AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“She sleeps with earplugs in. She only wakes up when her light alarm goes off.”
“Light alarm?”
“It simulates the sunrise.”
“Oh. Got it. I can help you with your hands and make sure you’re okay before I go, then?” I don’t want to leave her on her own, not when she’s still in shock.
She looks up at me, eyes searching my face in a way that makes me feel exposed, but I remain still, giving her the time she needs to make a decision about what she’s comfortable with.
“I trust that I’m safe with you,” she says softly.
I nod once and exhale the breath I seemed to be holding. I place a hand on the small of her back, then realize the contact might be too intimate and shift to her elbow so I can guide her along the walkway and up the front steps. Her slippers slap the concrete. I look away as she keys in the code to the front door and opens it.
I leave my shoes on the mat inside the door and follow her into the kitchen, waiting until there’s enough space before I skirt around her and pull out a chair. “Why don’t you have a seat, and I can have a look at those hands.”
“I’m fine. It’s just a few scratches,” she says, but she sinks into the chair. She’s wearing a pale green bathrobe. The bottom is dirty now, because the ground was damp, likely from the rain we got this afternoon, and there are dark reddish-brown spots on the lapels, where she was holding it together.
“I still wouldn’t mind taking a look, if that’s okay with you.” I crouch in front of her.
“It’s really not that ba—” She flips her hands over so they’re palm up, resting on her thighs. “Oh. I didn’t realize . . .”
In the kitchen light, the damage looks a lot worse than it did outside in the murky night. As I suspected, she’s skinned her palms pretty good—enough that it’s going to scab over and be uncomfortable for a few days. “Do you have a first aid kit anywhere?”
“In the bathroom. It’s down the hall.”
“Okay. Great. Do you have any juice in the fridge? A little sugar would probably help with the shakes and all the adrenaline.”
“I’m really okay.”
“It’s the fight-or-flight response, all those endorphins rushing through your body. It sends the body into survival mode.”
“Right. Yes. That makes sense.” Her tongue sweeps across her bottom lip. “There’s lemonade in the fridge, second shelf on the right.”
“And the glasses?”
“Cupboard to the left of the fridge.”
“Okay.” I push to a stand and wash my hands in the sink before I open the cupboard to reveal a mishmash of glasses with different cartoon characters on them, all of them faded with age. They’ve probably been around since long before Professor Sweet was born. I pick a mug that has a cute cartoon of a waffle on it. Then I read the cursive text underneath:Don’t be a twatwaffle. I grab the handle and move over to the fridge. I find the lemonade exactly where she said it would be, shake it up, and pour her a glass.
“Do you have any straws?”
“Second drawer from the sink. Right side,” she says softly.
I find a package of bendy straws in there and pull one free, dropping it into the mug. I turn around and find Clover staring at her scraped, bleeding palms. I grab a couple of paper towels, wetting them with cold water in the sink and squeezing so they’re not dripping before I bring them and the juice over to her.
Her hands are still shaking, so I don’t try to pass her the mug. Instead, I bend the straw and bring it to her lips. Her gray gaze lifts. And for the first time, I realize she’s not wearing her glasses.
It reminds me of the first time I met her. Her eyes are slate gray, ringed in deep blue. Her hair falls around her shoulders in thick, dark waves, so long it nearly reaches her waist. I remember what it felt like to have my hands in it.
Stop thinking about that, asshole.
“I can hold the mug on my own.” There’s bite in her tone.
“If you want.” I turn it so the handle is facing her, and she takes it gingerly. But I put a single finger under the bottom when her shaky grip causes the lemonade to slosh to the rim and nearly over the edge. She stabilizes the mug with her other hand before she takes a long sip. And then another and another until she finishes the entire cup.
She sets it on the table, and I pass her the damp paper towels. “You can put this on your palms, and I’ll be right back with the first aid kit, if that’s okay with you.”
“I can get it.” She holds the sides of her robe together with her fingertips, making a move to get up.
