Page 77 of One Reckless Night

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AMELIA

Aweek had passed since I’d returned to the lab. I’d been doing everything in my power to avoid Jared. It wasn’t hard—he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in anything beyond a professional relationship, and I wasn’t about to push it. But avoiding him didn’t make things easier. Every time I caught a glimpse of him in the hallway or heard his voice echoing through the lab, my chest tightened, and I felt that familiar ache in my heart.

His icy demeanor made it clear he didn’t want to be anywhere near me. That was unfortunate. I understood we weren’t going to have a relationship, but it was making it difficult to focus on work in general.

The universe had a funny sense of humor. One of my fears about hooking up with Jared was that I would get distracted. Now, not being with him was having the same effect. Damned if I don’t, damned if I do.

I escaped into the courtyard, the sun drenching everything in a comfortable warmth. It felt good to sit out there, away from the clatter of the lab. I loved that it was still warm and sunny despite heading into fall. I understood why people flocked to Florida, despite hurricanes, gators, and humidity.

I unwrapped my tuna sandwich, taking a big bite and savoring it like a starving person. Maybe I was. It had been a while since I’d had an appetite.

“Mind if I join you?”

It was Max, one of the researchers from my team. He shoved his hands into his pockets, looking awkward but sincere.

I nodded at the empty seat next to me. “Please.”

He sat, stretching his legs out and squinting against the sunlight. We munched in silence for a minute before he spoke again.

“It’s been crazy since you’ve been back, right?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I replied. “But good crazy.”

He glanced at me. “I wanted to say… I’m really sorry about your mom.”

“Thanks,” I said softly, staring down at my sandwich. “It was rough, but that’s why I’m here. It drives me every day. I’m going to work harder for her.”

“If there’s anything you need—whether it’s work stuff or just someone to vent to—I’m around. I lost my mom when I was little. Brain cancer.”

“I appreciate that,” I said and meant it. Max was a solid guy, always steady and reliable in the chaos of deadlines and data. “I guess we all have our reasons for spending countless hours pursuing answers to questions no one has tried to solve.”

I took another bite of my sandwich. This morning when I made it, tuna sounded really good. But now, not so much. It smelled fine, but I wondered if it had turned. In this heat, it could probably happen fast.

“I’m heading back in,” I said. “I’ll see you after lunch.”

“Be back at one,” he said.

I quickly walked back inside and headed straight for the restroom. I wasn’t sure if I was going to be sick or not. I splashed some cold water on my face and took a few deep breaths.

My stomach had been feeling funky for weeks. Not really sick but just finicky. I’d been trying to push through it, telling myself it was just stress or grief or something else I could explain away. Maybe my stomach was still recovering from the food in London. The woman on the plane thought I was pregnant. I had talked myself out of it after a week of not experiencing any morning sickness.

I felt like things had settled and went back to my lab. I got right to work. It felt like I was never going to catch up after being away for two months. A wave of nausea hit me so hard I knew there was no stopping it. I had to bolt for the bathroom again.

I threw open the door and nearly ran right into Clair. But I couldn’t stop to apologize. I raced across the hall to the bathroom.

Clair followed me. “Amelia! Are you okay?”

The little of tuna I had managed to eat came swimming right back up my throat. With great heaves, my stomach got it all out. I had a feeling I’d be switching to ham and cheese sandwiches for the foreseeable future.

I finished my surprise purge and stepped out of the stall. My legs felt like jelly. Clair was standing by the sinks, looking at me with kind eyes.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

I sank to the floor, my back against the cool tile wall, and pushed my hair out of my face. “I’m fine,” I said, my voice shaky. “Better out than in.”

“You look pale. Is it food poisoning or margaritas?”