Page 6 of Written with Love

“No.” He shook his head to clear it and managed to only groan slightly at the pain. “I just bumped my head. How bad could it be?”

She pulled the towel away and the amount of blood on it made him wince. He sobered.

“Yeah, probably best to have that checked out,” he admitted.

An hour later, Juliette helped Max back through his front door, her arm firmly around his waist. He leaned into her slightly, still feeling a little off-kilter, though he’d never admit it.

“Well, at least it’s not a concussion.” He sighed dramatically, pressing the ice pack to his forehead like he was nursing a mortal wound.

“Yeah, I’m just thankful I decided to stop by after work,” Juliette said, shaking her head. “I’d hate to imagine how long you would have waited to get that looked at.”

“I was fine,” he muttered, though even he wasn’t convinced.

Juliette shot him a knowing look and squeezed his arm. “You were sprawled on the floor when I found you.”

He opened his mouth to argue but closed it again when he realized he didn’t actually know how long he’d been there before she showed up. Or was it her arrival that had thrown him off guard and made him injure himself in the first place? Those lines were blurred now with pain.

He sighed and pulled the ice pack away to poke at the bandage on his forehead. “I’ve never had a stitch before.”

She chuckled. “You still don’t. Dr. Stevens glued your skin together. Remember?”

“Right.” He frowned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Feels like I should’ve gotten something more impressive for all that suffering.”

Juliette smirked. “You want a trophy? Maybe a sticker?”

“A sticker would be nice,” he muttered as he shuffled towards the couch, sinking into it with a groan. She followed, hovering a little, as if afraid he’d tip over again.

“Oh man,” he sighed, glancing around the room. “I promised you a tour.”

“It’s okay,” she said gently, sitting beside him. “I can take a rain check.” Her fingers brushed his forehead. “How about I scrounge us up some food? You’ll need it for the pills Dr. Stevens gave you.” She shook the bottle lightly for emphasis.

“Right.” He nodded, pleased that his head didn’t spin. “I have some frozen dinners…” He pushed off the couch and made his way towards the kitchen, but he skid slightly on the floor.

Juliette was there in an instant, gripping his arms. “Whoa. Easy, big guy.”

He blinked down at the floor. Right. The water. He’d meant to clean that up.

Juliette sighed and steadied him. “Sit. I’ll clean this mess up and make something.” She guided him to a chair at the kitchen table before planting her hands on her hips. “Stay.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, resting his cheek against the cool table with a sigh.

He must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, a plate was set down in front of him, and the smell of something warm and rich pulled him from his haze.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, rubbing at his mouth quickly to make sure there wasn’t any drool.

Juliette smiled. “It’s okay. Dr. Stevens said you’d be drowsy.” She slid into the chair across from him and placed another plate in front of herself. “I found some chickpea pasta and whipped up some spaghetti. No garlic bread, though—you were out of bread.”

“I’m trying to cut out carbs,” he said, rubbing his face.

She gave him a flat look. “That’s why these noodles took a while to cook?”

He twirled some around his fork and took a bite—then stilled.

“What’d you do to this?” he asked, frowning at the plate.

Juliette hesitated. “Is it bad?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head as he shoveled another forkful into his mouth. “It’s amazing.” He took another bite, then another. “The best spaghetti I’ve had in years.”