Opening her eyes, she peered at the shapes in the dim room. Was she still in the hotel? No. This must be her apartment. The pressure on her head turned into a twitch. Her heart jumped into her throat, and she slipped out from under it, almost falling as she hit the coffee table.
Eb! She’d been lying on his legs. Now fully awake, she remembered putting Rue to bed and deciding someone needed to be there in case the child woke. Sandra couldn’t believe she hadn’t wakened when he’d come out in the middle of the night. What if it had been his daughter instead, and she’d slipped out of the apartment?
It was a good thing there were no children in Sandra’s future. She’d have made a terrible mother. But how sweet of Eb to have come out here to keep her company. That was all it’d been, right?
Her lips tingled, remembering their kiss yesterday. Oh, heavens. She could’ve stayed there forever. But it made her want a relationship that could never be. He deserved more than she could ever give him. They were friends; they could only ever be friends.
She crept back to the couch and covered him with the throw she’d used. Then she tiptoed to the door. There, she patted her pocket to make sure she had her own key. Forcing herself not to look back, she left.
The strep had put Sandra behind schedule, and she and Walt had another promotional trip beginning the day after tomorrow. This one would only be for a week, but when they were done, she’d stay behind in California to spend Thanksgiving with her parents.
Glancing over her shoulder, her hand on the doorknob, Sandra’s heart hurt. How could she have let herself fall in love with Eb Grinchly? Well, she refused to risk hurting him further. Either she would keep him firmly in the friend zone, or she’d lose him. And it would break her heart.
Sandra swallowed the lump in her throat. It seemed like no matter what she did, Dom won.
* * *
Eb wokein the morning with a stiff neck and an aching arm. He stared at the blank screen of the television across the living room, trying to sort out why he’d slept on the couch when he had a perfectly good bed.
He rose and began to fold the throw but paused and sniffed it. It smelled like Sandra, which woke up his senses. Eb had come for pain meds during the night and found her sleeping in his living room. He’d spent the night with her. Or most of the night. Asleep. But still. The thought made him grin.
For six months, he’d known he was falling for her. Yesterday, he’d finally kissed her—and she’d returned it. And what a kiss!
As the image of her expression afterward flashed through his mind, Eb’s exhilaration dimmed. Thinking back on it, he realized there’d been a lot more in her eyes than horror. Which was probably too strong a word. Maybe appalled. And a little disgust. But now he wondered if she hadn’t meant it for him. So why would she have been upset with herself about kissing him?
But her response had been enthusiastic. Enough to make him determined to pursue a relationship with her. He’d waited long enough.
After putting the poorly folded throw where it belonged, Eb went for more medication. The over-the-counter meds had worked okay. His arm ached, but not enough to need the prescription stuff.
Eb then went to Rue’s door and listened. She’d proved to be a good sleeper, for which he’d been grateful on the weekends. His stomach growled, so he went in search of some leftover pizza. With a piece in hand, he returned to his bedroom and woke his computer. Both his work and personal email accounts were bursting with new messages, mostly about the shooting. Which sent him after his phone.
As he moved things around, it drove home just how much he used his left arm. How bad would it have hurt if the bullet had gone deeper and done more than bruise the muscles?
He found the phone in his coat pocket near the front door. It was dead, so he plugged it into the charger and started it. As soon as it connected to the cell tower, it blew up with messages.
His parents! Eb hadn’t called them. They were early risers and on the East Coast, so it was safe to phone them.
“Ebeneezer, are you okay?” his mother cried as soon as she answered. “Why didn’t you call? I’ve been so worried and didn’t sleep a wink last night. I was so—”
“Sweetheart, let the boy answer.” While his father’s voice sounded calm, it carried an edge of worry too.
“If you put it on speaker, I can talk to both of you,” Eb said.
After some fumbling noises, his father said, “There you go.”
“Okay, first. I’m fine. It was only a flesh wound. Barely a scratch.” It was almost the truth. The doctor who’d stitched it up had pretty much said so. Were fifteen stitches a lot? “And I’m on antibiotics. But I’m not taking any prescription painkillers. The important thing is the lady who was shot will be fine, and the police have the guy who did it.”
“So true,” his dad said. “Well done, son.”
“Your father showed me the video on the internet.” The worry in Eb’s mother’s voice poked him right in the feels. She’d struggled with so many miscarriages that they’d almost given up. And then she’d gotten pregnant with Eb and managed to carry him to thirty weeks. They'd always called him their treasured gift.
“I haven’t watched it.” And he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Time to talk about something else. “Like I told you before, I can’t get away from work until practically Christmas. I know you hate the cold, but do you think you could bear to come here and share the holiday with me and Rue?”
His mother squealed, but his dad groaned.
“I know with fibromyalgia you’re extra sensitive to cold, but this will be my first Christmas with her too. I’d love to have my family all together for this.”
“We’ll be there,” his mother declared, “but I promised the pastor to help with setting up the Christmas Eve Nativity, so we can’t get there until at least the twenty-second.”
