Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75770 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75770 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“You okay?” I ask her.
She grips the edge of the counter. “Yes, fine, of course.” She turns off the faucet and squeezes the excess water from the cloth. “Here.” She places it on my forehead. “This will help.”
It’s a cold compress, which would make sense if I had a headache or a fever, but I don’t.
“Evie,” Sebastian says. “What’s that for?”
“I don’t know. I figured it might make me feel better, at least.” Evangeline shakes her head. “We should have an on-site nurse or medic.”
Sebastian opens his mouth to speak when Marc walks in. “How’s our patient?” he asks.
“How do you think?” Sebastian growls.
I sigh. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t you have shrimp to devein?” Sebastian asks.
“I’m done. A new batch is peeled, deveined, and marinating, so I thought I’d see if I can assist here.”
“Because you think there might be some kind of cooking emergency?” Sebastian rolls his eyes.
I’m not sure why Sebastian is being so rude to Marc. It’s not like him at all.
“Fuck,” Sebastian says then, as if I got through to him with ESP or something. “I’m sorry. I just can’t stand that she got hurt.”
“I understand,” Marc replies. “In fact, that’s why I’m here. Every place I’ve ever worked has required chefs to have first aid training.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Why?”
“Because of situations like this one. Kitchen accidents are common. We work with sharp knives, after all. Let me have a look.”
“Are you okay with Marc taking a look, Ariel?” Evangeline asks.
“Sure, but I’m fine.”
Marc kneels next to me and removes the towel.
“Will she need stitches?” Evangeline asks. “Do I need to call the mainland?”
Could she be any more dramatic? Evangeline isn’t doing anything for my mental state, and I wish she’d leave. I wish Sebastian would leave as well. I think he’s hot and a great fuck, but right now, the two of them are hovering over me like a couple june bugs on a hot summer night buzzing around my face. I almost feel like swatting them away.
How can I get them to leave? This is a big bathroom, but it’s getting pretty crowded.
“Evangeline,” I say, “I’m thirsty. Could you get me some ice water? And maybe an icepack for the pain?”
“Yes, of course.” She walks toward the door.
“And Sebastian?”
“What do you need, sweetheart?”
“Nothing. I just want you to go back to the kitchen. Someone should be there representing our team.”
“Don’t be silly,” he says. “I’m not leaving you alone in here.”
“I’m not alone. Marc is here, and he has first aid training.” I give him a weak smile. “I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed is all. I need some space.”
“You sure?” Sebastian asks.
“Yeah, and thanks for taking such good care of me.”
Sebastian and Evangeline leave the bathroom, and I sigh in relief. “Thank God. I felt like horseflies were swarming around me.”
Marc chuckles. “They’re right to be concerned.” He looks closely at my leg. “These accidents can be messy, but the good news is that you’re not going to need stitches. The cut is shallow, and a couple butterfly bandages will hold this together just fine. You may have a light scar, but no more than you’d have with stitches anyway.” He reaches into the first aid kit that Evangeline brought in.
“Ow!” I say when he slides a cool wipe over the cut.
“Sorry, but we have to make sure it’s clean. There’s an anesthetic in the wipe, so the sting will stop in a minute.”
“It feels better now.” I smile down at him as he carefully closes the wound with the butterfly bandages.
Marc’s touch is gentle and caring as he wipes my leg after he’s done dressing the wound. “A shame. You have beautiful legs, Ariel.”
My cheeks warm. “Thank you.”
“Have you enjoyed your stay here so far?” he asks as he rises and rinses out the towel in the sink.
“What’s not to enjoy?” I ask. “I’m in a tropical paradise with four handsome men”—I breathe in, gather my courage—“and a gorgeous chef.”
He turns and gives me a face-splitting grin. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
I smile coyly. “How do you know I’m not talking about Katie?”
He laughs then. A big and joyful laugh that makes my toes curl.
“Katie is indeed gorgeous,” Marc agrees. “She and I have known each other since culinary school.”
“Known in what sense?”
He laughs again. “Just friends. Friends who crossed the line into friends with benefits only once.”
Interesting. A spike of something—not quite jealousy, but something like it—hits my tummy. I like Marc, and he’s quite a hottie with his dark hair and blue eyes. His accent is clearly American.
“Where are you from?” I ask.
“Mississippi.”
“No kidding? I’m from Alabama.”
“So we’re practically neighbors.” He squeezes the water out of the towel.
“You don’t have a southern accent like I do,” I say.
“My family moved to Mississippi when I was ten, so I never developed one, but yours is adorable, Ariel.”