Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“I don’t know if you like to read, but I figured being trapped in this bed would be boring. And this was in the top ten bestsellers,” he said, putting the book on my nightstand.
“This was all really thoughtful,” I said, wondering if he was deliberately not discussing the whole going-down-on-me thing. If he maybe regretted it.
It shouldn’t have mattered.
There was nothing wrong with some no-strings-attached casual sex.
Somehow, though, whether it made any sort of logical sense or not, I wanted strings. Or at least to act like something had transpired.
“It sounds like you’re out of here soon,” he said when he was done talking about the things in the basket.
“The doctor said I can probably leave tomorrow. Thank goodness. I mean, I’m sure this is a great hospital and all, but I am having the hardest time sleeping here. And being connected to machines.”
“You’ll still have to take it easy for a while,” he advised.
“Yes, of course,” I agreed, nodding. Something about him right then told me that it probably wasn’t wise to tell him about my plan to get back to The Brunch Bar the day after tomorrow. Because we simply couldn’t keep it closed much longer.
“They should give you some stuff to help with the pain for a bit too. So you will be all set. And able to recoup at home. How does it feel today?”
“It’s okay. I’m kind of… getting used to it, I guess. Remembering not to reach with my bad arm has been a constant lesson I need to keep re-learning, but I’ll get there.”
“It will be a while, but just when you start getting used to it, you will be all better,” he told me.
“It sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” I said, brows furrowing.
“Not me, no. But my brother,” he told me.
“Oh, my God. I hope he’s okay now.”
“He is,” he assured me, giving my foot a squeeze through the blankets. “It sounds like I won’t be able to visit tomorrow,” he said. And was that regret in his voice? Did he want to come again? Or was this all just some misplaced guilt? “Can I do anything for you today? Or get you anything?”
“You’ve done more than enough,” I said, then watched as his lips twitched ever so slightly before he forced his face to straight lines.
“It will never be enough,” he told me, shaking his head. “Maybe I can drop in when the restaurant opens back up again? Taste that food I didn’t get a chance to last time.”
“Yes, absolutely. I would be so happy to have you back,” I told him, meaning it. And not only because we would desperately be needing his patronage.
“I’ll keep an eye,” he told me, giving me a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but I didn’t know him well enough to understand the look. “I hope you feel better soon, sweetheart,” he said, making my belly do a little flip-flop.
“I will,” I assured him, giving him a smile because I knew he seemed to like it. “Pretty soon, I will be racing around the restaurant and beating things into submission with my little baby hammer again.”
“Can’t wait to see it,” he told me, tone and eyes almost, I don’t know, sad, as he made his way to the door.
Then he was gone.
And there was a sinking feeling in my chest, my belly, my soul at seeing him go.
But that was such an over-the-top reaction that I set to trying to distract myself while I waited for my mom to return.
I picked up my e-reader, then the book he got me, fiddled with the lotion and lip balm, then picked at the snacks he’d left for me.
I even put on the eye mask and tried to nap.
But it was no use.
My mind was working overdrive, bouncing around from the things he’d said, to the faces I couldn’t read, to the things he’d done, and the way all of it had felt.
I mean, this man who was a practical stranger, had happily gone down on me in a hospital bed after indulging me with goodies for two days.
Guilt motivated or not, it was definitely the most interesting interaction I’d ever had with a man before.
“Hello, my darling girl,” my mother said as she breezed in, smelling like her amber-scented body lotion and a hint of sunblock. “How was your visit?” she asked as she put a container of fresh fruit and sliced veggies down on my tray, complete with a yogurt dip for the fruit and a dill dip for the veg.
“It was nice. He seemed sad that he couldn’t come back tomorrow.”
“And are you?” she asked. “Sad that he can’t come back tomorrow?” she clarified.
“Yes,” I admitted.
“I would be too. That is one lovely man.”
“He said he will come to the restaurant when we reopen.”