Page 32 of An Irish Hope

“I know.” He touched her cheek. So soft. “I need you to stay awake in case you have a concussion.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?” she murmured.

“Huh?”

She giggled. “That’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Go on. Ask me that.”

He shifted closer, his thighs protesting. “How many fingers am I holding up?” he questioned softly.

She peeked at him from under her lashes. “You’re not holding up your hand.”

He obeyed the implied request. “How’s that?”

“That’s better. That’s two. You and me. We make two.”

If he hadn’t found her lying on the floor then he might think she was drunk with the things she was saying. Her head lolled, sparking fear inside. “Hey, Ash? I need to call your mother.”

“Mam? No. Don’t do that.”

“I need to call someone. I’m worried about you.”

“Aww. Are you saying that you care about me?”

He swallowed. He didn’t want to admit that aloud. Saying it out loud added weight to feelings he didn’t want, that he couldn’t afford to want, because it meant it would be true. “I, uh, I’m concerned that you’ve hurt yourself.”

She winced, then tried to sit up, forcing him to scoop an arm around her shoulders to hold her steady. “There you go.”

Her forehead now leaned a little too close to his chest. Too close for comfort. Too close for him to ignore.

“You smell nice,” she mumbled.

Clearly she wasn’t thinking clearly if she thought that. “I smell like sweat. I’ve been out running.”

She placed a hand on his chest, and he froze. He really didn’t want to continue with this. Well, part of him did. Part of him loved the fact that filter-less Aisling was saying all the things his heart craved to hear. But he was also conscious that it felt like he was taking advantage of her woozy state, peering in on her vulnerability as she said and did things he knew she wouldn’t do if this accident hadn’t happened. He bet she’d be embarrassed if she remembered any of this tomorrow.

He glanced around, wondering what to do. Spied her phone and a bottle, and grasped them. “Hey, is this your water bottle?”

She nodded, winced. “Ow.”

“How about you have a sip, and I’ll call your mam.”

“Okay.”

He uncapped it, then held it out to her, and she took a small sip. “Have some more.” If she’d fainted from dehydration then she needed replenishing, pronto.

After she drank some more, he passed over her phone and she unlocked it and swiped through to find contacts. Then peered at him. “I don’t think Mam should be disturbed.”

“I think she’d feel more disturbed if you didn’t tell her what had happened,” he said kindly.

“Oh.” She stared at her phone but did nothing.

So he tapped it. “Want me to speak to her?”

“Yes,” she mumbled, eyes closed again.

He spoke to Maeve, who gasped and said she’d come straight away.

“I won’t leave her,” he assured.