I’d have helped him carry it, if he’d have let me. It’s an intrusive thought in this dumb situation, as true as the sentiment may be. But he didn’t want me to. I shouldn’t care about some lines on his face and what may have caused them.
“Fine. But then I’m calling someone to take me to the clinic. Please just take me to the living room,” I capitulate, my words clipped. I rub my face in frustration, willing away any tears.
“Thank you.” He sighs, sounding relieved.
“What do you need me to do?” I demand, my voice bitter to my own ears. I just want to get this over with.
“Hold on to me while I pick you up,” he offers calmly, unmoved by my tone.
“Pick me up? Absolutely not!” I scoff. Being in his arms is too much to handle.
“I promise I will not jostle your ankle. Just hold on while I lift,” he urges, not paying me any heed as I look at him in wide-eyed shock.
“Stop!” I protest with a weak attempt to push him away. It falls on deaf ears as he hooks his brawny arms under me, gathering me close. He lifts slowly and smoothly as promised, like I’m weightless, no strain at all. A rich loamy scent from the garden mixed with his own note of spice I never forgot fills my nose while I’m awkwardly pressed against him. Struggling hurts my ankle, so I’m forced to remain still.
Allowing him to do this feels like defeat. I don’t need to be reminded of his strength and agility. Memories rush into my mind. He was… is… physically magnificent. Completely breathtaking. And being in his arms was once the best feeling in the world.
“I’ll put you down so you can elevate your foot and then I will bring your phone.” He speaks in hushed tones, like I need soothing, as he steadily guides us out of the kitchen and into the foyer. He turns us through the double doors into the living room.His cradled hold keeps my leg nearly motionless, like he glides us across the house. Still, I’ve clutched desperately at his neck the entire time, scared my foot would knock into something. It doesn’t, of course. He’s excessively careful as he bends his knees and lowers his arms to place me down onto the sofa without any impact or bounce. After he slides his hands out from under me, he grabs pillows from the matching brown leather sofa facing opposite this one and positions them under my ankle, carefully piling and adjusting them to raise it higher.
“Where should I look for your phone?” he asks, again as promised.
“It should be in the kitchen. Probably on the counter,” I respond, my voice resigned, the fight worn out of me.
When he leaves the room to get my phone, I take a moment to right my house robe so less of my pajama set is showing. In no time he’s back, handing me my phone and then taking a seat on the other sofa with only a coffee table between us.
My mind blanks as I consider who to call. It’s hard to think past my throbbing ankle. First, I try Walt, who doesn’t pick up. He and Acton may be on an early morning hike. They’re both early birds and it seems like Walt requires a daily communion with nature as much as Acton. Tapping the corner of my phone on my chin, I wonder who a trip to the clinic would inconvenience the least. Niven has a borrowed automobile, but I think he’s still asleep upstairs and I don’t want to disturb his rest. Ben’s truck doesn’t have enough room for me to stretch out. And Cara isn’t strong enough to lift me. As I think, Norrell studies my form laid up on the sofa, not quite clinically, but with obvious care.
“Would someone from the clinic be able to come here?” It’s a sign of how well I knew him once that I can tell it’s a genuine question, not sardonic in the least even though it’s a painfullyobvious one—something I didn’t even consider in my frazzled state.
“Yes, that’s a helpful idea. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it. Thank you. For all of this,” I say self-consciously as I gesture toward my ankle. Of their own accord, my eyes return to his, which blaze with emotion despite his otherwise calm demeanor.
“It was no trouble. I want to do this for you.” The sincerity in his voice makes me ache. Its familiarity assails my heart. Everything is too raw right now to scrutinize this sudden burst of sentimentality.
A ghost of a smile touches my mouth, but I quickly rein it in. A slight nod instead is enough to acknowledge him. Forcing my eyes back down to my phone, I call my friend Thea, a healing witch at the clinic. She should have been an obvious first choice since she’s been checking in on me regularly, both as a friend and in her professional capacity, but my mind is not cooperating.
“Hi Ada. So glad you called! I was just thinking about you and was going to check in later today. How’s it going this morning?” she greets me cheerily.
“It’s been a real fiasco. I had a cat-related accident and injured my ankle. When it rains, it pours.” I pout, though belatedly I can’t decide whether I should let Norrell know he is very much a part of this flash flood.
“Let me guess, it was Vanny circling your feet?” She snorts, knowing the boys well.
“No, but he started it. Vanny got ahold of an eggshell and Earl Grey wanted in on the action.” My mouth twitches into a wry smile, and I can’t hold back a bark of biting laughter I’ve been holding in since it happened. “I think Mother Earth has it out for me.”
“Hush, I’ll be over in about fifteen minutes. I’ll take care of that ankle and you’ll be just fine,” she reassures me.
After we hang up, I try adjusting myself on the sofa but pain spikes through my lower leg at the tiniest movement. Norrell leaps up as I whimper, but I hold out my hand gesturing for him to stop. He stands there, hands on his hips, looking ready to do something. Hopefully it’s in another room… on the other side of the house.
“Maybe you could finish breakfast while I wait for Thea? She should be here soon. Eggs and sausage are on the counter. Minus an eggshell somewhere on the floor. There’s bread for toast too. Go ahead and make whatever sounds good to you,” I suggest, hoping he’ll take the bait if he’s still on this infuriating kick to lend a hand.
“I would be glad to. Is there anything I can bring you in the meantime? Anything you want to do?”
This sickly-sweet act makes me want to gag.
“No, I’ll be about as useful as a one-legged male in an ass kicking contest until she gets here. I’m just going to stay put until then. I’ll be good as gold soon enough.” I attempt to smile but end up grimacing. This situation is agonizing in so many ways.
His eyes stay fixed on me for an eternity before he leaves the room. Now that I’m blissfully alone, I carefully flop back on the sofa, trying to relax and forget about the radiating pain. Closing my eyes and counting down the long minutes until Thea arrives, the discomfort cuts through the noise in my mind.
I need a plan, a way to keep my dignity intact while my interloper houseguest playacts his nice-guy routine. I shouldn’t put up such public resistance to hispitching in, his superficial gestures, his unflagging agreeableness. It just makes me look cantankerous. Instead, I need to look as though I appreciate it… be a little more cordial at least. I can’t stomach the thought of being truly friendly, but I’ll do my best while always remaining guarded. Be pleasant without letting him in. It’ll payto remember that bees with honey in their mouths have stings in their tails.
