I tap my phone’s flashlight, keeping the glare away from her, and locate a prescription bottle. The headaches must be severe if she needs something stronger than over-the-counter meds. “How many?”
“Two. They work better when I take them right away, but I didn’t have them with me.”
I hand her the pills and water. She swallows them down, giving me back the glass and leaning against the cushion.
“Sorry, Chaz,” she murmurs. “I’m not very good company.”
“Stop apologizing, Lex. I don’t expect you to entertain me. Can you eat?”
“I don’t know.” She curls into herself as if to shrink away from the pain.
Thinking she needs something in her stomach, I go to the kitchen andquickly return with a slice of toast and a mug of chamomile, its lightly floral scent rising with the steam. “Try to eat,” I encourage.
She opens her eyes and takes a nibble, her face still drawn tight.
“What brought on the headache?” I ask, sitting on the cushion beside her.
“A call from my mother, but I really can’t talk about that right now.”
“Fair enough,” I say, surmising it was a guilt trip to pressure her into returning to a life she doesn’t want.
“Thank you for the toast, Chaz.” She manages another small bite before putting the plate down and sinking back against the couch. Cradling the warm mug between her palms, she sips onher tea, but the pain is so severe she can barely keep her eyes open.
“How about letting me give you a massage?”
Her head snaps up, and she winces from the sudden movement. “I . . . I . . . no, that’s okay.”
“Really, Lex?” I arch my eyebrow. “Give me some credit. If I were after sex, I wouldn’t make my move when you’re in pain and can’t enjoy it.”
“Oh my God,” she gasps. “I didn’t mean that. I know you’d never take advantage. It’s just—” her fingers tap against the mug as she tries to explain. “I just feel awkward having all that attention on me. Even at the spa, I can’t quite relax during a massage because I’m worried about their hands getting tired or if they’re bored. Should I talk? Be silent? It’s a whole thing.”
“You’ve got a lot going on up there.”
“I know.”
“Well, for the record, my hands won’t get tired, I won’t be bored, and you can talk or sleep—I’m good either way. You’d be doingmethe favor,” I add, hoping to erase any lingering guilt. “I can’t stand seeing you in pain, and I want to help.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes,” I say with conviction. “I want to take care of you, Lex.”
“You’re very good at it. Sorry for making this into a production.”
“You don’t have to apologize. Just let me work my magic.” I stand and crack my knuckles for show. “Prepare to be mystified by my healing hands.”
“I guess I can’t refuse such an amazing offer.”
“Nope, you really can’t,” I say, taking the mug and setting it aside. “Lie down on your stomach.”
She stretches out and slides into a prone position, adjusting her robe over her legs. It’s thick and fluffy, reaching her ankles,and her feet are covered in fuzzy socks—a woman who values comfort.
Carefully, I straddle her hips, one foot on the floor and my knee resting beside her on the couch. “I’m just going to place my leg here,” I explain, mindful of my size. I’m a big guy, always have been, and I don’t want her to feel overpowered. “Take a deep breath and release it.”
She obliges, but she tenses the second my hands touch her shoulders through the plush fleece. “Favorite photographer?” I ask, aiming to distract her.
“Vivian Maier,” she replies, still stiff as a board.
“Why her?” I probe, kneading my fingers into the curve where her neck and shoulder meet. “What do you like about her work?”
