she’d seen on a video call while she’d been sitting in her old apartment, desperately trying to find somewhere affordable to live before her transfer began.
In person, he was even more imposing.
Broad shoulders. Dark hair. An expression that looked permanently caught somewhere between concentration and mild annoyance.
He wore a simple dark T-shirt and sweatpants, and his arms were folded across his chest as he looked at her mountain of luggage.
Then he looked at her.
“That’s everything?”
Opal glanced behind herelf.
“No. I left the refrigerator in the car.”
His mouth twitched.
It was tiny. Barely there.
But she’d seen it.
“Oh, you’re going to be trouble,” he muttered, stepping aside.
“Only when provoked.”
“Come in, Opal.”
The sound of her name in his voice was unexpectedly nice.
She dragged her suitcases inside, and he immediately reached for the heaviest one.
“I’ve got it,” she protested.
“I didn’t ask if you had it.”
“Are you always this bossy?”
“Yes.”
“Wonderful. This is going to be a delightful living arrangement.”
“Bedroom’s down the hall to the right. Bathroom’s across from it. Kitchen’s through there. Living room is self-explanatory.”
He picked up her second suitcase.
Opal followed him down the hall, looking around as they went.
The apartment was surprisingly nice. Clean, comfortable, and lived in without being cluttered. There were books on a shelf, a few framed photographs, and a pair of sneakers abandoned beside the couch.
It felt like a real home.
Not a temporary place someone had furnished solely to collect rent.
“This is your room.”
Bren set her suitcase down beside the bed.
Opal stepped inside.
The bedroom had a large window, a dresser, a nightstand, and a closet with enough space for her clothes. The bed was made with fresh sheets, and a small lamp sat beside it.
She turned slowly.
“You did all this?”
“I put clean sheets on the bed.”
“And the lamp?”
“Already had it.”
“And the empty closet?”
“Thought you might want somewhere to put your clothes.”
She stared at him.
He stared back.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“You’re looking at me like I grew another head.”
“I just expected a mattress on the floor and a note saying rent’s due on the first.”
“Rent is due on the first.”
She laughed.
And that time, he actually smiled.
It changed his whole face.
Just for a second, the stern surgeon disappeared, and she caught a glimpse of the man underneath.
Oh.
That was interesting.
“Thank you,” she said, quieter now. “Seriously. I know I’m a stranger, and you didn’t have to make the room nice.”
Something shifted in his expression.
“You needed a place to stay. I had a room.”
Simple.
Practical.
Very Brendon Park.
But he’d also made sure she had clean bedding, a working lamp, and a bedroom that didn’t feel like an afterthought.
Opal smiled.
“Well, I’m glad you had a room, then.”
“So am I.”
Neither of them knew why that answer felt like it meant more than it should.
Not yet.
By six that evening, Opal had unpacked most of her clothes, arranged her toiletries, and discovered three important facts about her new roommate.
One: Bren’s coffee machine was apparently a sacred object.
Two: he kept his kitchen alarmingly organized.
And three: the man had the dietary habits of someone who believed food was an inconvenient interruption between surgeries.
She discovered the third fact when she walked into the kitchen and found him staring into the refrigerator.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for food.”
“That’s generally how refrigerators work.”
He glanced at her.
She opened a cabinet, found pasta, then checked the fridge.
There were eggs, milk, condiments, and something in a container she wasn’t entirely certain was still food.
She looked at him.
“When did you last eat?”
“Today.”
“What did you eat?”
He paused.
Opal narrowed her eyes.
“Bren.”
“Coffee.”
She stared at him.
“Coffee isn’t food!”
“It has calories.”
“It has a restraining order against being called dinner.”
He actually laughed.
It was low and brief, but it was real.
Opal felt an absurd little burst of victory.
“Sit down,” she ordered.
His eyebrows rose.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Sit. I’m making dinner.”
“You don’t have to cook for me.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you?”
She opened the refrigerator again and began pulling out ingredients.
“Because I’m hungry, you’re clearly starving, and if we both eat something tonight, we might survive our first twenty-four hours as roommates.”
He watched her for a moment.
Then he pulled out a chair.
“You’re bossy.”
“You’re welcome.”
He shook his head, but he stayed.
They ate pasta at the kitchen table, and for the first time since she’d arrived, the conversation became easy.
She told him about the city she’d left behind, the friends she’d miss, and her excitement about working at PTMC.
He told her which hospital entrances were least chaotic in the morning, which cafeteria coffee was worth drinking, and which members of the surgical staff were likely to make her question her career choices.
“And you?” she asked eventually.
“What about me?”
“Am I going to question my career choices because of you?”
He took a slow drink of water.
“Probably.”
Opal laughed so hard she nearly choked.
“Oh, you’re awful.”
“I’ve been told.”
“Frequently, I hope.”
“Mostly by residents.”
“I can see why.”
He leaned back in his chair, watching her with an expression she’d learn to recognize over the coming months.
Amusement.
Interest.
A little surprise.
He’d expected a roommate. Someone reasonably pleasant who’d pay rent on time and leave him alone when he came home from work.
He hadn’t expected someone who could make him laugh in his own kitchen.
He hadn’t expected to enjoy the sound of her voice.
And he certainly hadn’t expected the apartment to feel a little less empty with her sitting across from him.
Later that night, Opal stood in the doorway of her bedroom while Bren passed with a glass of water.
“Hey, roommate?”
He stopped.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For the room. For helping me move. For dinner—well, technically I made dinner, but you didn’t complain about it.”
“You’re welcome.”
She smiled at him.
“I’m glad I’m here.”
His expression softened.
“Me too, Opal.”
For a moment, neither moved.
Then he nodded toward her bedroom.
“Get some sleep. First day at PTMC tomorrow.”
“Yes, Doctor Park.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Don’t start.”
She grinned.
“Goodnight, Bren.”
“Goodnight.”
He continued down the hall.
Opal watched him go, then slipped into her room and closed the door.
She had a new city, a new job, a new home, and a roommate who was equal parts infuriating and unexpectedly kind.
It was a good start.
A very good start.
And down the hall, Brendon Park stood in his kitchen for a moment longer than necessary, looking at the two plates in the sink.
He’d lived alone for a long time.
He liked quiet. He liked routine. He liked coming home without having to explain himself to anyone.
But tonight, the apartment had been filled with laughter.
There’d been someone cooking in his kitchen, someone asking about his day, someone looking at him as though he were a man rather than just the surgeon everyone at work seemed determined to fear.
He wasn’t foolish enough to mistake a pleasant first evening for anything more.
She was his roommate.
That was all.
He switched off the kitchen light and headed to bed.
Neither of them had any idea that, one day, the woman who’d arrived with three suitcases would become the one person who could walk into an operating room, meet his eyes, and understand exactly what he needed without him saying a word.
Neither knew she’d become his safe place.
His favorite person.
His jewel.
For now, she was simply Opal, the new roommate down the hall.
And Brendon Park had absolutely no idea how much his life was about to change.
