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“Oh.” She slowly took a step back and turned to the center island to grab the plate of her chicken and vegetable stir-fry. “I’m sure you are. I’m flipping starving.” She placed the food on the table I never ate at—the one in the center of the room, made for ten.
When I was here, I always ate at the island. I took the seat next to her, at the head of the table, where she placed my plate.
“You didn’t eat while I was asleep?”
She shrugged. “I was cleaning and grocery shopping, and I don’t know …” She cut into her chicken. “It kind of slipped my mind. I get like that when I’m busy.”
I bet she got like this often. I knew very little about Sydney Loverly, but what I did know was that she sacrificed a lot for others, especially her family.
The chicken was good, amazing actually. Or maybe I was just hungry, but we ate in silence for a while as I scarfed down the food like I hadn’t eaten in weeks.
It sure felt that way.
When I lifted my head and my gaze met hers, she cut her chicken in half and offered it to me.
“No. It’s okay.”
See? I was right. Self-sacrificing.
“Austin”—that motherly tone again—“you just got out of surgery. You need your strength.”
I shook my head. “No. You eat. You have to deal with my ass for the next several weeks.” Something I realized I was really beginning to look forward to.
She tipped her chin and pushed her fork into her chicken. “What are my hours?” Her voice was light, though I knew she was serious.
She hadn’t even pressed me about Logan and the tequila deal yet, but I was sure that would come.
“Just in the morning, mid-afternoon, and early evening.”
Her mouth slipped ajar, but then she clamped it back shut. “So, all day, huh?”
I smiled. “I’m just kidding. Just check that I’m not dead. Maybe help me shampoo my hair or something. It might be too much and out of your pay range if I asked you to help me bathe.” I wiggled my eyebrows playfully, baiting her.
My favorite scowl was back on her face again.
She jabbed her knife in my direction. “I’ll do whatever you allow those nurses to do.”
I almost choked on my own spit. Stalker nurses? Hell no. “Touché.”
She leaned back in her chair then. “I was being nice. I thought you would be reasonable, but I know you by now. And since the anesthesia has worn off and you seem coherent now, I’d like to stipulate some rules.” She placed her knife and fork on her empty plate. “I’ll check on you in the morning and early evening because I still have to work and earn a living. Don’t worry; I’ll make sure that you have lunch available and easily accessible.”
She stood, taking my plate and placing it over hers.
“And, yes, I’ll help you bathe.” She scrunched her nose. She couldn’t even tell me that with a straight face. “Not in the way you’d like me to, but I’ll wash your hair in the sink before I run the shower. The doctor stressed the importance of keeping your dressing dry, so I’m going to make sure that I wrap that up good.”
She began washing the dishes, and my eyes followed her across the room.
For once, I wished for a smaller place, so I could get a closer view of her.
“If you are dirty in some places for a few weeks, I’m sure you’ll live.”
She peered at me over her shoulder, and I sat there, stupid and speechless and stalker staring. Again.
My breathing slowed, and I took her all in. I couldn’t stop my brain-to-dick filter. I was attracted to her—there was no doubt about that. Problem was, I couldn’t be. Not that I could help it.
The overhead light above the sink shone down on her, highlighting her hair and her button nose and her high cheekbones, making her look like a damn angel.
I shook my head. I needed to ask for a lower dosage of pain meds or something because I was going crazy.
