“I’m … sorry,” he rasps between coughs, holding a finger up until he collects himself. “Maybe … maybe I should have let you call that ambulance for me.”
I laugh softly, pleased with the way I’m affecting him until his demeanor seems to shift.
“I didn’t mean any disrespect. I just wanted to say thank you,” he takes a step back and adds once he catches his breath.
So the flirtier I get, the more he pulls away? This guy is a walking freaking paradox. Or maybe I’m just flattering myself by thinking he’s as attracted to me as I am to him. Maybe he’s simply grateful for myhelp, and I’m reading too far into this after being out of the dating game for so long.
Or maybe I’m just too much for a nice guy like him.
“Sorry,” I say after a while. “A single woman can’t be too careful these days, you know.”
“No apology necessary,” he replies with a less genuine smile. “I should probably try to find some antihistamines and get myself home before it’s too late, anyway. Thanks again for your help.”
“Right. Well, good luck with those hives,” I mutter, unable to disguise the wobble in my voice after he shuts me down. I spin on my heels to go, but he reaches out and grabs my arm.
“Claire, wait,” he says, turning me back to face him. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I ask, shrugging out of his grasp.
“I’m not actually sure,” he admits, cringing. “Look, I don’t know what I’m doing right now, and I don’t usually ask women out on the spot like this. But,” he pauses for a deep breath, “I don’t think it’s the EpiPen making my heart race.”
I feel my lips tugging up into a smile, against my better judgment. “So that’s what you’re going with? I make your heart race?”
He groans and runs a hand over his face. “I swear I’m not a creep. It’s just … I’ve never panicked during the whole anaphylaxis thing before, but I was already feeling sorry for myself tonight, and I think I’d genuinely started to worry I might die alone. Then you stopped to help me, and now all I can think about is how beautiful and funny you are and that I’d be crazy to let you go without at least taking a shot.”
I narrow my eyes as I study him. He seems sincere. And the longer I stare at him, the more I sense something so familiar about him, something that makes me feel like I can trust what he’s saying.
Either way, he’s the handsome and witty one, while I’m the sad, lonely loser. Let’s face it—I’d be an idiot to turn him down.
“So youareasking me out … but just to talk?”
He smiles and scrubs the back of his neck. “Only ifTanteVerna wouldn’t mind sparing you a little longer.”
“And you’re sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?”
He drops his hand. “I’m totally fine.”
I pull out my phone and flick to a ride-share app, then punch in our information before I address him again. “All right, we can hang out for a bit, since you probably need someone to keep an eye on you and make sure your symptoms don’t get any worse. I’ve got a room upstairs—” I click my tongue when his brow shoots up. “Don’t get too excited. That wasn’t an invitation. But there’s a twenty-four-hour pharmacy a couple blocks down, so after we raid the hydrocortisone aisle, you can walk me back here … to the lobby.”
“Thank God, because Ireallyneed that itch cream,” he says on an exhale before he returns to scratching behind his ear, making me laugh again.
“And, speaking of Aunt Verna, you’ll have to come with me to check in with her first. You know, in case they need someone to identify you later,” I add.
“Look at me. You can’t really think I’m dangerous?” he asks with a smirk.
“Oh, honey, we both know I’d eat you alive,” I retort, fluffing my hair over my shoulder. Although, after having wrapped my hands around Rowan’s surprisingly thick hams earlier, I’m not as sure of that as I sound.
“Ah, so I’m the victim in this scenario,” he says, his tone more playful.
My only answer is a shrug, and he grins and gestures for me to lead the way. He follows at a respectful distance as I weave through the ballroom toward the table where my mom is seated alongside my great-aunt and great-grandmother, the three of them making up the matriarchy of our family after my maternal grandmother passed away when I was a baby. Their eyes widen when we approach.
“Well, now I see what’s been taking you so long in the powder room,” Aunt Verna declares. My great-grandmother Daphne smiles and elbows her gently, while my mom presses her lips together in a hard line.
“I ran into a friend,” I say, fibbing slightly. “This is Rowan. He’s adoctor.”
My great-grandmother coos, obviously impressed, and I introduce her first.
“Happy anniversary. Sixty years is quite the accomplishment,” Rowan declares, making her smile again. “And you must be the famousTanteVerna,” he says when my aunt reaches out to take his hand for longer than appropriate.
