Chapter Text
Will Darcy woke to the soft chime of his alarm and the heavy thud of paws on the floor. Then came the bedframe’s groan as Otis, his young, already overgrown Bernese Mountain Dog launched himself up onto the mattress without so much as a warning. The dog’s warm weight landed against his legs with a sigh.
“You weren’t invited,” Will muttered, voice gravelly with sleep.
Otis didn’t care. He rested his furry head on Will’s chest with an audible huff of satisfaction.
Will let his eyes fall closed for a moment longer before reaching for his phone. 6:08 a.m. No messages. The lake outside his bedroom window shimmered faintly in the low, early light, calm and glassy. Beyond the glass stretched a broad balcony, framed in sleek cedar and matte black railing, just one of the house’s many designer touches.
The place was… a bit much.
Perched on a slope at the edge of Little Loon Lake, it had been custom-built by a boutique architecture firm for a retired tech executive who decided he wanted something “rustic modern” before ultimately changing his mind and selling it turnkey, fully furnished, professionally staged, and entirely impersonal. The listing said “luxury lake retreat.” What it felt like was a very stylish Airbnb.
The realtor he worked with had loved the place.
And sure, it was peaceful. Wide windows everywhere. A chef’s kitchen Will normally would’ve salivated over. A master bath with heated floors and a pretty incredible steam shower. Vaulted ceilings and white walls accented by expensive furniture and minimalist art.
But no warmth. No clutter. Not even the comforting chaos of books or framed memories.
Just space. Too much of it.
He swung his legs out of bed and wandered into the kitchen, Otis loping behind him. As usual, the house was completely silent save for the lake wind through the pine trees and the gurgle of the ridiculously complicated coffee maker he’d only just learned how to use.
He poured a mug and leaned against the island, staring out through the tall glass doors that led to the back deck. Beyond that, the lake. Still, cold, and beautiful.
His father would have loved this view.
Will’s jaw tightened. He still hadn’t unpacked the boxes labeled Dad, the framed photos, his heirloom watch, the engraved fountain pen he’d been gifted to celebrate the end of his residency. There wasn’t anywhere in the house that felt right for them. Like they’d taint the perfection of the place, or worse, disappear into it.
He took the coffee outside, settling onto a lounge chair that was somehow both expensive and uncomfortable. Otis flopped down beside him with a groan, chin on his paws, eyes scanning the tree line.
One week. He’d been here a week.
And every morning since, he asked himself the same question.
What the hell am I doing here?
Sometimes he thought it started with his dad.
Other days, he blamed the job.
But most days, it felt like both, tangled so tightly together, he couldn’t pull one thread without unraveling the other.
A year ago, Will had been working at Lurie Children’s Hospital in Chicago.
Top-ranked, high-pressure, constantly in motion. He worked long, punishing hours in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit, often going full days without seeing the sun. It was exhausting, brutal, and he had loved it.
Because if there was one thing Will Darcy had always known how to do, it was strive.
Push harder. Show up earlier. Stay later.
He wasn’t just good at it, he needed to be good at it. Needed to prove that he deserved to be there, especially so young, surrounded by people who had been in medicine longer than he’d been alive. And he had proven it. He’d quickly built a reputation as one of the best young physicians in the hospital, he was calm under pressure, methodical, composed. He had a way of breaking down complex conditions with unnerving precision.
He was hired as an attending as soon as he completed his residency. People mentioned him in the same breath as major research teams. Parents requested him by name.
He was, by every objective metric, succeeding.
And yet.
He couldn’t even remember the last birthday he’d spent with his sister.
He couldn’t remember the last time he sat across from his father at a table without glancing at his phone, waiting for a page.
But still, he’d told himself it was fine. He was building something. There would be time for everything else later.
His father had never made him feel guilty for that. If anything, he understood it better than anyone.
Robert Darcy was one of the most respected attorneys in Illinois, founder and managing partner of Darcy, Wentworth & Brandon. He had built a legal empire with nothing more than intelligence, charm, and relentless discipline. Will had grown up watching his father in expensive suits, giving measured interviews on cable news, receiving awards from alumni associations and professional boards. He was brilliant. Fearless. Unshakable.
But he was also, somehow, always home by six.
He had been Will’s hero in the quiet ways. The ones people didn’t see.
When Will was twelve, and Georgiana just a baby, their mother, Anne, was diagnosed with cervical cancer. Even with the best treatment, she hadn’t survived. Will still remembered the quiet of the hospital at night. The machines. The smell of antiseptic. The way the doctors looked tired but kind.
Some children would have been traumatized by it. Will had been transfixed.
While his friends talked about baseball and Pokémon, he devoured library books on anatomy.
He knew then. That was what he would do.
Robert never questioned it. Never once told Will he should go into law instead. He encouraged it. Nurtured it.
And when Anne died, Robert had reoriented his entire world around his children.
They had help, of course. There was a housekeeper who lived in, and nannies when needed, but Robert was the one who got up in the middle of the night when Georgie cried. He was the one who sat through every science fair, clapped loudest at piano recitals, burned toast trying to make Sunday breakfasts. He took them on fishing trips at the summer home on Lake Geneva every year. He never missed birthdays. He filled in the space their mother left with strength and sweetness, and became the entire world for two scared children.
Maybe that’s why Will worked so hard.
If he wasn’t following in his father’s footsteps, he wanted to leave ones just as deep.
He wanted to make Robert proud.
And Robert was proud. He said so often, and he never begrudged Will’s busy schedule.
He told Will, “This is the time in your life you give it everything. I was exactly the same way.”
And Will believed him.
Right up until the phone call that shattered everything.
It was a Wednesday afternoon. Will had just finished rounding. He remembered the florescent light and the half-drunk cup of coffee he left behind on his desk. He had almost let the call go to voicemail.
Robert Darcy had been in a car accident on Lake Shore Drive.
Sixty-five years old. Perfectly healthy. He’d left a client lunch and was driving home.
He was pronounced dead on arrival.
Just like that.
Will didn’t even remember getting to the hospital chapel, or calling Georgiana.
What he remembered was the silence. The kind that gets into your chest and doesn’t let go.
The months that followed were a haze of grief and logistics.
Even with Robert’s meticulous estate planning there was still so much to do. They sold his condo on the Gold Coast, and the summer home in Lake Geneva. Neither Will nor Georgiana could bring themselves to go back.
When it was over, they were two young adults with more money than they knew what to do with. They were in possession of trusts, investments, life insurance, and estate proceeds. It felt like nothing.
And for the first time in years, Will stopped running. He took a leave of absence from work to execute his father’s will.
There were no shifts to clock into. No pagers going off at 2 a.m. No late-night surgeries or ethics boards or research deadlines. Just… space. And grief. And silence.
He spent those early months hovering near Georgiana, uncertain of his footing. He had missed so much of her growing up.
She had taken time off from her studies at the University of Michigan and moved in with him temporarily. He made them breakfast. They walked around downtown. She played piano on the keyboard she brought with her, soft and halting at first, then clearer. For the first time in a long time, Will really listened.
She was no longer a kid. She was poised, sensitive, and funny. She was grieving, too.
They didn’t talk much about their father, at least not at first. But in the quiet of that shared loss, they found each other again. It was the only good thing that came out of it.
Six months after Robert died, Georgiana went back to school. They had both decided it was time to start moving forward with life, and Robert wouldn’t want them standing still anyways. Will helped Georgiana move into a new apartment in Ann Arbor and when he left, he promised to be better about keeping in touch.
Still, Will knew he couldn’t go back to the PICU. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
He was too burnt out, and too resentful of that job for stealing away so much of the time he should have spent with his father. So, he resigned. There were plenty of colleagues that thought he was insane, but Will figured that if he had the privilege of financial freedom, he might as well use it to get his head on straight.
He went to grief counseling, which felt strange at first. He’d spent years inside hospitals, and he trusted science, structure, things with measurable outcomes. Talking about emotions in a softly lit room with a woman in an earth toned cardigan? That was less familiar.
But he kept going. And surprisingly, it helped.
He started sleeping again. He opened up more about his guilt, his exhaustion, the strange emptiness that had taken over once the logistics of death were done.
He also made a conscious effort to reconnect with people outside of work. Friends he hadn’t seen in months, sometimes years. People who reminded him who he was outside of hospital walls.
Enter Charlie Bingley.
Will had met Charlie on the first day of medical school at Northwestern.
They’d both arrived early to orientation and ended up next to each other in a lecture hall that still smelled like disinfectant. Charlie had turned to him and said something about how nervous he was that he'd already forgotten where his cadaver lab was.
Will replied, deadpan, that they weren’t starting dissection until week three. Charlie had laughed and offered him half a protein bar.
And that was that.
They became fast friends, even though on paper they shouldn’t have clicked. Will was reserved, serious, more comfortable fading into the background. Charlie was outgoing, open-hearted, and quick with a joke. But underneath the surface, they had a lot in common. Both of them had known since childhood what they wanted to be.
Charlie called medicine the “family business.” His parents were both family doctors, running a long-established clinic in northern Michigan that Charlie’s grandfather had originally opened in the fifties. He talked about growing up in exam rooms, wrapping himself in gauze rolls, and getting bribed with lollipops to stop playing with the blood pressure cuff.
Will had been amused, and slightly envious.
He had never felt quite so at home anywhere.
Charlie brought levity into Will’s life during those years. Will, in turn, helped Charlie stay grounded, kept him from blowing off too many study sessions, and gently reined him in when his confidence veered toward chaos. They were opposites in a way that worked.
It was through Charlie that Will met Caroline.
She was Charlie’s twin sister. Poised, put-together, and working in PR at a sleek downtown firm. The first time Will saw her, she swept into the bar where they were meeting for drinks in a stylish coat and heels, all confidence and bright lipstick.
One thing led to another. Caroline was persistent, whip smart, and undeniably attractive. Will wasn’t looking for a relationship, but she made it easy to say yes.
They ended up dating for a little over six months during their second year.
Will liked her well enough. She was outgoing, ambitious, and magnetic when she wanted to be. She challenged him sometimes, pushed him to attend events and outings he would’ve otherwise skipped. And in a way, it was nice, being wanted.
But it didn’t take long for Will to notice the cracks.
She had a jealous streak that irritated him. Nothing overt at first, just a glance that lingered too long, or a comment that felt too sharp when he brought up a female colleague. She always seemed to take notice when he talked to other women, even casually. And when she came over to his family’s Gold Coast condo for the first time, her eyes lit up in a way that unnerved him.
She wanted more than he was ready to give.
More than he wanted to give.
And if he was being honest with himself, he was mostly with her because it was convenient. Because she was Charlie’s sister, and he liked being around Charlie so much that the rest had felt simple.
When he finally ended it, he did his best to be gentle. Clear, but kind. He told her he wasn’t in the right place for anything serious. That he needed to focus on residency, and the next phase of his career.
Caroline did not take it well.
She started showing up at bars and restaurants he and Charlie frequented, always “just popping by” at the next table with her girlfriends. She didn’t cause a scene, but her presence was pointed, her eyes sharp. Will tried to stay civil, but every interaction left him on edge.
He could tell Charlie felt caught in the middle. He never said anything, but Will noticed how he’d tense when Caroline arrived, how he tried to smooth things over, keep the peace.
Will never blamed him for it.
Charlie was a peacekeeper and loyal to a fault.
Still, it made things awkward. Eventually, Will began to pull back. Just a little at first. Fewer weekend drinks. A little more distance in conversation. He told himself it was practical. Third year was a beast, and then came interviews, Match Day, residency. Who knew where they’d end up?
He felt guilty but he also felt... a little relieved.
And then, somehow, years passed. They kept in touch loosely, holiday texts, and the occasional call, but they drifted the way people do when life gets busy.
So, it took Will by surprise when he spotted Charlie across the room at a Northwestern alumni event in the city a couple of weeks before Halloween.
He hadn’t even planned to go. It had been a last-minute decision, the kind of thing he almost bailed on twice before walking through the doors. But he told himself he needed to get out more. Be around people again. Maybe it would be good to remember that he had a life outside of grief and hospital corridors.
And then there was Charlie, who was maybe a little broader in the shoulders than Will remembered, still laughing too loudly as he ordered his usual Jameson and ginger ale at the bar.
Will didn’t hesitate. “You really haven’t changed at all,” he said as he approached.
Charlie turned and grinned, recognition lighting up his face. “Darcy, no way—look at you! I thought you'd gone full ghost.”
They hugged, clapped each other’s backs like they were still twenty-four. Within ten minutes, they’d migrated to a quieter corner of the room with their drinks and fallen back into easy conversation. It was effortless. Like muscle memory. They talked about mutual friends, old professors, dumb things they’d done during rotations.
After the event, they grabbed dinner at a cozy pub down the block, and then somehow ended up bar hopping through River North for the next few hours, catching up and laughing harder than Will had in nearly three years. Charlie could still get him to laugh with almost nothing, a raised eyebrow, a dumb story, a terrible impression of their anatomy professor.
They'd both changed, but the connection hadn't.
Charlie told him about life back in Loon Cove. How he’d moved home nearly two years ago, taken over the family clinic, and how he’d reconnected with Jane Bennet, his high school girlfriend.
“She owns this bakery-slash-café-slash-catering-thing now,” Charlie explained over whiskey gingers and wings in a noisy sports bar. “Very classy. Very Jane. She makes these espresso brownies that’ll ruin your life.”
Will smiled into his drink. “You sound smitten.”
“I am smitten. We just bought a house together last spring.”
Will blinked. “A house?”
Charlie nodded solemnly. “With a huge vegetable garden and everything. I am becoming my father in slow motion.”
“That’s terrifying.” Will laughed
“It is. But it’s also kind of great.”
They called it around 2 a.m., both a little drunk and already regretting the last shot they took. Before Charlie climbed into his Lyft, they made plans to meet for breakfast in the morning.
The next day, Will showed up ten minutes late to find Charlie already at a booth with coffee in hand, nursing a hangover and waving a fork toward the specials board. “You’re getting the pancakes,” he said as Will slid into the seat. “Trust me.”
They ordered, ate, and sat in companionable silence for a few minutes while the diner’s soft clatter filled in the gaps.
Eventually, Charlie glanced at him with a little more seriousness. “Hey,” he said, “I know I toasted him last night, but… I never got the full story. About your dad. I’m really sorry, man. I liked him a lot.”
Will stared into his coffee for a moment, then nodded slowly. “It was a car accident. He was leaving lunch and got hit by someone running a red. Just… gone.” He exhaled hard. “It didn’t make any sense.”
Charlie’s expression softened. “Jesus.”
“Yeah,” Will said quietly. “It wrecked me. Wrecked Georgiana too. We sold the house. The lake place. Everything. I tried to hold it together for her, but—” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think I really stopped to process it. Not until recently.”
“I should’ve called you more,” Charlie said, remorse flashing in his eyes.
Will gave him a small, grateful smile. “You reached out. It just… I wasn’t really picking up for anyone.”
Charlie nodded. “Still. I’m glad you came last night.”
Will nodded too. “Me too.”
At one point, Will asked about Caroline.
Charlie took a long sip of his black coffee, made a face, and shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t see her much anymore. She married a finance guy with a lot of money. She’s full-time in the city now, barely ever comes home. We text now and then, but… she’s doing her thing.” He waved a hand vaguely. “She was always more of a city girl.”
Will nodded. “That tracks.”
Charlie looked at him carefully, then said, “I feel like I should’ve handled that better back in the day. With you and her.”
Will shook his head. “It’s fine. Really.”
They let the subject drift.
When their plates were cleared and the waitress brought more coffee, Charlie leaned back and tilted his head. “So,” he said, “what are you doing? Work-wise?”
Will hesitated, then admitted, “I don’t know. I’ll find another hospital job eventually, I guess. I was an attending, so I’m sure something will come up.”
But even as he said it, his voice sounded flat. Detached.
Charlie squinted. “You sound about as excited as someone scheduling a colonoscopy.”
Will cracked a half-smile. “That might be generous.”
“Well,” Charlie said, reaching for the syrup again, “you could always come work with me.”
Will raised an eyebrow. “You’re that desperate?”
“Desperate? Please. I’m offering you a little peace and quiet, and proximity to the best brownies in the world.”
Will laughed, and Charlie kept going.
“I’m serious, though. The clinic’s doing well, but we’re stretched. My NP’s amazing, but she can’t do everything. We’ve got parents driving thirty, forty minutes out of town to get basic pediatric care. If I had another doctor on staff—someone good—we could really expand.”
Will sipped his coffee, watching steam curl over the rim. “That’s a big move.”
“So was quitting your job,” Charlie pointed out gently.
They kept talking. About the practice, about Jane, about what it was like taking over the family business and realizing he actually loved it. Charlie didn’t try to sell him on it too hard, but Will could tell he meant it.
“You should come visit,” Charlie said, standing and stretching after they paid the bill. “The leaves are unreal right now. Peak fall color. You could stay at my place.”
Will hadn’t planned to say yes.
But the thought of open sky, of quiet, of a place untouched by all the things that had broken him… it stuck.
A few days later, he packed a weekend bag and pointed his car north.
The drive up was peaceful, and as the highway narrowed to two lanes lined by trees, Will could feel the tension loosen in his chest. He got a later start than he planned, and by the time he was rolling through Loon Cove, it was dark and he was mainly concerned that he might hit a deer before he got to Charlie’s house.
When he finally got there, Charlie came outside, standing on the lit front porch with a beer in one hand and a goofy grin on his face.
“You made it,” he said, slapping Will on the back in a way that jolted him slightly off balance. “And you didn’t get lost!”
Will smiled, following Charlie into the living room, where he dropped his bag.
Charlie’s house was warm and lived-in, and the kitchen was packed with cookbooks, notebooks, and other baking utensils. Jane’s doing, from what Will understood. As it turned out, Jane was out of town with her family that weekend. They had gone to a campground for a Halloween thing, or else Charlie said they all could have gotten together for dinner. Will didn’t really mind. It felt nice to have some time alone with his friend to just chill.
He spent the weekend sleeping in Charlie’s guest room, drinking strong coffee on the back porch overlooking the lake, and helping split logs for the fire pit out back. They grilled steaks one night, made chili the next. Charlie played music while they cooked and Will couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that kind of ease settle over him.
They hiked one of the shorter trails near the edge of town on Saturday afternoon, a trail Charlie swore led to the best overlook in the whole county. When they reached the top, Will had to admit he was right. The view stretched wide, with the lake shimmering below, and trees blazing in every direction.
“I come up here when I need to think,” Charlie said, breathing hard, hands on his hips. “Or when Jane’s testing out recipes.”
Will gave a short laugh. “Not much help in the kitchen, are you?”
“I’m a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
They sat on a flat rock for a while, letting the silence settle between them like old friends. A few hikers passed by, but for the most part it was quiet. Just the sound of birds, wind, and the distant lap of water.
“You ever think you’d come back here?” Will asked.
Charlie looked out at the trees. “Honestly? No. I thought I’d prefer to be in a larger city forever. But my parents were getting ready to retire, so after residency I decided to come help out. Once I was here, I didn’t want to leave.”
Will nodded slowly, letting that sink in.
The next day, they drove past the clinic so Will could see it in person. It was a modest, well-kept brick building with a cheerful blue awning and a carved wooden sign. The parking lot was small, just three rows, and through the windows, Will could see a receptionist’s desk decorated with tiny pumpkins and a waiting room stocked with coloring books and hand sanitizer.
“Doesn’t look like much,” Charlie said, pulling around the side.
“No,” Will said quietly. “It looks… great.”
Charlie glanced at him. “You’d be great here.”
Will didn’t say anything back, and Charlie didn’t push. He just kept driving.
That night, they made s’mores in the fire pit and passed a flask between them while the stars came out one by one. There were more than Will remembered ever seeing in the city. He tilted his head back and let the quiet fill his lungs.
When he left the next morning, Charlie gave him a loaf of pumpkin bread Jane had made ahead of time and said, “It was great seeing you man. We can talk about it more later, but if its something you think you’d be interested in, I’d be happy to have you up here with me.”
Will didn’t say yes.
But the whole drive home, Loon Cove stayed with him.
Not just the views or the space or the job.
The feeling.
The ache in his chest had softened a little.
And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t dread what came next.
He thought a lot when he got home to Chicago. He loved the city. Had spent most of his life there. But anymore, there wasn’t much tying him down in one place. His dad was gone, Georgiana was in Michigan, and most of his other friends were scattered around the country. Without Georgiana in his condo, the place was too quiet again.
And then one rainy Thursday, walking home from the grocery store, he passed a pop-up adoption event tucked under a tent near a busy intersection. It was mostly people huddled in coats, cooing at golden retriever mixes and high-energy terriers with wagging tails.
Will wasn’t planning to stop.
But then he saw him.
A slightly scruffy, big-pawed Bernese mountain dog curled at the edge of the tent, chewing on a rope toy like he had nowhere else to be in the world.
Will slowed. Stared.
The dog didn’t even look up, just kept gnawing at the toy, a little too calm for the chaos around him.
The volunteer standing nearby noticed and smiled. “That’s Otis,” she said. “He’s almost a year old. He came from a hoarding situation with a bunch of other dogs. He’s a total sweetheart, just… a little shy. Not always quick to warm up.”
Will didn’t respond. He stepped closer.
And then, as if he’d heard his name in a dream, Otis stopped chewing, lifted his head, and looked straight at him.
A long moment passed between them.
Then Otis got up, rope toy still in his mouth, and walked directly over to Will. Without hesitation, he plopped down right on top of Will’s feet and let out a small, grumbly huff, like he’d finally found the right spot.
The volunteer blinked. “Huh. He’s never done that before. Usually we have to coax him to say hi. He must like you.”
Will knelt, running his fingers gently through the soft fur behind Otis’s ears.
There wasn’t a single rational reason to adopt a dog that day.
But Will hadn’t done anything irrational in a long time.
He filled out the paperwork.
Stopped by the pet store for food and supplies.
Went back to the tent.
And just like that, he wasn’t alone anymore.
In the weeks that followed, Otis became something more than a pet.
He was a quiet shadow and another heartbeat in the otherwise silent apartment.
He followed Will from room to room, sat beside him waiting for an extra dumpling while Will ate takeout at his kitchen island, and occasionally climbed onto the couch with the full-bodied confidence of a dog who didn’t believe in personal space. He had a deep, low bark that he used sparingly and a fondness for burrowing his head against Will’s thigh whenever it stormed.
He was loyal, goofy, endlessly patient, and entirely his own being. He loved the park, and Will could sense the longing in him to break free and catch a bird in his mouth mid-flight.
And Will, who could finally admit that he’d spent most of his adult life struggling to let anyone close, let this dog in without hesitation.
He still hadn’t made a decision about Loon Cove.
But every time Otis nudged his hand for one more minute of affection or watched the falling leaves from the window with a tangible desire to run around in them, it got a little easier to imagine a different kind of life.
Not the one he’d planned.
But maybe something good anyway.
In the middle of a frigid Chicago winter, after weeks of weighing the pros and cons, several long conversations with Georgiana, Will finally called Charlie.
The call connected on the third ring.
“Hey,” Charlie said, already sounding hopeful.
“I’m ready,” Will said, without preamble. “I think I’m actually ready to talk about the move.”
There was a pause, just long enough for Will to wonder if he’d imagined the relief in Charlie’s voice.
“That’s great, man. Really. I think you’re going to love it here.”
What followed were several conversations, some more practical than others, filled with back-and-forth about timelines, housing, licenses, contracts, and the daily realities of running a small-town practice. They were honest with each other. Will had spent his career in high-stakes hospital settings, and this would be a shift.
They agreed that Will would come on as staff to start, with the goal of easing into things. He’d take over as the lead physician for all new pediatric patients, and Charlie would start shifting a portion of his own caseload to him as well. If the transition went smoothly and they still worked well together after a year, they’d revisit the conversation about partnership.
It was a measured plan and Will liked that. It gave him structure, but also room to breathe.
The first step was selling the condo. He called the realtor who had helped him list his father’s house the year before, and she jumped in immediately. “Northern Michigan’s a hot market right now,” she said, connecting him with a colleague who specialized in luxury lakefront properties upstate. “You’d be surprised how many Chicagoans want out.”
Will wasn’t surprised. He felt it in his bones.
Finding a house turned out to be harder than he’d expected. The listings were all over the place. Will wanted something that didn’t need a full renovation, with enough space for Otis and a little privacy, but not so remote that he’d feel like a recluse. He spent weeks scrolling listings during sleepless nights, Otis stretched out at his side, sighing deeply every time Will shifted.
Then, one afternoon, Charlie texted him a Zillow link.
Check your email. I think I found something that can work.
Will couldn’t get away to see it in person, but Charlie offered to walk through on FaceTime.
“I’ll give it to you straight,” he said, panning the camera slowly from room to room. “It’s got that ‘retired tech bro with good taste’ energy. But it’s gorgeous. Move-in ready. And the property’s unbelievable. There’s tons of space for Otis to run, private shoreline, a big back deck. Honestly, if you don’t buy it, I might.”
Will chuckled. “You already have a lake house.”
“Yeah,” Charlie said, aiming the camera at the view through the living room windows, “but it doesn’t look like this.”
There was a moment where Will just stared through the screen, taking in the glint of water through the pines and newly budding trees, the reflection of the sky on the lake, the sheer openness of it. The view was really what sold him.
He made an offer the next morning. It was accepted that afternoon.
Within two weeks, he was knee-deep in packing boxes and figuring out how many sweaters he actually needed to keep.
Otis didn’t understand what was happening, but he liked the packing paper and enthusiastically claimed every empty box as his personal fort. As the house was fully furnished, he didn’t bother arranging to bring any of his old furniture with him. It was mostly just functional, if a little bland, Ikea specials that he’d picked up over the years to avoid having an empty space. Most of what he brought were his clothes, office supplies, and other sentimental objects.
When the day finally came and Will loaded the last of his things into the car, he stared at the building from the driver’s seat, taking one last look at the place that had been his home for years.
He glanced back at Otis, who was already settled in the back seat with a chew toy.
“Alright,” Will said softly. “Let’s go see what’s next.”
And now here he was. A pediatric intensivist in a town of four or five stoplights. The man who once presented at national conferences now taking vitals in exam rooms with duck decals on the walls.
He took a long sip of coffee.
Otis whined softly and nudged his knee. Will reached down, absently stroking the dog’s head. “It’s just you and me, buddy.”
Later today he had appointments scheduled at the clinic. Nothing serious, mostly just check-ups and well visits. He hadn’t yet met most of the patient families. It was Charlie’s office, his reputation. Will was the newcomer, the outsider. Just another name under Charlie’s on the sign out front.
Dr. William Darcy, M.D.
And somehow, it still didn’t quite feel real.
He was off to a decent enough start, he supposed.
There were no major disasters yet, and the staff was welcoming and kind. The two receptionists, Linda and Kathy, were on the ball, and Margaret Gardiner, the nurse practitioner, was a fantastic resource so far. His paperwork was immaculate, and he was already appreciative of the slower pace to ease him back into work. For all his professionalism though, Will had never felt more aware of the fact that he didn’t belong. Not yet.
In Loon Cove, everyone already seemed to know each other. Not even in the surface-level way people exchanged hellos in passing, but in the intimate shorthand of a place where generations stuck around. Where your grocery bagger had gone to school with your sister, and your mechanic used to coach your kid’s soccer team. They knew immediately who was a tourist or there seasonally, and who was a year-rounder.
Will wasn’t unfriendly, he was just… new, and he had a feeling it was going to take more than politeness to blend in. He was beginning to suspect that what passed for “big city nice”, a clipped smile, a nod, a few well-placed thank-yous, didn’t quite translate here.
The cashier at the grocery store had already given him a look when he didn’t comment on the unusually warm weather or mention how his weekend had been. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate friendliness. He just didn’t quite know how to return it in the way that felt natural here.
Charlie had been busy all week too, helping Jane’s sister move into her new house.
“It’s moving season, man,” he’d said with a laugh during lunch. “Between you and Lizzie, I should start charging day rates for manual labor.”
Will didn’t blame him, but the truth was, without Charlie to anchor him, the adjustment had felt harder and more isolating than he’d imagined. He didn’t know anyone well enough to text or grab a drink with after work. So he spent most of the week wandering through a house that still didn’t feel like his, surrounded by untouched rooms and furniture that had been picked by a stager, not by him.
He would stop sometimes in the hallway and just stand there, not sure what to do next.
The question echoed louder each time.
What the hell am I doing here?
He drained the last of his coffee and rinsed the mug, shaking off the spiral that threatened to pull him under. The mornings were at least starting to feel like a routine.
After changing into athletic shorts and a worn Northwestern t-shirt, he grabbed Otis’s harness and leash. The dog perked up immediately, tail thumping against the floor like a drum. Will smiled faintly, clipping the leash into place and grabbing his keys.
They had just under two hours before he needed to be at the clinic, and exploring the winding trails near his house had become his favorite part of the day. The woods were still damp after some rain they’d had the night before, and Will breathed easier once they hit the trail.
He was trying to stay optimistic. Georgiana had promised she’d visit during summer break. She was excited to spend some time on the lake, and he was grateful for her energy, even from afar.
But there was no denying the creeping fear that he was going to become that guy. The grouchy new doctor who never went out, didn’t join community events, and only spoke to his dog. A recluse in a lakeside house with a perfect kitchen and no one to cook for.
He stopped on the trail, and Otis gave an impatient huff, tugging gently at the leash, clearly unimpressed with Will’s moment of existential crisis.
“Okay, okay,” Will muttered, chuckling as he let Otis lead the way again. “I get it. No moping on your watch.”
He looked around, taking in the gentle bends of the path, and the low morning light through the canopy above. He just needed to meet more people. Connect with the town. Summer was almost here and there would be events, farmers markets, maybe even block parties. He could make this work.
Hopefully.
When they finished their loop, Otis trotted back to the car like he owned it. Back home, Will scooped kibble into the bowl and filled the other with cool water. Otis dove in like he hadn’t eaten in days.
Will took a quick shower, the hot water doing wonders to shake off the last of his nerves. He dressed in navy slacks and a pale blue button-down. He grabbed a protein bar and his keys, along with an umbrella as it started to rain again, before stopping to say goodbye to Otis.
“Be good,” he told Otis, scratching behind his ears before heading out the door.
The dog blinked up at him, tail wagging once, and dropped back into his bed with a soft whuff.
The day went by fairly quickly, and even if Will still felt he needed to get used to the more personal aspects of the job, he at least knew his way around the office a bit better. His day had consisted of a couple new patient exams, check ups, and a few ear infections. Nothing too difficult, and it felt good to have a little bit more time to spend with each patient.
A little after three thirty Charlie poked is head into Will’s office.
“Hey Will, I’m sorry to ask last minute, but Jane’s sister Lizzie just called me, wanting to bring in her son to be seen. I’d normally take him myself, but I’m slammed for the rest of the afternoon. I know you were going to use some time to enter notes, but could you squeeze him in?”
Will did mind a little, he had been hoping to avoid taking any notes home with him tonight, but he wasn’t about to say no to what was essentially Charlie’s nephew.
“Sure, I can take him.” Will replied.
“Great! His name is Henry Wickham,” Charlie said, pulling up his file on the laptop, “he’s a pretty healthy kid. Nothing too serious in his medical history, but he did have to have tubes put in his ears when he was two. Lizzie said that he has a sore throat and seems pretty fatigued, so she just wanted to bring him in to be safe.”
“Ok, sounds good.” Charlie walked out to see his next patient, while Will perused the chart. After a bit, Linda let him know that Henry and his mom were in exam room two waiting for him, so he grabbed his stethoscope and made his way over.
He knocked softly before opening the door.
Inside, a little boy was perched on the exam table, cheeks flushed and eyes sleepy, leaning heavily against the woman beside him. She looked up at Will and offered a polite, open smile.
Will faltered a step.
She was striking. Dark brown hair loosely clipped back with wavy pieces falling around her face, and a soft looking cardigan over a light blouse and tan-colored trousers, like she’d come straight from work. Her eyes were a vivid green, and for a moment, Will’s mind simply went blank.
“Hi, you must be Dr. Darcy,” she said in a clear, friendly voice. “Charlie’s mentioned you a few times. He said you’re new in town.”
Will just… looked at her. His thoughts scrambled.
Not appropriate, Will.
He blinked, quickly pulling himself together and stepping forward.
“Um, yes. I’m new. Well—I mean, not new to medicine, just new here.” He cleared his throat awkwardly.
“You’re Mrs. Wickham?” he asked.
Her expression cooled a touch. Her shoulders straightened.
“Nope. Just Ms. Bennet,” she replied, her tone clipped.
“My apologies,” he said.
“It’s fine.” She muttered
Will turned his attention to the child, who was watching the exchange with a drowsy sort of curiosity. He was curled toward Lizzie’s side, one small hand wrapped loosely in the fabric of her sleeve.
“You must be Henry,” Will said gently.
Henry nodded shyly. “Yeah.”
“I heard you’re not feeling too good.”
“My throat’s all scratchy,” he murmured, “and it hurts when I move around.”
“Well that’s no fun,” Will said with a sympathetic smile.
“No,” Henry agreed, shaking his head.
Will stepped closer, and Lizzie instinctively smoothed the back of Henry’s hair before guiding him to sit up straighter. Will sanitized his hands, before slipping on a pair of gloves. As he reached for the otoscope, Lizzie moved to Henry’s other side, gently brushing her thumb over the top of his hand.
“Can you tell me when the symptoms started?” Will asked, feeling Henry’s lymph nodes.
“His throat started hurting last night,” she said, her voice calm but attentive. “And he said it still hurt a little bit this morning before school.”
Will peered into Henry’s ears, then leaned back, brow furrowed. “He probably shouldn’t have been at school today.”
Lizzie’s posture stiffened.
“I wouldn’t have sent him if he was this bad this morning,” she said quickly, her voice a little sharper than before.
Will glanced up, surprised by the sudden shift in her tone. Her eyes were locked on his, direct and defensive.
She’s protective, he noted.
“I didn’t mean—” he started, but let the sentence trail off.
He picked up the tongue depressor and small penlight, keeping his tone neutral. “Let’s take a look at that throat.”
Henry opened his mouth obligingly, and Will leaned in. The back of the child’s throat was a vivid red, with a white spot beginning to form on one of the tonsils.
“Based on what I’m seeing, he could have strep throat. I’ll run a quick test and be back shortly.”
He gave Henry an encouraging look and reached for a sterile swab. “Hang in there, buddy. I’m just going to take this swab and run it along the back of your throat. It might be a little tickly.”
Henry scrunched his nose. Lizzie leaned down and gave his hand a small squeeze.
“Stay still for Dr. Darcy, sweetie,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead.
As Will gently swabbed the boy’s throat, Lizzie kept her eyes on Henry, but her other hand fidgeted at the hem of her shirt, twisting the fabric. Her jaw was tight, and though she didn’t say anything more, her earlier tone hung in the air between them like static.
Will gave a quick nod and stepped away, placing the swab in the labeled vial.
“I’ll be back with the results in just a few minutes,” he said, glancing briefly at Lizzie.
She gave him a polite nod, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes this time.
Will left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him and exhaled. That had not gone the way he’d expected.
After a little while, with the test results in hand, Will pushed the door open gently and gave them both a small nod as he stepped back into the room.
“The rapid test came back positive for strep,” he said, his voice even. “So that explains the sore throat and the fatigue. I’ll send a prescription for antibiotics to your pharmacy, just some amoxicillin, unless there’s an allergy?”
“No allergies,” Lizzie replied, her hand resting protectively on Henry’s back as he leaned into her, clearly worn out. She looked up at Will, her expression carefully neutral, though her fingers were absently twisting a small section of her blouse near her hip.
“Good,” Will said with a short nod. “He should start to feel better after the first day or so on meds. Try to keep him hydrated, soft foods if he doesn’t feel like eating, and of course he should stay home from school until he’s been on the antibiotics for at least 24 hours and is fever-free.”
Lizzie nodded, shifting slightly. “Of course. I’ll keep him home tomorrow.”
Will hesitated, then added, “Maybe notify his teacher. Strep is quite contagious. Especially when little kids are all together. A preschool is basically one big petri dish.”
There it was again, that moment. Lizzie’s posture stiffened. She gave a tight smile, but her eyes cooled even more, her gaze flicking away from his face before settling back on Henry.
“I’m not in the habit of sending him to school when he’s unwell,” she said lightly, but there was a subtle edge to her voice. Her hand slid down to gently stroke Henry’s hair. “If I’d known it was strep, we’d have been here this morning.”
Will’s mouth opened slightly, then closed. He glanced down at the chart, adjusting his stance, an old habit when things felt off. He hadn’t meant to criticize. It was a clinical observation, not a judgment, but clearly it had landed wrong.
He looked back up at her, his tone more careful now. “Of course. It’s easy to miss early symptoms with strep. They can come on pretty fast.”
Lizzie gave a slight nod but didn’t say anything, her focus staying on Henry, who had now curled into her side with a small sigh. She adjusted his little hoodie, fussing with the zipper.
Will felt the weight of the moment stretching between them. He cleared his throat.
“If he’s not improving in a couple of days, give us a call, but he should bounce back pretty quickly. Kids are resilient like that. Just make you follow through with the entire course of antibiotics, even if he’s feeling better.”
“Obviously,” Lizzie said, then softened a little as she looked at Henry. “Thank you.”
Will started to say something more, something polite, maybe even kind, but then Henry looked up at him and said, “Do I still get a sticker?”
The tension in the room cracked, just slightly. Will allowed the barest flicker of a smile.
“Absolutely,” he said, walking over to the cupboard and retrieving a small basket. “You’ve earned it.”
Henry sat up a bit straighter, peering in. “Do you have dinosaurs?”
“Of course I have dinosaurs,” Will said, crouching beside him so he could see. “What kind of doctor do you think I am?”
Henry giggled, selecting a green T-rex sticker with big googly eyes. Will handed it to him solemnly, then stood and glanced once more at Lizzie.
“If you need anything else, just give us a call. Charlie or I can follow up later this week.”
“I will. Thank you, Dr. Darcy.”
He nodded, gave Henry a final wave, and slipped out of the room. As the door clicked shut behind him, he exhaled, trying not to dwell on the odd heaviness that still hummed in his chest, or the way Jane’s sister had looked at him, all polite frost and hidden steel.
He didn’t know how that could have gone better, but he had the distinct feeling definitely hadn’t made the best first impression.