Page 7 of The Image of You

The color flooded her full cheeks.

I couldn’t remember the last time I saw a woman blush. It was soft and feminine, and it seemed at odds with her sassiness, but it suited her. There was something about her. Something that drew me in and made me want to be closer to her.

Without thinking, I raised my camera and started clicking. Her gaze flew up, and I captured her startled expression and flushed cheeks to perfection.

Leaning forward, she grabbed it out of my hand. “Stop that.”

“The camera loves you.”

Her cheeks darkened even further. My fingers itched to capture that. They itched to touch her. I stuck my hand back out, to introduce myself. “Adam Kincaid.”

“I know. I saw your chart, remember?”

I chuckled at her tone. “Just wanted to do it properly. Your full name? Or should I just call you Nurse Nightingale?”

She shook my hand, rolling her eyes. “Alex Robbins.”

I held her hand tighter. “Robin? Another lovely bird. A pleasure, Ms. Robin.”

“Robbins,” she corrected.

I winked at her, knowing full well the correct name. But I wanted to tease her—I liked her sassing me back. “Robbins. Got it.”

I coughed, my throat feeling dry. “May I have some water?”

She poured me a glass, and I drank the cool beverage.

“Better?”

“My mouth tastes like sh— Um, awful.”

She rummaged in her pocket and brought out a small tin. “I have Altoids. Want one?”

“That would be great.”

She pressed a small disk to my lip, and for some reason, I wanted to capture the end of her finger and nibble on it, but I resisted. My strange reaction to this woman mystified me.

“Okay now?”

The rich taste of cinnamon filled my mouth, banishing the wet wool taste that had been there since I’d woken up. “Thanks.”

She popped one too. “I’m addicted to these.” She turned to leave. “I’ll get the doctor and tell him you’re awake.”

“You’ll come back, right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’ll wait right here,” I deadpanned, enjoying the banter with her.

“Good plan,” she stated dryly.

But she was smiling when she left the room.

* * *

“You have a concussion. I’d like you to stay overnight for observation,” Dr. Nash informed me after his examination and looking over the CT scan.

I stifled my groan. Was he kidding me with this shit? It wasn’t as though this was my first concussion. I could look after myself. “I don’t need to stay. I’ll be fine.”