A/N: Lots going on in this chapter—so much that I had to split it into two parts! Here's Part I...Part II will be up sometime in the next week. Thanks for your patience, and for continuing to review!

Chapter Seven: Melting Away

Part I

Zoe wakes the next morning feeling lighter than she has in weeks. Nothing has changed as far as work is concerned, but coming clean to Wade about her fears and her worries, sharing the burden with him, has helped. She's been so used to handling everything herself, never having been very close with Candice and feeling like a constant disappointment to Ethan. She and Nate, her old boyfriend, commiserated with each other, but real support was always missing between them—when everything feels like a competition, no one wants to make themselves vulnerable.

With Wade, of course, it's different; he's not trying to one-up her, and he doesn't have any expectations of her. He wants her to come to him when she's upset or sad or scared. She remembers how it felt when he finally told her about Earl's drinking and his attempts to get sober, and she knows that same honesty is all he's asking from her.

I'll try, she thinks. I really, really will.

Wade stirs behind her, planting a line of kisses along her shoulder. She hums with pleasure and turns over to face him, running her fingers over his collarbone. "I've been thinking."

"Yeah?" he grins. "Anythin' like the thinkin' you was doin' last night? 'Cause that was epic."

"It's just sex, sex, sex with you, isn't it?" she complains, lips twitching.

"By my count, it was just sex, singular. Sounds like I owe you two more." He hooks her leg across his hip and starts to kiss her, but she stops his mouth with her hand.

"Will you listen? You said last night that you want me to let you in."

"Exactly," he leers. She pushes against his chest and he relents. "OK, Doc, I'll bite—or rather, I won't. Yet. What's your idea?"

"Well…there's this fundraiser for the hospital a week from Saturday. I wasn't planning to go, but maybe you could come with me? You could meet Alvin, and see Priya—Carmen will be there too—ooh! I should tell her to ask Javy…"

"Next Saturday? Isn't that—"

"Valentine's Day? I know. So if you had already planned something—"

"If I had? Oh, now I'm insulted," he says with mock indignation, finding that tender spot in the crease of her neck. "The carriage is booked, the reservations made, I've got a line on a guy who can get me seventeen dozen roses—"

"Really?" she asks, distracted.

He props himself up on one elbow, eyes twinkling. "Doc, who d'you think you're talkin' to?"

"You're impossible." She arches up, just a little, as his fingers find the hem of her camisole. "So we don't have plans?"

"Sure we do. We're goin' to your hospital party."

Her grin gets smothered as he slips her cami over her head, and the delicious feeling of his warm bare chest against hers is nearly the end of the conversation. She winds her arms around his neck. "Only thing is, it's black tie."

"I have a black tie."

"No, you need a—" she breaks off, realizing he's teasing her.

"This is just part of your master plan so you can see me in a monkey suit, ain't it?" he says, nibbling at her earlobe.

"You got me," she sighs.

"And don't you forget it."

Later that week, Zoe's phone rings just as she's about to leave the apartment. She doesn't check the screen—it's most likely Wade, who left early to work out with Trey, calling to tell her to have a good day. They've taken to these little rituals as one way to feel more connected, and it never fails to bring a smile to her face.

"Zoe Hart," she answers teasingly. The line crackles with static, and then a man's voice, sounding like it's at the other end of a tunnel: "Zoe?"

Not Wade, she realizes with a start. "Dad?"

She hasn't talked to Ethan since Christmas, when she called him to tell him about the fellowship. He's been in Germany for most of the last year, and with the time change and his schedule, she supposes he hasn't been able to call much. At least that's what she's told herself, every time she's left a message for him in the last weeks.

"How are you?" she asks him.

"Oh, same ol' stuff. Doing a lot of mitral valve repair and carotid endarterectomies. But listen, I'll tell you all about it when I get there."

"You're coming to New York?"

"Yeah—" he cuts out for a second—"come and see the fine work my—you're doing."

She shouldn't still need this man's validation, but the habits of a lifetime are hard to kick, and Zoe feels warmed by his assumption that she's doing a good job even if she has doubts about her performance. "When do you get here?"

"End of next week."

"Really? The hospital is having its annual fundraiser that weekend. Can I get you a ticket?"

"Already done, sweetie. Jenkins and Zendek have me at their table. Hope you won't mind coming in on the arm of your old man."

"Oh…actually, I'm bringing Wade. So I guess I'll have two dates."

"Right…the boyfriend. I forgot—" There's a pause, and Zoe thinks the call might have been dropped, but then Ethan says a little stiffly, "I look forward to meeting him."

"I'm sure he'll feel the same," she responds wryly.

They talk for another minute or so, and then Ethan hangs up. Zoe stares at the blank screen for far too long afterward, coming to her senses to realize she's going to have to run for her train. She makes it—barely—and is lucky enough to grab a seat, where she mulls over her instinctive reaction to hearing Ethan's voice: she is at attention, ready to be quizzed, wanting to put her best foot forward. She wonders sometimes, on really tough days, whether she's doing all this—exhausting herself, putting her relationship at risk—just to show him she can. To prove a point that she should be long past needing to prove. It will be good to see him next week, she thinks, because maybe she can put all this approval-craving to rest. Maybe she can move into the future on her own terms, making choices based on what's best for her, not what he thinks.

And maybe she can figure out what role, if any, she wants him to play in her life going forward.

That might be a lot to hang on one weekend.

She's in the lounge resting between procedures when she suddenly has an overwhelming longing for coffee with real cream and a buttermilk muffin. Pulling out her laptop, she begins to type.

Hey Addy!

Sorry it's taken me so long to get back to you. Work has been really crazy, and by the time I get home at night, all I want to do is sleep!

This is not strictly true. Or it is, but it's not the reason it's taken her over a week to respond to Addy's email. The truth is that while she was locked in her downward guilt/shame spiral, she couldn't imagine returning the kind of chipper, newsy missive that Addy had sent her. Zoe didn't think she could be honest and upbeat at the same time, so she put it off from day to day until Addy finally texted her:

Addy Pickett 3:12pm
Girl, haven't heard from u. Still alive up there?

The thing is, she knows Addy would be supportive if she told her what's been going on…but it's awfully hard to admit that the rosy future you imagined is more fraught than you expected.

But today, she's feeling optimistic, and the response flows out of her. She tells Addy about meeting Alvin's parents, who've come to visit their son and who, while beaming with pride, made it clear they're expecting him to win a Nobel, or at least an American Surgical Association Medallion. It's a lot of pressure for a 24-year-old.

Dr. Jenkins is still driving us hard, but I have to say I'm learning so much. Last week, I got to do a endobronchial stent. My dad (Ethan) helped pioneer the procedure, so it was exciting to get to do one myself.

Speaking of my dad, he called me today to tell me he's coming to our hospital gala. I haven't seen him since I've been here, so that will be good, I guess.

Remember that Luke Bryan song we always used to jam to at the practice? Wade was playing it on his guitar a couple of days ago and I totally thought of you. He's hardly had any time to play lately—he's been so busy between The Three Monkeys and working Gigi's parties that he hasn't been home much. Neither have I…which was starting to be a problem, but I think we're figuring it out. It's just so different here from Bluebell—our lives don't overlap the way they did there, so staying in sync takes a lot more effort. I know, I know…I can hear you in my head, saying, "He's worth it"—and you're right. :)

I was so glad to hear Tom and Wanda finally had their date! I know Frank kinda had a thing for her too, but Frank has a thing for every single woman in Bluebell! Tom and Wanda just seem to fit. I read in the Blawker (every morning, right after the front page of the Times) all about the whole Memory Matrons scandal. How could they not choose Lemon? I'm sure that Annabeth Nass is perfectly nice, but Lemon must've wanted that so badly…I never did like that Delia Ann. Always looked like she could use some prune juice, if you know what I mean.

Please tell Mrs. Mayfair congratulations on her big news…she must be so excited! I should be back in Bluebell by the time she

Zoe stops typing, considers for a moment, and deletes the last sentence. At this point, she has no idea where she'll be in six months, and she doesn't want to make empty promises.

How are the boys? I hope Mason's ankle is better and he's back on the soccer field. It must've been hard on you when he was laid up—there's nothing worse than a kid with a ton of energy not able to run around! Tell Ray I'm really proud he came in first in the spelling bee, too.

I'm glad you got some help around the office, even if it's just in the afternoons. Mrs. H's niece sounds fun—Bluebell must seem really quiet for her after living in Atlanta. I sure remember what that was like!

Ugh. Better go—staff meeting in ten minutes.

Love to all,
Zoe

P.S. You and Bill should take a break and come visit us—bring the boys for their spring vacation! Brick can hold down the fort for a few days, now that he has Rose to help…and I want to see my friend! :)

Gigi's agreed to help her find a dress for the gala, so Zoe spends one of her rare afternoons off poking into little boutiques down in the West Village. She's looking for something stunning without being too overtly sexy; she wants Wade's eyes to pop, but not anyone else's.

Surprisingly, she has success fairly quickly, at a tiny, eclectic little place stuffed to bursting with everything from earmuffs to evening wear. The dress is a long column of silk, softly draped around her waist, and wrapping up over one collarbone. It's elegant, but it leaves her shoulders bare, which she knows will drive Wade just the right amount of crazy, especially when he sees the peekaboo slit—right up to mid-thigh—that will only be visible when she walks. She gets a little flushed herself, thinking about what she might wear underneath it…or not.

The best part? The gown is almost the exact shade of Wade's eyes—a glassy green, like sunlight filtered through water. It's perfect.

She has it wrapped up, and is ready for a midafternoon treat at Empire Cake or even an early cocktail at the Up & Up, but Gigi has other ideas. "Girl, I have the new iPhone launch—and what, am I supposed to wear a dress from last year?" (The horrors!) "We are not done!"

They walk into the next shop, where Gigi pounces on a purple shift, a white minidress, a long red number with a corset for the bodice, and a complicated-looking arrangement in black and grey that features several straps and buckles, but not much else. Realizing they're going to be there for awhile, Zoe finds a chair close to the dressing rooms and sinks into it.

Gigi dumps her bag on Zoe's lap, handing over her cell. "I'm waiting for, like, five calls. Can you answer for me?" She turns to a hovering saleswoman who clearly scents a fat commission. "Be a darling and get me a cappuccino, pronto!"

"I didn't go to medical school to be your secretary, Gigi!" Zoe calls after her as she disappears into the dressing room.

It's not entirely unpleasant, sitting there with the winter sunlight filtering through the window and paging through a Harper's Bazaar while she sips on a latte the saleswoman has brought her. She hasn't done anything this frivolous in weeks, and she's just settling a little further down in her chair, tipping her head back and closing her eyes, when Gigi's phone blares out

Yellow diamonds in the light
And we're standing side by side

Zoe jumps, tipping her magazine and the phone off her lap, and when she picks the still-shrieking cell (As your shadow crosses mine) up off the floor, her heart stops.

The screen reads "Wade Kinsella," but that's not what causes her throat to go dry. It's the photo that comes up, attached to his name—of Gigi kissing him while he grins at the camera, her eyes blissfully closed, looking like she's about to stick her tongue in his ear.

What. The. Actual. Hell?

Zoe knows that Gigi and Wade have gotten pretty close; he works her parties a few nights a week, and she's come home once or twice to them concocting new drink recipes in the kitchen (at least, that's what she thought they were doing)…but this goes too far. She doesn't answer the call, staring at the photo while the song plays on (We found love in a hopeless place) until Gigi yells, "Are you gonna get that?"

At the sound of Gigi's voice, Zoe sees red. She marches to the dressing room and yanks aside the curtain. Gigi stands there in the white minidress, vamping at the mirror. "What d'you think?" she asks.

"I think I'd like you to explain this." Zoe shoves the phone in her face, just as Rihanna's voice fades and the screen registers

Wade Kinsella
Missed Call

Gigi rolls her eyes. "Duh! Your boyfriend does work for me—he's probably calling about—"

"I'm not talking about the call, Gigi," Zoe bites out. "I'd like to know why there's a picture of you kissing him."

Gigi tries to play it off with an air of unconcern, but there's something underneath that fills her stomach with dread. "It's nothing—" the blonde blusters. "We were screwing around—" Zoe's glare only gets more fierce—"I mean, it was just a stupid selfie we took at the Little Big Town party. I thought he sent it to you." Gigi shrugs and turns back to the mirror. "Now, unzip me so I can try on the purple one."

The saleswoman, no doubt alarmed at what the tone of this exchange might mean for her commission, steps between them. "Allow me," she says, and unzips the dress. Then she tries to drag the curtain closed again, but Zoe stops her, stepping inside the cubicle.

The room is tiny, and Zoe just stands there, a million thoughts racing through her head, primary among them the certainty—or the prayer—that Wade wouldn't…Then she remembers senior year of high school, and a boy named Andrew, quiet and bookish, who wore the most adorable (Zoe thought at the time) round glasses. Zoe pined after him in silence, brainstorming several different ways to get his attention, but Gigi walked right up and asked him to the Prom.

This is an entirely different situation, of course, but the ugly sense of betrayal she felt then is suddenly all too familiar.

Gigi steps out of the white dress and starts to pull on the purple shift. Her head gets stuck in the small neck opening. "Little help here?" she demands. The situation would probably be hilarious to an outside observer, but right now Zoe is not seeing the humor. She yanks the dress down, barely refraining from tearing the soft fabric, and Gigi's head and arms emerge.

A standoff ensues, Gigi folding her arms and Zoe staring her down. The nervous saleslady asks, her voice high-pitched from beyond the curtain, "Can I be of assistance?"

"No!" Zoe and Gigi reply simultaneously.

"Don't be stupid, Zoe. It's not like anything happened."

"You forget I've known you since you were twelve. I recognize the look on your face in that picture. I can't believe I didn't notice, all the times the three of us were together. You…want him."

Gigi tosses her head back. "The three of us haven't been together that much. You're always at the hospital—or doing your research—"

"Wait—so somehow it's my fault that you're going after my boyfriend?"

"Oh my God. Can you really not see it? See how he feels ignored and set aside and small, when you're having special pow-wows with Jonah Breeland and—"

"Jonah?" Zoe interrupts, confused. Wade's never even mentioned Jonah, not since that first night. The rest of what Gigi said, however, strikes right at Zoe's heart—and she knows every word is true, that Wade has felt that way.

"Yeah, Jonah. When Wade came all the way up to the hospital to bring you flowers, Jonah let him know he'd be waiting in the wings as soon as you two got tired of each other."

Zoe has no idea what Gigi's talking about now. Priya had made sure she got Wade's flowers, but that was all.

Jonah was her friend, a friend she badly needed in that stressful environment. He was always around to bring her a coffee, to sympathize about Jenkins, or to fill her in on the latest hospital gossip.

He was always around. And he'd told Wade—

"I have to go," she says suddenly, and Gigi nods, unsurprised. "This isn't over."

Gigi looks at her levelly. "No, it isn't."

Zoe tears out of the boutique so quickly she leaves the gorgeous green dress sitting on a chair, forgotten.

All the way home, all she can think about is what she's going to say to Wade. Things have been better between them since the night she broke down, but she realizes now just how much he held back. He let her sob all over him, and all he asked was that she talk to him.

It would serve her right if Gigi did make a play for him.

She blows into the apartment, her cheeks wind-chapped and her breath coming fast, and by a miracle, he's there, with her mom and Javy. Javy is just saying to Candice, "If we don't leave now, you might not make it in time for the red carpet!" and they hurry out the door.

Wade looks surprised to see her, even more so when she throws her arms around him, burying her face in his shirt.

"I'm sorry—" she starts, and then the words tumble out so fast they're barely coherent. "I'm sorry for ignoring you and making you feel like you're not important to me. I'm sorry I'm working so much. I'm sorry I let Gigi take my place, and I don't want to be with Jonah—"

Wade takes her arms, peeling her off of his chest. "Slow down there, girl. You're babblin' faster than Hooper's brook just after the spring rains. What's goin' on?"

She draws in a shuddery breath. "I got into a fight with Gigi."

"OK," he says, waiting.

"There's a picture of her kissing you on her phone."

Wade looks alarmed. "What?!"

"From the Little Big Town party?"

He frowns, thinking, and then blows out a breath. "That wasn't nothin', Zoe. She was just foolin' around."

"So she told me."

He looks at her for a long moment, his hands falling away from her. "You don't trust me," he says flatly, and walks to the windows, staring out at the darkening sky.

She feels a little panicked. "Yes, I do. Of course I do." She comes up behind him, but doesn't reach out to touch him.

"Gigi's been a pretty good friend to me. She's thrown a lot o' work my way, and I appreciate it. But, Jesus, Doc…I love you. I came all the way up here for you. That oughtta mean something."

"It means more than you know." She hates how her voice is shaking. "And of course I don't believe you'd—I know I haven't been there for you, but it hurts a little that you told Gigi what happened with you and Jonah, and not me."

Wade's shoulders sag. "You were already slipping away from me. I didn't want to give you any more reason to shut me out."

Her heart squeezes painfully, remembering Gigi's words, and thinking about how she's left him to find his own way, to build a life for himself in a strange city, all the while assuming he'd be there whenever she needed him.

She slips her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek to his back. He doesn't turn around, but one hand covers hers. "I'm sorry," she repeats. "I promise to do better—to pay more attention to what's going on with you. But what you said the other night has to go both ways, OK?"

He turns then, cupping her cheek in his hand. "Doc, I—"

Wanting to make sure the air is completely clear, she forestalls him. "One more thing. You know you have nothing to worry about with Jonah, right?"

"If you say so, I do." He finally cracks a smile. "You gonna set him straight?"

Zoe's chin lifts. "If I have to."

"Like to be a fly on the wall for that." His face grows serious again. "Listen, Zoe—"

The doorbell rings.

She looks up at him questioningly. "I can ignore it."

But he seems almost…relieved? "Naw…we're good, right?"

"We could be better." She winks at him over her shoulder as she heads to the door. Gigi herself is on the other side, holding out a silver shopping bag with bright pink tissue peeking out of it.

"My dress!" exclaims Zoe, taking the bag.

"You left it at Annie Bing. Hey, Wade." Gigi's cheeks redden as he comes to the door. "Can we talk for a minute?" she asks Zoe.

"I'm just gonna pop down to the front desk and see if I can get Frank to tell me about that time you two tried to stalk Justin Timberlake," Wade comments.

"See you in a bit." Zoe turns to him, lifting her face up for a kiss. He complies, and then some, leaving her breathless and flushed as she shuts the door behind him and returns her attention to Gigi.

The blonde holds up her hands in submission. "OK, OK, I get it. Everything's hunky-dory in paradise." She stares down at her shoes. "I'm sorry. I may have flirted a little, but I wasn't trying to steal your boyfriend. For starters, he's so disgustingly in love with you, I'd never have a chance."

Zoe can't help the small smile that teases up the corners of her mouth. "You're one of my oldest friends, Gigi. You've helped Wade a lot…and you kinda told me some things today that I really needed to hear. But keep your manicured mitts off my guy, capisce?"

"Message received." She hesitates, then asks, "Listen…are you gonna let him work for me anymore? 'Cause really good bartenders are hard to find."

"That's up to him," Zoe folds her arms. "You can text him about it…as soon as you delete that picture from your phone."

TO BE CONTINUED