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The searing pain under my ribs was so intense that my legs shook.
“Hazel!” Lydia shouted, grabbing me by the elbow. “Are you okay?”
I couldn’t answer. It took everything in me to stay on my feet and force air into my lungs.
Thankfully, Lydia threw my arm around her shoulder and led me to a bench in front of the post office.
She helped me sit and pushed the hair out of my face. “Should I call 911?”
I shook my head. That was the last thing I needed—to be billed for an ambulance. Not to mention a hospital visit.
“Hazel, you’re scaring me.”
I winced. “It’s fine. I’ve got a gallbladder thing. No big deal.”
Lydia rubbed my arm and examined me, a frown marring her face. “Seems like a big deal to me.”
I gagged, nausea threatening to overwhelm me. “I need to get home. I have supplements that help it.”
She helped me up again and led me back to Dylan’s apartment only a block away. Once she’d settled me on the couch, she rooted through my backpack until she found my magnesium supplements.
When she held a glass of room temperature water out, I took it gratefully and downed the magnesium. I squeezed my eyes shut and sucked in long, slow breaths, desperate for relief from the pain. It would pass. It always did.
Lately, these attacks had been happening more frequently and lasting longer.
I gagged. The nausea was so bad I considered just giving in and vomiting my brains out in hopes that it would bring me relief.
Lydia was on the phone, and it took me a moment to clear my mind and focus on her end of the conversation. She must have called Dylan.
Of course she had. He was my person. And now he would fuss and worry and try to talk me into having surgery.
But that was the last thing I needed right now.
I needed to work at the bar and get my damn dissertation finished.
My fucking gallbladder would just have to learn to behave.
Eventually, Dylan returned home. I was curled up on the couch, thankfully feeling a bit better. He and Lydia were speaking quietly in the kitchen. Then a third voice chimed in.Shit. I lifted my head, regretting the sudden movement immediately. It was Remy Gagnon. One more witness to my utter humiliation.
After our encounter at the diner on Tuesday, where I accidentally hit him with not one, but two of Bernice’s award-winning blueberry pies and then accidentally groped him in the bathroom, I hoped I could avoid him for the next year, if not for the rest of my life.
Awkward, neurotic me had inadvertently copped a feel of my brother’s best friend. And what a feel it was. Remy was muscular and built and broad and, damn, my face was flushing again.
I buried my head in the throw pillow, wanting nothing more than to suffer in peace.
“Good to see you again, Pip,” he said softly as I picked my head up. The sound of the familiar nickname made me smile. His father, Frank, had given it to me as a kid. I was so tiny, the entire family had taken to calling me “Pipsqueak,” which was eventually shortened to pip. My heart clenched for Remy and his family. His father had been a wonderful man. He’d always been kind, loving, and devoted to this town.
I looked up at his son. The man was tall and handsome and more than capable of carrying on his legacy. “Good to see you too, Remy.”
Chapter5
Remy
She looked so small and frail curled up on the couch. I attempted a joke to cheer her up. “Thanks to you, I still smell like blueberry pie. I think it worked its way into my sinuses.”
“You’re welcome,” she groused, sitting up and crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s a big improvement for you.” There was the Hazel I knew.
“Very funny.” I chuckled, though an unexpected wave of insecurity rushed through me. Did Hazel think I smelled bad? And why did I care so much if she did?
