My head is fuzzy and my face hurts, but my brain seems to think death was involved in some form or fashion. The warm smell of spicy vanilla encapsulates me, and I try to open my eyes to pinpoint the source of Lucy’s signature scent.
But my eyes won’t open.
I groan as I try again to no avail.
“Stone, oh thank God!” a worried, feminine voice speaks from somewhere above me, and I have the faintest recollection that the voice belongs with the electric fingers and dessert smell.
Lucy.
I try to say her name, but only another groan escapes my lips. Her fingers grip my hair and my forearm.
Open your eyes, Stone.At the insistent command, I blink, a bright light blinds me, and I immediately squeeze my eyes shut again. Myhead explodes in pain, and my stomach threatens to let breakfast make a reappearance.
“Lucy,” I finally manage to say.
She releases her grip, her hands cupping my face now. “I’m here, Stone. I’m here. I’m—” A sob cuts off her words. I finally open my eyes and take in her frizzy red hair, smudged dark circles underneath her wide, worried eyes, and pinkened lines that seem to connect her freckles into a striped constellation across her puffy face.
“Lion,” I choke on the word as I attempt to hold in a laugh. She’s the human embodiment of the animal right now. Laughter breaks through, but I immediately cease because my nose scrunches and sends pain signals singing a malevolent tune through my system.
“Sh, I’m here. I’ve got you. I’m so sorry, Stone…” Tears fill her eyes, causing that hazel color to shine on the side of emerald green.
It registers that she is calling me by my first name instead of Mr. Harper, and I don’t think I’ve ever loved the sound of my name as much as I do at this moment. I grin, even though the pain it causes in my face would put me on the ground if I wasn’t there already. “Please never call me Mr. Harper again,” I croak out in a hoarse voice. So much for being suave. I close my eyes and breath. “Unless we’re role playing. I’m down for role play.”
She slaps my arm but laughs through tears. “I guess I can officially not be worried anymore. You’re obviously okay.”
I open my eyes to find her relieved smile as she sits back on her legs. “But what exactly happened? My face feels like it was hit with a cast iron skillet, and I’m pretty sure my nose is broken based onmy voice, the pain, the nausea, and the blood.” I only just notice the blood on her hands as she folds them in her lap beside me.
“Your facewashit with a cast iron skillet, and it wasmycast iron skillet, and I am deeply sorry for injuring your nose and ruining your pretty face. In my defense, I thought you were intending harm to me by bursting into my apartment. I used the smallest skillet. And I’m honestly not very strong, so there’s that.”
A meow comes from somewhere in the room like the cat is in agreement with Lucy. But honestly? I’m still stuck on “pretty face.”
“You think my face is pretty?” I ask her, attempting a smirk but scowling in pain instead. Looks like my flirty facial expressions are on hold for the foreseeable future. That’s going to make my pretend dating thing a smidge more difficult since I survive solely by flirty looks and body language.
Home. The wedding.
“We are supposed to be headed to Dasher Valley,” I say, scrambling to get up. The moment I move, dizziness captures me, and I fall back into Lucy’s waiting arms.
“Not until we get you checked out by a doctor.”
I sigh, knowing there is no way around this. “You know, Lucy May, I think you might very well be the death of me at this rate. First the crabs and now this. I knocked, called, and yelled your name.”
“The only thing I heard, which is what jolted me out of bed, was my door being kicked in. I had completely spaced that you were picking me up in that fearful moment.”
That makes sense. She was some kind of dead, I guess. Dead asleep.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and I have the sudden memory of her hands in my hair.
“Run your hands through my hair one more time,” I say without thinking. I instantly regret the words because they make me seem needy and desperate, but the moment she obliges, I forget I should care. Instead, I let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a purr at the pure feeling of bliss that is numbing the pain in my head.
Her cat answers my call and licks my cheek.
“Okay, time to go.”
The next couple of hours are somewhat of a blur (thankfully and miraculously, my nose wasn’t broken), and before I know it, we are on the road headed to Dasher Valley.
Except this was not the scenario I had in mind.
In my head, I would drive Lucy to my hometown, stopping at a Cal’s Diner, which is stationed around the halfway mark. We would share a shake, and I would quiz her on everything she’d need to know to keep our fake dating cover intact. We’d have so much fun talking, singing to random songs, and getting to know each other that the six hours would breeze by. Heck, by the end of the drive, she’d be in love with me and pretending wouldn’t be so difficult for her. Where we went from therewas a mystery because commitment is not for me, but I would sure have a good time figuring it out.
