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“Oh, Brooke, it was horrible. You had an accident at the bake-off tryouts. You tripped, fell, hit your head, and well, you have a severely sprained ankle,” she cried.
It was all slowly coming back to me. I’d been running late and had been rushing into the auditorium. I walked in just as they were just announcing me. I’d ripped the clear wrap off the plate of cookies I’d been carrying, bolted up the side of the auditorium to the staircase at the bottom of the stage, and rushed up the stairs. I’d just gotten to the top and was on my way across the stage when I tripped over something. Cookies went flying and so did I.
“God, I remember it now. I’ve made a complete ass of myself.” I cried, burying my face into my hands. “Did everyone see it happen? Does anyone know what it was I tripped on?” I questioned.
Melinda looked to me and then over to the other side of the room without saying anything. Her eyes reverted back to mine. I knew she knew what had happened.
“What? What is it, Melinda?”
“He tripped you!” she exclaimed, looking over to the other side of the room again.
“Who?” I questioned. I hadn’t seen anyone in the room with us.
“I did not! How dare you accuse me,” a deep voice cried out. “It was an accident. I’d never do such a thing on purpose.”
I glanced to my right to see Tristan Ryan step into my view. What the hell was he doing here? I clenched my jaw and looked back to Melinda, about to say something, when the door to my room opened and in walked a man in a white lab coat.
“Brooke, good to see you’re awake,” he said, coming over and sitting down on the edge of my bed. “Could I have a little space here please.”
Both Melinda and Tristan took a step back, and I looked to the man who must have been the one taking care of me.
“So, Brooke, any headache?”
I shook my head. “No. Well, perhaps a small one, but nothing I’d be concerned with,” I said.
“Well, you hit your head when you fell, so I just wanted to be sure. There is a slight bruise on your forehead, no bump, but nothing that shouldn’t heal up in a few days.”
“What about my foot? I have a diner and bakery to run,” I said, looking down at the horrible walking boot. “It’s the holidays. I have to work. There is no way I can be down for the count during this time of year,” I cried, panicking.
“Well that, my dear, is going to be on a little longer than a couple of days.”
“How long?” I cried.
“Well, it’s a very severe sprain. You’ll need to be off your foot for at least a week, perhaps two. Then after that, you’ll be on crutches. I’d say overall, it will probably be five to six weeks before you can walk without crutches, and then probably another four to five before it will feel completely normal,” he said, closing the file he held in his hand.
“I cannot be off my feet for a day let alone a week.”
“I’m sorry, Brooke, but it’s a bad injury.”
“No. You don’t understand. I have a diner and bakery to run. I have accounts, I have a contest, I have—”
“Brooke, I can help you,” Melinda said, trying to calm me.
“Thank you, Melinda, I appreciate it, but I can’t put all this onto you. This is my responsibility. It’s my business, my livelihood. I have to work.”
Melinda looked at me, her eyes full of concern.
“Brooke, if you don’t follow my orders, you’ll be off much longer than what I’ve already figured. As it is, it’s not written in stone. Now, give me some time and we will get all the paperwork in order to send you home,” the doctor said just before walking out of the room.
Panic hit me all at once and I found it hard to breathe. I could already imagine the pile of orders that had come in from Baking Crate, not to mention how many orders our residents had dropped off for their Christmas events.
“This can’t be happening. Nonononono…” I cried as I buried my face in my hands.
“Brooke, seriously, I’ve got it under control,” Melinda said, rubbing my back. “I will make sure everything is taken care of. This is what you trained me for. It will be fine.”
Everything was running through my mind at a million miles per minute. Then it all came crashing down as Tristan Ryan stepped into my view. I glared at him as he stood there in his over-priced sweater and perfectly tailored suit pants, not saying a word.
“You…of all people.”
