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“Sounds good. I’ll pass the information on. Unless you’d prefer to do it? No, that was not my second question. That’s coming in a moment.”
Fuck!
I groan again then prepare myself for the next question.
“My second question is why are you here?”
I smile before standing and tapping the table in front of her.
“I came by because I needed to check on my favorite doctor.” Lifting the sunglasses, I place them on my face. I had them hanging from the pocket of my t-shirt. “Thanks Doc. You can have that, if you want it. Oh, and dare completed.”
I stroll out her office door. whistling a tune, I make my way to the main floor of the building. I have a therapy session. it’s one I’m more than amped for now that I’ve won a dare.
“Bring it on!” I mutter as I practically skip down the wide staircase.
Usually, I prefer to take the elevator. It’s one of the older features of the house I enjoy. Today, I want to work my legs a little before my session. I cut off the follow up thought before it can ruin my good mood.
April 12– Wednesday, an hour and a half later
Shock and awe are what I feel as I stand inside my office. Hope was right. It’s been a very long time since I’ve been here. I spoke to her after my physical therapy session. she looked relieved when I said I was coming back to work. That was surprising. I expected her to put up more of a fuss. I went for a short walk then grabbed take out fromThe Collins Quarter. I had a hankering for chicken and waffles. Kennedy called ahead and had my order waiting for me. I told her I’d need her at the office soon. First, I needed to assess the damage.
I slipped in through the back entrance. My hope was I’d avoid the crowds and the possible chance of being accosted coming this way. This afternoon was going to be spent handling juggling business and personal calls. During my talk with Dr. Embers earlier, I realized I didn’t want to sit looking at the four wall of my home office today. I could sit in my other office and reviewing financials for this company amongst other things.
Walking into the room with the faux vaulted ceilings and windows taking up two of the four walls has me wondering how it’s possible I don’t spend more time here. Several pieces of furniture are covered. It’s been almost a year since I’ve worked out of this office. I’m guessing Hope had Cassandra cover all the furniture. Cassandra Tyler is our shared assistant here at Hope House. I’m sure she’s going to be happy I’m back.
Probably not.
Of the two of us, I’m the one who calls on her more. Hope is pretty self-sufficient and more willing to handle things on her own. I take in the room using just the natural lighting. All but one piece of furniture in the room is being protected from dust, webbing and all the other shit that piles up from non-use.
On the leather couch I personally purchased is a sleeping form. Occupied.
Squatting down in front of the form, I almost fall on my ass as take in the familiar features. Her long, dark hair is not the same color. That’s different. The full lips, perfectly arched eyebrows, and the dimples that cut deep when she smiles are all still there. All the curves are as well. Even in her sleeping state with scrubs on, it’s clearly still there.
I’m momentarily stunned. I sit staring at her for a few seconds longer before I come to the realization that I must look creepy as hell sitting here.
Get the hell up, Daire.
She’s right there. An arm’s length away and I can’t touch her. I have to get out of here.
Did Hope set this up?
This seems like something she would do.
Making myself walk back out the door, I head down the hall to Hope’s office. Too many thoughts and questions form in my head to focus on one at a time. All I know is I need to get to Hope and try to make sense of what I just saw. She has to know who that is and who she is to me.
Who is she to you?
She’s ... she was ... I don’t know. I can’t put it into words. All I know is what I’m feeling right now is not good. It can’t be good. This rush of emotion that makes me want to turn back around, go back into that office, and kiss her until neither one of us has control of our breathing isn’t a good thing.
For starters, I’d probably feel the sting of her ringless hand.
Really? You took time to take stock of the state of her hand.
Hell yeah. Some part of me wanted to know that she didn’t belong to anyone else.
As if that could be possible. You know whose she is.
Damn right. She’s mine. Always has been and forever will be. That’s how it will forever stand. She should know that.
