The nurses call me Dr. Heartbreaker. They say I put the hot in hot-shot cardiologist. Not that it matters. I never stick my tongue depressor in my co-workers. What can I say? I play by a set of personal rules. Even if those rules eliminate 99.9 percent of the woman I come in contact with from my dating pool. Even if those rules land me on a blind date with Emily, my childhood sweetheart, a woman I hadn't seen since I broke her heart freshmen year of college. Let's just say the evening was a disaster. She took one look at me, and it was...date over. Do not pass go. Do not collect your $200.
The thing is, I can't stop thinking about her. She was my first kiss, and every other first that two people can share. She's the only woman I've ever loved. How can I make her understand what really happened between us when she wants nothing to do with me? How can I let her walk away again, when it could mean another 10 years wondering...what if?
The answer's simple. I can't.
Unfortunately, the solution to my dilemma is a five-year-old Colombian girl with a deadly heart condition. The same little girl Emily's non-profit organization brought to the United States to receive life-saving surgery. When the chief of staff informs me I need to improve my public image because my bedside manner sucks - not that bedside manner. I'm just fine between the sheets, thank you very much - I agree to perform the girl's operation....
Because spending more time with Emily is worth the risk. Even if it means I have to break every rule in my playbook. Even if it means destroying myself in the process.
I may be a sap, but I'll do anything for a second chance with the woman who's owned my heart since the fourth grade.