He takes my hand and kisses my knuckles. “You can’t go at her with that kind of energy, though. You’re a lot when your high beams are on.”
Downstairs, cabinet doors open and slam. A drawer slides closed. “Maybe I’ll channel that energy into installing some soft-close hinges to the kitchen cupboards.”
Garrett coughs and winces as he tries not to laugh. When he’s done, he settles and sinks a little deeper into the pillow. “Go on.” He tips his chin in the direction of the door.
“I’m not leaving you.”
He closes his eyes. “I’ll sleep. And you’re still hovering. Plus, you look like you might be able to breathe a little easier if you’re down there. If she’s open to it, kiss her. It’ll make you feel better,”
I hate that he’s right.
And I also love that he’s right.
I press a kiss to his temple, then his lips. “I’ll check on you every hour.”
“I know.”
“And if you try to get out of this bed, I’ll?—”
“Stop fussing. And go. Before she burns down our kitchen.”
I roll my eyes and stand, giving him one last look, memorizing the fact he’s still breathing and that, if we all make it through the night, we’ll get another day tomorrow. His phone sits on the bedside table, thankfully, not damaged in the accident, and I place it next to his hand. “Call me if you need anything.”
Then, I head downstairs.
A warm light spills across the old hardwood floors I want to sand and refurbish. Pots are stacked haphazardly on the island I want to replace. Something bubbles and steams on the stove.
And Isla is barefoot, hair tied up messily, sleeves rolled up to her elbows as she wipes down the counter with an intensity that suggests she’s overthinking.
She turns when my footsteps cause a floorboard to creak.
“Sorry. I know it’s late. The pan slipped out of my hand.” Isla gestures helplessly at the stove. “You had some chicken already cooked in the fridge. So, it’s the bones of chicken noodle soupbecause I thought that might be easy for Garrett to digest. You’ll need to add some noodles.”
She lifts her chin, and God, she looks soft and breakable and fierce all at once. I don’t know how I didn’t notice before. I mean, I noticed her before because she’s a good-looking woman. But I guess I didn’t notice what a good woman was hiding beneath the veneer that stains most club girls over time. There’s an air of jaded desperation, of trying too hard, about them.
I need someone to soften my jagged edges, not match them. And that was always the energy Isla gave off.
It takes me a moment to bite back the instinct to cross the room and wrap her up in my arms. Instead, I just step closer, slowly.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” I say.
“I know.” She drops her gaze again. “But I wanted to. After the accident, how scared you were…I mean…I just… I didn’t know what else to do that wouldn’t feel intrusive.”
My chest pulls tight at the memory of how she let me hold her. “You weren’t intrusive. You were perfect.”
Her cheeks flush as she ducks her head. She reaches for the cloth to carry on wiping down the counter.
“I think that’s clean enough, Isla. Are you okay?”
She nods too fast. “Sure. Yeah. Busy hands, quiet mind and all that.”
I do know. All too well.
I step closer. Close enough that I can smell the faintly fruity scent of her soap. “Garrett’s sleeping for a little while. He told me to come down and figure out if you were about to burn the house down with all the banging.”
She huffs a small laugh. “I wasn’t burning anything.”
“Sounded like a war zone upstairs, and Garrett’s had enough of those to last a lifetime.”
