You were getting ready for your long-awaited coffee date. If you could even call it a date, of course.
You were used to overthinking things—especially on occasions like this. You were supposed to meet Dr. Jack Abbott at a small café at 4:00 p.m. You had already changed outfits three times, checked your makeup at least four times, and tried to convince yourself that this was just a polite way of saying thank you to the stranger who had potentially saved you from heatstroke—and had absolutely nothing even slightly romantic about it.
You were sure that, if he hadn’t been there, you would probably be telling a very different story. A much more traumatic one.
You were applying the final touches of lip gloss when you decided it was time to get going. You didn’t own a car, so your best option was to take the bus.
You were wearing a pair of jeans and a tank top. Nothing too revealing, but not so covered that you felt like a nun. It was casual, simple. You felt cute in it—and more importantly, comfortable. You had enough makeup on to look nice and feel pretty, but not so much that it felt like you were going on a date.
Or maybe you were just overthinking again.
Whatever.
You arrived at the café. It was a warm-looking place that didn’t feel like those typical Instagram cafés you see all over social media.
To your surprise, he was already there. Most of the time, it was you who arrived early and had to wait forever for others—but not this time.
You thought it made sense. He seemed like the kind of man who was always on time. A gentleman.
And that thought alone gave you butterflies in your stomach.
As soon as you walked in, you saw him. He was sitting at a table for two next to a window. When he noticed you, he gave you that signature smirk you had already seen before—the same one he gave you when you woke up in the hospital.
“Hi,” you said with a smile as you sat down in front of him.
“Hey,” he replied.
“I wasn’t sure you’d actually want to come,” you said with a nervous chuckle. He made you nervous. It was actually very hard to act cool around him, which was… not ideal, considering you shouldn’t feel any kind of attraction toward him. You barely knew him, for God’s sake. You needed to stop romanticizing strangers.
“I was so straightforward. I’m not usually like that.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” he said. “I actually thought it was kind of cute—the way you wanted to thank me. Most people your age wouldn’t have even thought about it.”
Okay. A lot of things were happening in that sentence.
Did he just call you cute?
And people your age?
Should you feel weird about the age gap?
Could he tell you were panicking right now?
You really hoped not.
“Well, I thought it was the least I could do. You didn’t even know me, and you helped me anyway,” you told him, a faint blush rising to your cheeks.
A waitress came by and asked if you were ready to order. You both asked for black coffee. You ordered a cookie, and he ordered a grilled cheese sandwich. Simple, you thought. She wrote everything down and left you alone again. It felt like a small relief—the interruption helped you keep your cool.
“Do you study or work? You already know what I do for a living,” he asked, trying to break the ice. It sounded friendly.
“Kind of both. I’m also a doctor… almost.”
“Isn’t that a surprise. So you’re telling me you’re a med student and you didn’t take proper care to prevent heatstroke?”
You chuckled. That made sense—but it’s common knowledge that doctors make the worst patients.
“I thought I was just tired. And I’m not a med student anymore—I’m an R3.”
“An R3? That’s even more concerning. What hospital?”
“That’s the thing… I’ve just moved to Pittsburgh. I was hoping they’d take me at any local hospital at this point. I’ve worked really hard to get here—I don’t want to mess it up. I guess it’s my fault for choosing emergency medicine.”
He smirked at you then, just as the waitress set your coffees down on the table. Another small interruption you silently thanked.
“That’s convenient,” he said after a beat.
“How? As a doctor, you must know how difficult it is to find a vacancy.”
“Well… you’re talking to the night shift attending at PTMC.”
Your eyes widened. This was a very unexpected coincidence. God—what if he thought you were only interested because of the position? You didn’t even know he was a doctor at first. This couldn’t have been planned—you never planned on fainting in a grocery store. He would understand that… right?
“Oh… I—I didn’t know that. Really.”
“I know. But if you’re interested, I could try to get you in. It’s a teaching hospital anyway, and a couple of extra hands would be nice—especially those of a senior resident.”
You couldn’t have felt more nervous. This was a huge opportunity. And the fact that it was coming from the very attractive man who had saved you wasn’t helping. You didn’t want to take advantage of his kindness—but you couldn’t turn down an opportunity like that either.
“Oh my God, Jack… I don’t know what to say,” you finally managed, your face beet red, your voice unsteady.
“Just say yes. That’ll work,” he replied, that now-familiar smirk playing on his lips.
“If you could do that… really, I don’t know how to thank you.”
You both finished your coffee and kept talking for the rest of the afternoon. He mentioned he was a veteran—not in detail, just in passing. You told him you had moved because you were looking for opportunities, that you wanted to leave the nest. You loved your family, but sometimes it could be exhausting too. Long shifts and arguments at home… not a great combination. You didn’t go into that part, though.
The rest was easy. Light conversation. Silly topics. It felt natural.
You had promised yourself you wouldn’t develop any stupid crush on someone you barely knew—but it was getting harder with every laugh he pulled from you.
Time passed, and eventually, it was time to go home.
You called the waitress and told her you wanted to pay.
“Really, it’s on me. You’ve already done a lot for me.”
“Oh, come on, it’s just coffee. I’ll pay for it.”
After a brief, playful argument… of course, he paid.
“I guess it’s time to go home now,” you said as you stepped outside.
“Need a ride? My car’s just a block away.”
“Oh no, it’s okay. I’ll take the bus, just like I did to get here.”
“Nah, it’s late. I’ll take you. Let’s go.”
And suddenly, you were in the passenger seat, the door having been opened for you like something out of a movie. At this point, you were practically melting. If he looked straight into your eyes, he probably would’ve seen little hearts.
The drive to your apartment was quiet—but not uncomfortable.
You thanked him a hundred times before saying goodbye.
“Actually, I should thank you too,” he said. “It’s been a while since I’ve had much of a social life. It was nice talking to you.”
You blushed—again—said goodbye one last time, and headed inside.
A lot had happened today.
And you were sure a lot more was coming.
Author's note: Omg thank you for the support on Heatsroke pt 1! I hope you enjoy this one.
You were tired. Your legs were sore and your head was dizzy, but you thought it was nothing. It was a hot summer day, so you assumed it was just a bit of heat exhaustion.
You decided to continue with your day as if nothing was happening. Your head still hurt, but you had a lot of things to do anyway.
The hours passed and you started feeling even more tired, but you had chores to do. You went to the grocery store that was just a couple of blocks from your flat. It was small and not very clean, but it was the closest one to your house, and it was always well stocked.
You entered the obviously poorly ventilated grocery store and started going through your mental list of things you needed to buy for tonight’s dinner, and suddenly...
It didn’t feel like exhaustion anymore.
You saw white, and your heart started beating faster.
A strong hand grabbed your arm.
“You okay?” the voice asked.
“I—uhm—yes, I am,” you answered, embarrassed.
You couldn’t think straight. It was hot, your heart was hammering in your chest, the lights were too bright, the noise too loud—
But the person was still holding your arm. And thank God for that, because if they weren’t, you would have fallen face-first onto the floor.
“My name’s Jack. I’m a doctor. Let me help.”
Jack. Okay. If you were lucid, you wouldn’t have trusted a stranger, but you let him guide you to a nearby chair.
“What’s your name?”
“Uh, y/n…”
You told him. Your breathing was ragged, but you managed to answer.
“Okay, y/n. I think you have heatstroke. We need to take you to the hospital.”
You started feeling nauseous and only nodded. The symptoms were getting worse, and you began to feel anxious and confused.
“I’m calling an ambulance. Hold on, okay? Someone will get you some water… hey, hey, stay with me.”
The next thing you heard was a siren.
You woke up in an ambulance, Jack next to you. You hadn’t really been able to pay attention to him before—you were too panicked.
He looked strong. Definitely older than you, probably over forty. He had dark gray hair and a firm grip. He wasn’t dressed as a doctor, but he moved and spoke like he knew what he was doing, so you assumed he hadn’t lied.
“Temperature’s high. Possible heatstroke,” he told a paramedic.
You lost consciousness again. Your words dissolved before you could form them. The noise around you faded into a low hum, and then—nothing.
The next thing you knew, you were lying down. This place was brighter. A ceiling. White tiles. The faint, rhythmic beeping of a monitor nearby.
“Hey there. You almost had heatstroke out there. Your blood pressure was low—you fainted.”
It was Jack again. You felt safer now. The headache was gone, and your mind was clear. You felt embarrassed about collapsing like that in a local store… but somehow, you were also thankful he was there.
“Uhm… I really don’t know how to thank you… doctor?”
“Yes,” he said, amused. “I’m a doctor. I was off duty.”
“Oh—sorry for that.”
“You don’t have to apologize for fainting. It was the right thing to do—even if I wasn’t a doctor.”
A nurse walked through the curtain. You were in an ER room.
“Well, hello there, Dr. Abbott. Early for your shift?”
“Just doing my duty as a citizen.”
“Don’t worry, honey, you’re stable. You’ll have to stay here under observation, but you’ll probably be discharged today,” the nurse told you.
“And I know you brought her in, but you’re not her assigned doctor. Dr. Santos will be here in a minute,” she added.
“I know. I just wanted to make sure she knew what happened,” he told the nurse before she walked away.
“And… if you need anything, here’s my number. I know I’m a stranger, but feel free to call.”
He handed you a piece of paper with his number written on it, and you suddenly became aware of how handsome he was—and how vulnerable you must have looked.
“Thank you, Jack—Dr. Abbott.”
“It’s okay,” he chuckled. “You can call me Jack.”
Hours passed, and your doctor—your actual doctor—finally discharged you. The young woman told you to stay hydrated, rest, and avoid the heat for a few days. And if you felt those symptoms again, to come back to the ER.
Jack was long gone by then. He had left to let you recover and continue with his day.
You held the discharge papers loosely in your hands, barely reading them.
Rest. Hydrate. Avoid heat.
Simple instructions.
You stepped into your apartment. It was already dark outside.
You took a shower, ate some leftovers from the fridge, and went to sleep.
You slept like a baby that night. You were exhausted.
And when you woke up, there was something on your mind.
Something you shouldn’t care about… but you did.
Him.
Jack.
He was a total stranger, but you had felt safe with him.
Not everyone would have helped a stranger the way he did.
It was silly, but you wanted to thank him somehow.
And then you remembered.
He gave you his number.
Maybe it was just a coincidence, or maybe it meant something. Either way, you took it as a sign. You did something you never thought you’d be able to do.
You texted him.
A short message:
“Hey, I’m y/n. The girl who fainted at the grocery store.”
It was stupid. Too stupid. But you had already sent it.
You were overthinking every letter.
Why did you care so much? He was a stranger, come on.
“I just wanted to thank you for what you did. Maybe we could have coffee someday?”
Oh my God. You felt so bold.
“My treat, of course.”
Now that was embarrassing.
You cringed, but you didn’t delete the messages. It was too late for that.
Hours passed, and he hadn’t answered. You thought he probably found you annoying or something.
But a couple of hours later, he replied:
“Hi, y/n. How could I forget you?”
“I’d enjoy having coffee, but I can’t promise it’ll be on your treat.”
Minutes passed. You read it, your heart pounding in your chest just like it had in the store—but now for a very different reason.
He was typing. You felt nervous.
“Friday is my day off. Are you free?”
“Of course,” you answered… too quickly.
“Great.”
Now you couldn’t wait to meet that handsome stranger next Friday.
Fainting at a local store wasn’t so bad after all.
_______________________________________
Author's note: woowww i didn't expect it to go this way. Its my first time writing, sorry for any mistake!
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