Chapter 7
DEVON
Two days after the crash, I’m discharged from the hospital.
As I’m packing up my valuables, there’s a soft knock at the door and my heart briefly lifts with the hope it’s Kairo.
He came to visit me while I was getting my cast changed over after an orange juice spillage and I missed him.
Each time footsteps have passed my door or someone has knocked, I’ve hoped and been disappointed every time.
It’s silly, really.
I shouldn’t want anything to do with a man crazy enough to declare me his fiancée just to get past some legal string about insurance.
Being tied down to a man in any capacity after my ex, Axel, feels smothering.
Until I remember Kairo’s face and everything changes.
“Come in,” I call while zipping up my bag.
Larson, my own personal doctor courtesy of Kairo’s insanely expensive medical insurance, walks in with a cheery smile.
“They told me you were checking out today, so I came to see how you were doing.”
“Does the hospital show this much attentiveness to everyone?” My brow lifts as I already know the answer.
“It’s a service I provide to my patients, yes,” Larson replies with a charming smile, surely lubricated by the money he’s making.
It’s also his way of dodging my question because of course he gives this service to his patients.
They’re all paying top dollar.
“How kind.”
“Thank you.” Larson steps closer to me while maintaining a friendly distance. “How is the fatigue? Did you sleep alright?”
“No, but that’s just me. I can’t sleep in unfamiliar places.”
“Will your fiancé be collecting you today?”
I can almost hear the dollar signs tallying behind his eyes. “No, my mother’s coming to pick me up.”
“Hmm. Interesting.” Larson rubs at his jaw as his blue eyes lock down onto the cast I hold against my body.
“Well, I also wanted to remind you of some of the services that are covered by your plan. The break was thankfully clean, as you know, and it should heal swiftly after our care, but if you have any concerns about the incision that was made to clean up the jagged edges of your wound, then be sure to give me a call.”
I glance down at my cast. “Concerns? Like… infection?”
“Oh, well obviously, yes, if you have changes in temperature or a recurring itch that won’t fade. That’s all indicators of an infection, but I was thinking more of the scar.”
Our eyes meet. “My scar?”
“Of course. A woman of your standing, I’m sure, takes her appearance very seriously, and there is an array of cosmetic procedures that I offer that can reduce the visibility of the scar or even remove it altogether.”
Does he not see how funny it is to comment on how much I care about my appearance when I’m sitting before him in jeans and a stained T-shirt while my hair is scraped messily back into a rough bun just to keep it out of my face?
“You can do that? Just… remove scars?”
“Why, of course!” He presses his palms together and flexes his fingers. “Only the best for our top-tier clients.”
“That’s kind,” I reply as I stand, looking down at my phone as a message pops up from my mother. “I can’t ever see that being an issue, though. Thank you for all your care. I have to go.”
“Well, you have my card and your fiancé knows how to reach me.” Larson barely conceals his disappointment behind his smile. “Until next time!”
“Which is hopefully never.”
Smiling politely, I pocket my phone, grab my bag, and edge out past him.
Never in a million years would I have considered that there was surgery to remove scars.
I have my fair share and there are times when I stare in the mirror and try to picture what my body looked like before, but forking out thousands for surgery to mask them?
Maybe if I were as rich as Kairo seems to be.
“Devon!” My mother throws her arms around me the second I reach the hospital entrance. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come up to greet you. I couldn’t find a parking space so we’re actually on borrowed time.”
She jerks her thumb back to where her car is awkwardly parked near the curb. “How are you feeling?”
She pries my bag out of my hands as I kiss her cheek. “I’m fine, Mom. I promise.”
“Goodness, I can’t believe you were so badly hurt a stone's throw away and I didn’t even know!”
“In fairness, my rescuer swept me off to the hospital almost immediately after I was hit. There was no time to tell anyone. Please don’t beat yourself up about it. And look!”
I lift my broken arm and wiggle my new, freshly dressed red and green cast. “This one is much more festive than the pink.”
Mom rolls her eyes as we reach the car, and she tosses my bag into the back seat.
Then, she turns and cups my face with both her hands. “I’m so glad you’re okay. When I got the call, I was so worried.”
Her face twists and she blinks rapidly. “Life is short, you know? Too short.”
She pats my cheek, and I want to say more to comfort her, but she’s already ushering me into the car. The moment passes.
Life is short.
My short trip to LA that turned into five years created a rift between my parents and me, at least in my mind.
Axel cut me off from everyone, making my escape back to this sleepy town on the outskirts of New York terrifying.
I was sure my parents would slam the door in my face as punishment for vanishing for five years, but instead, they welcomed me with open arms and my heart broke.
But I know the effect my disappearance had on them, especially now as Mom constantly shoots me sidelong glances while we drive as if she expects me to disappear right from this very seat.
She fills me in on the bakery and how poor Faith has been thrown in the deep end with my absence, but she’s doing an amazing job.
She insists I stay home and rest, but I need to keep myself busy or I’ll dwell too much on Kairo and this strange predicament I’ve ended up in.
So, after a long, hot shower, some of my father’s stew, and a long debate about whether to tell my parents the truth about Kairo after my father voices his concerns about hospital bills, I head to the bakery.
I keep my fake engagement a secret for now.
There’s no need to scare them like that, and if Kairo’s insurance is taking care of the bills, then assuring them that they’re taken care of is all I need to do.
The bakery is buzzing with customers, several of whom voice their sympathy as I pass.
Weaving through them, I flash Faith a bright smile as she gazes at me from the register with a slightly frazzled look in her eye and find Mom busy in the kitchen.
“Oh, Devon,” she mutters behind a giant vat of dough. “I wish you would go home and rest.”
“I told you, I can’t focus on resting. I need to be busy and there’s work to be done, so please put me to work.”
She squints at me and rubs a dot of flour from her cheek. “Alright. I need to go and meet a client about a Thanksgiving banquet. We’re working on pastries right now. Do you think you can handle them while I pop out?”
“You know I can. One arm won’t slow me down,” I tease her, eager to get back into the familiar craziness of this place.
“Trust me, Mom. With Faith out front, all my focus will be here and on these…” Pausing, I glance at the whiteboard hanging on the wall near the back exit.
“Ooh, cranberry? We’re doing that this year? ”
“The testers were a hit last year, so I’m hoping people remember.” Mom grins as she unties her apron. “Okay, if you need anything, give me or your dad a call. I’ll only be an hour. Two, tops.”
“Go,” I insist with a laugh. “Show them that we’re the only place in the entire state that can cater that banquet.”
She pecks me on the cheek and leaves in a flash.
A comfortable silence falls, broken only by the gentle music of the machinery stirring the dough and mixing icing and the light hum of the ovens.
Between this and the light murmur rising from the front of the store, I feel at peace for the first time since the accident.
Cooking with one arm has its difficulties, but within twenty minutes, I’m in my element.
Nothing works out stress better than beating dough into submission and rolling it out to line twenty-five pastry cases.
It’s like a dance that soothes my mind, and peace settles across my shoulders at being able to do something again.
Peace that vanishes when Faith rushes into the kitchen.
“Okay, that’s the last customer right now and I am bursting for a pee, so I’m going on break!”
She throws her hands up in the air. “These people are crazy! They act like their entire meal will be ruined without one specific slice of pie!”
“Welcome to the holidays,” I call after her with a laugh as she bolts for the bathroom.
The sound of the door closing has barely reached me when a ding rises up from the front of the shop.
So much for the last customer.
Finishing with the dough, I quickly wash my hand and hurry through to the front of the bakery while removing the protective glove I placed over my cast.
“Hi there, I’m so sorry for the wait. It’s been a little hectic today—”
I stop dead just through the doorway and stare in shock at the man standing in the bakery gazing up at the display boards.
It’s Kairo.
His black hair is slicked back away from his face, and a pair of oval silver spectacles balances on his angular nose as he gazes upward at the signs.
His lips are parted ever so slightly while he stares.
Around his neck lies a black rope necklace with a handful of silver beads connecting the front, and they glint at me through the tantalizing opening of his white shirt.
With no tie, I glimpse a mouthwatering eyeful of his bare, golden chest.
He stands with one hand in his pocket which ruffles the sleeve of his grey suit jacket, exposing the heavy silver watch around his wrist.
Then he turns at the sound of my voice and his eyes widen like he’s just been slapped. “Devon?”
“Kairo…” I step up to the counter and force myself to close my mouth. “What are you doing here?”
“I was…” He frowns suddenly and removes his spectacles, then glances up at the boards. “I’m sorry, do you work here?”