He brought me soup.
Even though he’s undoubtedly busy, he made the trip from his office in Stowe to come visit.
Tossing my fleece throw to the side, I get up from the couch and head towards the front door. As I go, I tap the little microphone icon on the screen and say, “No, it’s fine. I’ll be right there.”
Ugh.
Could I sound any less enthusiastic?
Just because I’m feeling icky and insecure doesn’t mean I should take it out on Alec.
Forcing a smile to my face, I unlock the doorknob and unfasten the deadbolt, then pull open the door. In an apologetic tone, I start, “Sorry to keep you waiting?—”
But the instant I see him face-to-face, the rest of my thoughts float away like dandelion seeds on the wind.
Somehow, he looks even more handsome than any other time I’ve seen him.
Or maybe it’s that my perception of Alec has changed.
Maybe it’s because in the battle between my heart and my mind, right now my heart seems to be winning.
Alec’s smile fades as he inspects me, and he reaches towards my face before stopping mid-way. “Ah, Hazel. Your eyes.”
That stupid insecurity comes rushing back in, and I have to fight myself not to instinctively duck my face. But I keep my head held high as I say, “I know. They started bruising late last night. It looks pretty bad, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, no.” He grimaces. “That’s not what I meant. Shit. I’m sorry. I just meant it looks painful. But not bad. There’s no way you could ever look bad.”
A beat later, a hint of red colors his cheekbones. Shaking his head, he adds, “I’m really sorry, Hazel. Here I am, insulting you the second you open the door.”
My chest squeezes at his remorseful expression. “No, you’re fine. You didn’t say anything wrong.” Stepping back, I ask, “Do you want to come in?”
He glances over my shoulder, his gaze scanning my small living room, lingering on my laptop and crumpled blanket on the couch. “If you’re busy…”
“I’m not.” I gesture for him to come inside. “I was just watching TV. Nothing exciting.”
After a moment, he steps through the doorway, pausing to turn and lock the door behind him. Then he touches my lower back as he guides me towards the couch, saying, “I’ve kept you standing long enough. You should be resting.”
Iwasresting until I got up to answer the door, but I’m not going to mention that.
Instead, I’m going to memorize just how nice it feels to have him touch me again, the heat of his big hand spanning my back. I’m going to tuck away these memories to pull up later, when I’m struggling to sleep through the bad ones.
Once we’re both seated on the couch, Alec takes the blanket and tucks it back over my legs. Then he grabs the paper bag he set on the coffee table and pulls several cartons and containers out of it, arranging them in a neat line. Following that, heretrieves a stack of napkins and several to-go packets of silverware and sets them to the side.
“I know you have silverware,” he explains. “Obviously. But I thought you might not want to deal with washing it after. So I grabbed these just in case.”
Not for the first time, I wonder how in the world Alec is still single. Was he burned by a woman? Is he a commitment-phobe?
Or maybe he’snotsingle. Maybe he has a long-distance girlfriend. Although, wouldn’t I have seen her around town at some point? Or at least heard people talking about her?
Why do I care?
Is it any of my business if Alec is dating?
My jaw tightens at the whispered truth in my head.
No, it’s not my business. But, foolishly, I care anyway.
“I got their home style chicken soup,” Alec adds, touching one of the containers. “And some vegetable beef stew.” He grins. “You might be sick of soups and stews after yesterday, but I thought your body temperature might still be trying to adjust.”
