He Chose Wrong I Chose Better (Irene and Ewing) novel Chapter 17

I got home without having eaten and sat on my bed, staring at the tulips out on the balcony.

It hit me all of a sudden: Ewing and Melvin saw flowers in completely different ways.

Ewing would just pick up a ready-made bouquet from a florist, while Melvin would spend ages at the market, carefully choosing each stem.

One would throw them out the moment they wilted, the other would nurture them as tenderly as if they were his own children.

That's when I understood—liking and loving aren't the same. If you like a flower, you pick it. If you love a flower, you water it.

In that moment, I was certain: Melvin was in love with me.

But my pride wouldn't let me admit it.

I had no idea how I'd confess my feelings to Melvin the next day.

At a loss, I did the only thing I could think of: I called my mom.

She picked up and, without missing a beat, said, "If he won't see you, you think he'd refuse to see a patient?"

"Honestly, have some backbone! Chasing a man isn't hard for a woman—it's like reaching through a sheer curtain!"

She was right. Brilliant!

I hurried to find my medical file.

Flipping through it absentmindedly, I stumbled onto a secret.

After all the time Melvin had spent taking care of me, I'd finally learned how to read his infamously cryptic handwriting.

On my chart, during the three days he'd stayed by my hospital bed, he'd written three little notes.

The first day: The first time I saw you, you were fireworks and I was the ashes in the hearth—my heart would need a lifetime to be swept clean, my soul an eternity to clear the embers.

The second day: Not "a third water, seven-tenths dust," but rather "only a third of the world has moonlight."

The third day: On the day I wanted to confess, you gave your heart to someone else first. I'm not sad; I only want to watch over your happiness in silence.

I froze, and then a wave of sweetness crashed over me. Melvin's devotion was quiet, steady, nourishing—never over the top, always perfectly reasonable, his feelings woven into every gentle gesture.

So I understood why I absolutely had to see him tomorrow. It was longing, concern, a pull I couldn't resist—my body moving toward him before my mind could even catch up.

I got all dressed up, slipping on a low-cut sundress. I even made sure to schedule an extra appointment just to see him.

When my turn came, Melvin didn't even look up.

I stayed silent.

He finally couldn't resist and glanced up—only to notice how revealing my dress was.

He immediately bristled. "Why are you dressed like that?"

"Like what?" I shot back, glaring. "I just wanted to see if I've still got it."

He grabbed a blanket, trying to cover me up.

I pushed it away and held up my medical chart. "What do these mean?"

He feigned ignorance. "Just… medications."

I snorted. "Really? Then why don't you come with me to the pharmacy right now?"

Melvin looked cornered. "How about we talk when I'm off work?"

I wasn't about to let him weasel out. "Off work? Didn't you say you weren't going home today? If you so much as step outside this room, we're done."

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