“Good, Mr. Landers.” Eyeing me, he asks, “You okay?” He’s older, closer to my dad’s age when he died, and has worked here longer than I’ve been a resident. He’s the happiest guy in Manhattan. Never has a bad word to say about anyone or the day. It’s always a good day when I see Keith Baker in the lobby. He keeps things light when the rest of the world is heavy.
“I was hit by a car, so I can honestly say that I’ve been better.”
“Sorry to hear that. A broken arm isn’t too bad if you’ve been run over.” Always looking on the sunny side, he adds, “You’re here. So you must have more work to do here on earth.”
“Work is the last thing I want more of.”
He chuckles, moving off to the side of the door, angling toward the elevator. “It’s probably not your job that needs the attention. He hands me a box. “Lose your phone?”
“Yeah, never made it with me to the hospital.”
“Glad you got a replacement.” As he starts down the hall, he says, “Let me know if you need anything, Mr. Landers. Happy to help however I can and get you healed quicker.”
“I appreciate it, Baker. Have a good night.”
“You, too, sir.”
I close the door and look at the box. All it will take is for me to call anyone in my life to ask about the woman making herself at home in my kitchen, and I’ll know the truth. Orsound like I got hit harder than I initially thought. At least, I’ll get answers.
Answers!
I swing the door open to ask Baker about “my wife,” but he’s already disappeared in the elevator. I shut the door and lock it. I only take a few steps before Delaney appears at the other end of the hallway. “Who was it?”
Holding up the box, I say, “Baker delivering my new phone.” It almost feels natural to respond to such mundane things with her. I wish it didn’t.
“That was fast.” She smiles. “You’re such a workaholic. Are you hungry? I was only kidding about the pancakes. Of course, I was making them for both of us. I was starving. I’m sure you are as well.”
“I could eat. Are they safe?”
Her laughter fills the short hall and lingers after she walks away. “Don’t be silly. You think I’m going to spend all night at a hospital worrying about you if I had plans to poison your pancakes and force-feed them to you the moment you get home?”
“That’s a little too on the nose for my liking,” I note, following her back to the kitchen. “And I can’t say that sells me on eating your pancakes.” I open the box on the counter and start to set it up.
She laughs, a hint of a snicker in the resonant notes. She might be pretty, but she might also be evil. “Eating my pancakes.” She laughs again. “That’s so naughty.”
Naughty?I’m close to asking if she’s been drinking, but the more I look at her, I think it’s delirium setting in. “When’s the last time you slept?”
She sets a plate of pancakes in front of me and hands me a fork. “Not last night since I was stuck in that waiting roomall night.” She places the syrup within my reach. “Eat up, Buttercup.”
I shake my head when I hear that nickname. It better not stick.
It’s hard to forget I have a concussion, but it’s been a feat to consider the possibility that she might be telling the truth. Hearing her now, the honesty in her admission—that she waited all night to make sure I was okay— I begin to trust her. Why else would she have stayed at the hospital all night?
No way, no how, am I trusting these pancakes, though.
She reaches over with her fork, cuts off a bite of the sweet stack, and shoves it in her mouth. “Happy?” She finishes chewing and swallows. “They’re safe to eat, Warner.”
As if on cue, my stomach growls, so I dig in. I take a bite and add syrup while I chew. They’re good. Fluffy. She knows how to cook, I’ll give her that. I kind of feel bad now. She was there for me. She made sure I got home safely and cooked food for me. I don’t even know if that stove has ever been used before. It hasn’t been by me. I’m glad she broke it in.
“Delaney?” She looks up at me with surprise shaping her expression, her eyebrows arching higher, and her pretty mouth rounding when she opens it. Was it hearing me say her name that caught her off guard? “Thank you for all you’ve done for me.”
When her smile rises at the corners of her mouth, it appears genuine. “You’re welcome, Warner.”
The gray smudged under her eyes is still there, her hair is not as controlled as it was earlier, and that dress . . . she really needs to get rid of that dress. Even the apron does apoor job of hiding the disaster it’s been through. “Hey, you should shower. I think you’ll feel a lot better.”
“I’m not feeling so bad, but I really would like to get clean.” She sets her fork down. “But I don’t have anything to change into.”
“You can wear something of mine.” I grin like we’re in on a secret together. “I think you know your way around my closet.”
