Page 31 of An Irish Hope

He knew he should have paid closer attention to the weather forecast. Andy hurried his pace, running under trees as much as he could. The past few days he’d run some of the more distant trails of the resort, seeing the sights, getting a good burn in his muscles like he used to. Too much sitting around was a recipe for wallowing, which he couldn’t afford to do. Not when he’d done so much of that before. He’d thought today would be a great opportunity to run the Heron Trail to another island, which apparently was a habitat for various birds. Just hadn’t counted on the weather not cooperating. But still, he was nearly there, nearly home. Then he could change from these sweat-drenched, rain-soaked clothes and have a shower.

He steered away from the water, up some slippery steps and drew closer to the hotel. He didn’t want to go straight inside—these muddy shoes wouldn’t make him a welcome guest on that parquetry floor. Plus he really didn’t mind avoiding Aisling and the temptation her presence always seemed to provoke.

He had no intention of following Grady’s advice, but he knew it was wise to avoid her as much as possible. Seeing her made him want to pause, to linger, talk, and see if the lightness of spirit she evoked within him would strike again. See? Tempting. And not wise to pursue. Especially for a man with a plan who knew he had little to offer, let alone emotional strength. And given she was often on the reception desk he’d be very happy to avoid that space as much as possible. Especially with these muddy shoes.

He neared the glass walls of the gym then paused, as something seemed different to the last time he’d passed. He peered in, hands either side of the glass. Was that someone on the floor? It was hard to tell, seeing they were partly obscured, lying behind an exercise bike.

He banged on the window. “Hey, are you okay?”

The person—he couldn’t see them too clearly—didn’t move. Okay, so maybe they weren’t.

He drew out his keycard and accessed the gym. Where were the staff? Why hadn’t anyone realised someone was in there, quite possibly with a serious medical emergency?

Then he realised who it was, and his heartrate doubled. “Ash?” No wonder there was no other staff in here. She was the staff. “Ash?” He knelt beside her. “Can you hear me?”

She remained still, a cut bleeding on her head.

Lord, help! He gently shook her, and she slowly stirred, but her eyes remained closed.

He exhaled. First aid protocol said he should try to move her into the recovery position, but not when there was the risk of a head injury. And considering that cut, he didn’t want to risk moving her. She was on her side anyway, which made things a little awkward, dressed as she was in active wear that was tight and black and with a scooped neck. So he drew off his jacket and draped it loosely around her, gently stroking her arm as he bent close.

“Aisling? Ash, can you hear me?”

Her dark lashes fluttered, then slowly lifted, her gaze hazy and unsure.

He realised how close his face was to hers, that he could see freckles poking past the makeup she usually wore. That his nearness meant her lips were closer than ever before. “Ash?”

She blinked. Blinked again. Refocused on him. Then her lips tilted up the slightest in the corners. “Are… are you a dream?”

Her words slammed into his chest. He’d never been anyone’s dream. Not even Greta’s, it seemed. So for Aisling to say that, out of it as she was, felt a little too poignant, a little too personal, like she’d unconsciously pressed a bruise on his soul he’d never known existed until this moment.

But no. Now wasn’t the time for that. She was injured. Obviously not thinking too clearly. She needed medical attention. “Hey, Ash, you had a fall.”

“Did I?” She blinked again. “Wait, this is real? You’re not just in my dream?”

Did that mean she’d dreamed about him? His heartbeat spiked. “This is real,” he said softly. “You’re in the gym, and it looks like you had a fall.” He gently touched her forehead. “You’ve got a cut just above here.”

“I do?” She gingerly moved to touch it.

“Hey, be careful. You might’ve injured something else, and I don’t want you to worsen anything.”

The cut had dried now, but it wouldn’t hurt to have a first aid kit and attend to it properly. There had to be one nearby, but he didn’t want to risk leaving her to look for it.

She winced. “My head really hurts.”

“I bet it does,” he said sympathetically. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

“You’re really nice,” she murmured.

He swallowed a smile. “You’re pretty nice too.”

Her lips lifted, her green eyes holding him prisoner. “Do you think I’m pretty?”

“Yes.” She must still be out of it, asking a question like that, but he didn’t need to think about that for even half a second. He’d once thought Greta’s Arctic blonde looks was his type, but now he realised he was a fan of something warmer. Something like fire.

Her lips curved higher, her eyes closing again. Which wasn’t good. “Hey, Ash, I need you to keep your eyes open.”

“But I’m so tired.”