Jamison chuckled. “Now that’s actually a pretty good idea.”

Ivy sighed, exasperated. “It’s late, you know. If you keep dragging your feet, the sun will be up before we’re done.”

Jamison glanced at the toilet, took a deep breath as if bracing himself for something daunting, then finally made up his mind and sat down.

Ivy stood in front of him and leaned over to help unbutton his shirt.

“Your family must be in an uproar now that they know you’re hurt,” she said, her hands moving quickly while her voice was tinged with guilt. “If I’d known this would happen, I never would’ve let you come. You’re always so aloof, but tonight you suddenly turned into a saint. That old man didn’t even deserve your help.”

Jamison looked up at her, still in the mood for a joke. “Wasn’t I just trying to show them the light?”

“Oh, please. I never pegged you for a bleeding heart,” Ivy scoffed, rolling her eyes.

He just grinned, saying nothing.

The truth was, he wasn’t much of a bleeding heart.

It was just… duty.

As a doctor, he could never just stand by and watch someone die without doing anything.

And with so many police officers on the scene, a death would have meant endless trouble for everyone–especially the police. Even if they’d done nothing wrong, in the age of social media, the most righteous could be torn apart by rumors and public opinion.

All he’d thought at the time was: if he could save the man, it would save everyone a lot of headaches.

What he hadn’t expected was to be attacked by a bunch of ignorant villagers, who blocked him from helping and even turned violent.

“I’m fine, really. It’s just a scratch–give it a few days and I’ll be good as new. What matters is that you’re okay,” Jamison said lightly, pretending to be tough. He didn’t want her blaming herself.

She finished peeling off his shirt and tossed it aside, muttering, “I wish I’d been the one hurt instead… Your mom called yesterday, you know. She said if anything happened to you, she’d hold me responsible.”

Jamison laughed. “And here I thought you were worried about me. Turns out you’re just afraid of my mom.”

“Who has time to worry about you, you big softie,” she shot back, but there was a hint of warmth in her words.

She draped a clean towel around his neck, making sure to catch the water before it could run down his back and soak his wounds.

Jamison stayed quiet, but he couldn’t help noticing how thoughtful she was–always paying attention to the little things.

Ivy turned and grabbed the showerhead, adjusting the temperature.

“Keep your head down. This’ll just be a quick rinse,” she instructed, her voice soft. Warm water cascaded over his head as her other hand gently combed through his hair, fingertips massaging his scalp.

Jamison lowered his head, but he still couldn’t help frowning slightly as his heart skipped a beat.

He didn’t know why, but her touch sent a shiver through him, like a current of electricity running from her fingers right into his skin. It left him tense, every nerve on edge.

Ivy noticed his reaction and quickly asked, “Is the water too hot?”

“No,” he replied, head still bowed, his voice a little muffled. “It’s just… no woman’s ever washed my hair before. It feels… different.”

Ivy pressed her lips together, trying to look unfazed as she muttered, “Well, it’s my first time washing a man’s hair too.”

And not just any man–her brand-new husband, barely a week since their whirlwind wedding. She never thought she’d find herself in a situation like this, running her hands through a grown man’s hair, wide open and unashamed.

There’s an old saying: a man’s head isn’t something you just touch casually. It’s intimate–almost taboo.

His hair was thick and dark, coarse as wire, prickling her palms and making her strangely giddy.

Jamison heard her muttering and let out a low, amused laugh. “Well, I guess there’s a silver lining to all this. If I hadn’t gotten hurt, I’d never have gotten this treatment.”