Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
I shake my head. I don’t remember any of this.
“I drove down to check on you.”
I push up on the mattress, headache be damned. “You drove down? To Exeter? In the middle of the night?”
He holds my arms, encouraging me to lie down. “It wasn’t the middle of the night. I was there by ten.”
I lie flat on my back. “You drove down to Exeter? I could have got you an emergency nanny—”
Dax growls. “I didn’t bring you back so you could work. I brought you back because…you’re safe here. It’s always best to be at home when you’re not feeling well. It’s more comfortable.”
“You drove ten hours so I could be more comfortable?” I ask, confused and unsure what to make of such a kindness.
“Yes,” he says, nodding as if he’s working out a complex science question. “I guess I did. I didn’t think much about it. I just wanted you to be comfortable. And I knew if you were here, I could make sure you were.” He glances at me then looks away, as if I’ve caught him out doing something he shouldn’t. “That, and I didn’t want you to use being ill as an excuse to stay away.”
I manage a half-laugh that turns into a half-yelp, the pain in my ribs stopping any fully formed expression of feeling. Images from the hours before flood my head, combining with the pain in my ribs. I cover my face with my hands. “I just remembered vomiting.”
“But not in the car, thankfully,” Dax says, smiling. “You waited until you were back here.”
I groan. “Who was here? Who were you with? I remember someone.”
“My mum was here in the beginning when you were sick, but only because she refused to leave. I packed her off to Norfolk. Dad too. It’s just the three of us here now.”
“Where’s Guinevere? You can’t have me here with a newborn. She’ll get—”
“She’s fine,” he interrupts. “I’m a doctor. I know how to isolate a patient.”
“But you’re not a stethoscope doctor. You work with test tubes and data and stuff.”
He chuckles. “Yup. That sums up my job pretty well. But I have a grasp of the basics. I just about remember how to use a thermometer and make a glass of water. The rest is…hazy.” He shakes his head. “I can tell you’re better. You’re listing all sorts of reasons why you can’t be taken care of. Seems like we’re back to business as usual.”
He pushes a few strands of hair off my face and it strikes me like a cartoon anvil on my foot—I’m not sure anyone has cared for me like this since I was a child.
Dax cares. Really cares.
About me.
But I’m not a child, and Dax is my boss. My boss who gives me butterflies whenever I hear his voice and goose bumps whenever I feel him close. A man who’s made me feel more than any man before him. I’m pretty sure he’s set the bar so high, no man will ever make me feel more.
It’s clear to me what I have to do.
It feels tricky or inappropriate or just plain weird to be having this conversation while I’m lying in bed and he’s kneeling at my bedside. I try to sit up.
He laughs. “You’re not going anywhere.”
I laugh too. “I’m just trying to sit up so we can talk.”
“We’re talking. I know a little about biology. Our voices work pretty well lying down.”
“Wow, really, Doctor?”
He laughs. “Don’t with the doctor. You’re not strong enough for some of the things I want to do to you when you call me that.”
My skin tingles like someone’s sweeping feathers across my body. It’s the most human I’ve felt in a while.
“Before I got sick, Eddie and I talked,” I say. “For hours.”
“What did you talk about?” he asks. “Us?” That one syllable means so much to me.
“Yes. And everything. How helping her might be hurting her. How her not needing my financial support doesn’t mean she doesn’t need me to be her sister. How she thinks I don’t have the life I want—don’t even know how to think about getting it.”
He doesn’t say anything, just nods like he’s taking it all in.
“We talked about things I think you already know. About how I’m not going to take the job with the Russians.”
He raises his eyebrows but doesn’t smile. Just because I’m not choosing that job doesn’t mean I’m choosing him. He knows that.
“And we talked a lot about how I feel when I’m with you…how different that is. How it’s woken up a part of me I didn’t know existed. All these things are mixed up in my mind, like my brain’s a giant snow globe. I feel like I need some time for the storm to settle.”
“In this analogy, am I Santa?”
I laugh. “You’re definitely Santa.” I reach for him and trail my fingers across his stubbled jaw. “It’s the white beard.” He pushes his face toward my fingers like a cat enjoying my attention.