The night deepened around them—jazz pulsing low through the rooftop speakers, the city lights smudging like watercolors against the glass. Their friends had moved toward the other side of the bar to fight over a playlist and order more drinks, leaving Jasmine and Ezra with just enough space to pretend they weren’t alone.
“Still think you’re the lead in this story?” Jasmine asked, swirling her wine.
Ezra tilted his head toward her, lips quirking. “I’ve got great hair and a tragic backstory. Feels like leading man energy to me.”
She snorted. “Your tragic backstory is that you once ran out of coffee mid-shift.”
“That was a dark time.”
She glanced at him, and for a moment—just a moment—the banter faded. Ezra’s posture had shifted, more relaxed than smug. She could see the edge of exhaustion around his eyes now, the kind only doctors wore like permanent shadows.
“How’s the ER this week?” she asked quietly.
“Chaotic,” he admitted. “Teenagers doing dumb things, old men refusing treatment, a kid with a Lego in his ear.”
Jasmine arched a brow. “Please tell me it was superhero-themed.”
Ezra cracked a smile. “Iron Man. Clearly had taste.”
She laughed softly, and something in his expression shifted—more open, more real. Less the flirt, more the man she didn’t always let herself think about too long.
“You’re good at it,” she said before she could stop herself.
“At flirting?” he teased.
“At showing up,” she replied, eyes on the skyline. “Even when you’re tired. Even when it’s messy.”
He was quiet for a beat. Then: “You’re not so bad at it yourself, you know.”
“At what?”
“Carrying everyone else while pretending you don’t need carrying too.”
Jasmine stilled. Her mask didn’t crack—but it thinned.
“You think you know me, Ezra.”
He shrugged, turning his gaze to the city. “I know enough.”
And he did. Enough to know she drank her espresso black but hated bitter people. Enough to know she double-texted her assistant but ignored calls from her mother. Enough to know that when she sighed like that—just barely—she was thinking of something she couldn’t quite say.
Before she could answer, the rest of the group returned, laughter spilling back into their bubble.
“Shot rounds!” Miles announced, clapping his hands. “Everyone up!”
Ezra stood, brushing past her shoulder with a grin. “Careful, Jasmine. One day I might surprise you.”
“You already have,” she murmured under her breath. “And I haven’t decided if I hate it yet.”
---
Later, after tequila and bad dancing and an embarrassing group selfie Lena swore she'd frame, Jasmine lingered behind while the others called their cars.
Ezra found her at the railing again, the breeze catching stray strands of her hair.
“You always disappear when it’s loud,” he said, echoing last week’s conversation.
She glanced at him, lips pressed together.
He nudged her elbow gently. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Right,” he said, not buying it for a second. “That’s CEO code for ‘burning down quietly.’”
She gave him a look. “Why do you care?”
“Because we’re in the same circle,” he said lightly. “And because—whether you like it or not—you matter to me.”
The words hung between them. Not too much. Not too little. Just honest enough to make her heart kick.
“Don’t make a habit of it,” she said softly.
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes this time. “Too late.”
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