Indeed, his missed call and voicemail were from Wren. Lee tapped her name and ran his fingers over the hidden tattoo as he listened.
“So, I’m calling you,” she complained into his ear, “just like you asked me to — no, scratch that — just like youtoldme to… repeatedly. And just as I suspected, you’re busy. But fine. Whatever… I’m home. It’s about eleven o’clock, and I’mgoing to bed.”
She went silent for a few seconds.
“That means I don’t want you to call me back… So. Do. Not. Call. Back.”
She went silent again, and Lee thought she was about to hang up.
“And keep all staphand especially MRSAaway from my tattoo. Goodnight." And then she hung up.
Lee grinned. He loved how she called it her tattoo. As far as he was concerned, it was hers. And he wanted her to lay claim to a lot more.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
AGNES WAS BREATHINGin her face, asleep. And sunlight was only just soaking through her bedroom curtains. Her bed was warm, her sheets soft… and her body wanted slumber.
So why was she awake?
Buzz… Buzz… Buzz
Wren rolled over and grabbed her phone from the nightstand. She’d silenced the ringer the night before, but — unlike normal — she hadn’t put it on airplane-mode. Frowning at this break in her habit and still muddled with sleep, Wren squinted at the phone’s screen.
Dr. Leland Hawthorne
After he called her at Agave, Wren had added his number as a contact, but she’d put his whole name and title on purpose. Dr. Leland Hawthorne was way out of her league, and she needed to remember that fact.
Ignoring the flutter in her tummy at the sight of his name, she swiped the screen.
“Hello?” Her voice, husky with sleep, sounded strange to her own ears.
“Wren.” His voice, deep and rich, sounded tired, but happy.
“What time is it?” she complained, trying not to think about how nice her name sounded on his tongue. She heard him draw in a breath and yawn before he answered. She yawned, too.
“It’s a quarter to seven. Thought you’d be up. C’mon, Victor,” he called, apparently drawing the phone away as he did. “I just got home, fed Victor, and we walked the block. And now I’m going to crash, but I wanted to talk to you first.”
The flutter in her tummy danced again, making it harder to ignore. She gave it her best shot.
“I was asleep,” she said, sounding, perhaps, more annoyed than she really felt.
“What are you doing today?” he asked, dodging her complaint.
Wren could hear the creak of a screen door, and she pictured him walking into his too-cool house.
“I’m working. Twelve to ten. Just like yesterday.” And then, because she couldn’t help herself, she asked back. “You?”
“I go back to the hospital at six tonight. I’m pretty beat, so I’ll sleep as much as I can,” Lee said, sounding exhausted. “But Victor will need to be let out, and he’ll want to play. He cries when he needs the former, and he bites my toes through the covers when he wants the latter.”
Wren giggled.
“Thatis such a great sound." His deep, rich voice grew soft.
His words and tone stilled her breath. Wren cleared her throat and tried to get it together.
“What do you do about Victor while you’re at work?”
“My neighbor, Jill, has a teenaged son. He comes over at about ten o’clock to walk him and put down fresh newspaper by the door,” Lee said, and Wren caught the distinct zip of silk on silk. She’d heard the sound the day before when he removed his tie. Her heart stuttered, and her body softened.
