13. Thirteen
Thirteen
Juliet
H enry said Nan must have known what she was doing by leaving the inn and cottage to me; I would simply hope that he was right. Now that I knew what was at stake, there was no turning back.
After opening up to him, conversation flowed more easily between us. Henry told me more about the places on my sketch list—none of which were quite as remote as Cooper’s Point, fortunately.
“If you ever want company when you’re checking them out, I’m happy to go with you.”
My breath caught in my chest at the sweetness of the offer, the earnest smile on his face when he made it, the fact that I’d judged him so very wrong.
“That’s . . . really nice of you,” I said after an awkward beat of silence.
His eyes were warm in the lamplight. “I’d rather be there to keep you from falling than worry you’re out wandering the wilderness on your own.”
I would’ve laughed at the thought he might worry about me, at least up until a few hours ago. Before I could settle into the intimacy of the exchange, Henry smoothly changed the subject, telling me about the inner workings of the Lakeside Inn and stories of his afternoons at the cottage with Nan when he was a child.
When I looked out the window sometime later and realized the evening had faded well into night, I blinked in confusion, surprised at how much time had passed. As if on cue, I yawned, covering my mouth with both hands. Henry stood and reached out to help me up.
“Come on, you managed to stay awake for four hours, now you need to get some rest. Doctor’s orders.”
He pulled me carefully to my feet and I let him help me limp to the bathroom. Though Libby had cleaned me up pretty well, my clothes were filthy and I was desperate for a hot shower. Even so, I couldn’t bring myself to put forth the effort, nor was I sure I could stay upright that long on my own.
A sudden flash of embarrassment swept along my skin when I remembered Henry was standing there, watching my silent debate. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice the pile of dirty laundry in the corner, because draped right on top of the heap was my favorite turquoise bra.
My cheeks flamed as I fought to keep myself from glancing over at it. “I can take it from here,” I said.
Henry gave me a curious look but nodded. “If you need anything, just yell. I’ll be right out here.”
“I will,” I said. “And Henry . . . thank you.”
A slow smile spread across his handsome face. “You’re very welcome, Juliet.”
I latched the door with a soft click and leaned my cheek against it. New town, surprise inheritance, knight in shining armor. Whose life was I living, anyway?
Then again, most princesses probably wouldn’t fall down a rocky hillside in the middle of nowhere. Maybe I should practice walking with a book on my head, once I could walk again without limping.
I tried hard not to think about him out there on the sofa as I grabbed my pajamas from where I’d left them on the radiator that morning. I was able to shove my shorts down over my hips without too much trouble before I carefully pulled on a well-worn pair of flannel pajama pants covered in unicorns. At least they were soft enough not to terrorize my raw skin.
After managing to pull my t-shirt off, I froze, staring into the mirror over the sink. Even if I unwrapped my wrist, I wasn’t confident that I could twist it behind my back to unhook my bra.
Maybe I could do it one-handed—hadn’t my college boyfriend bragged about having that talent? My battered muscles complained before I even got my hand level with the clasp, and whether it was fatigue, painkillers, or simple clumsiness, I couldn’t get it undone.
I brushed my teeth, stalling for time, then pressed my ear against the door. Though Henry must’ve known about the hidden TV and cable channels, no sound came from the other room.
Frantically, I considered my options. Would I be able to slip into the bedroom without him seeing me half naked? Could I stand leaving the bloodstained bra on under my nice clean pajamas?
When I looked back at my reflection, my eyes were wide with panic and twin spots of brilliant scarlet highlighted my cheeks.
My knee was unbearably stiff by that point and every inch of my body ached with the reminder of the day’s adventure. Trying to wriggle the bra down and over my hips with only one hand was almost too much to fathom. I clutched the oversized pajama shirt to my chest, unable to make a decision.
When Henry's voice came through the door, I jumped like a scalded cat.
“Juliet? Everything okay in there?”
Think! There had to be some way to put him off, but when I opened my mouth to reply, nothing came out. What would Sarah do in this situation?
His knuckles rapped lightly against the door. “Juliet, I’m going to open the door, all right?”
I beat him to it, hoping to salvage what little dignity I had left. After reassuring myself that I was covered as much as possible, I opened the door. Heat crept up my neck as I took in his look of concern. To his credit, his gaze stayed on my face, though I swore those eyes grew molten.
“I was afraid you might've passed out,” he said, his tone light.
Trying hard to swallow my humiliation, I waved my bandaged wrist while the other hand held the shirt tightly against my bare skin.
“I can’t unhook my . . ." I trailed off, wishing the floor would open up to swallow me.
Relief washed over his features. “Right. I can help with that.”
The reality of letting him assist hit me like a freight train, but it was too late to refuse.
I turned, inadvertently facing the mirror above the sink. A long moment stretched before he stepped closer, then our eyes met in the mirror, blue against hazel. As desperately as I wanted to look away, I couldn’t bring myself to break the connection.
When his knuckles brushed lightly against my skin, stroking over my spine, I sucked in a sharp breath. His gaze stayed locked on mine for another heartbeat, then he released the clasp and the spell was broken.
I swiftly turned back toward him, holding the shirt like a shield between us. Henry cleared his throat and took a step back.
“Thank you,” I mumbled.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” he said, his gentle tone at direct odds with the intensity of his expression. “Goodnight, Juliet.”
“Goodnight, Henry.”
I waited until he was back in the living room before pulling the shirt over my head and limping to the bedroom as quickly as I could. Safe in the quiet room, I closed the door and leaned against it.
Simmer down, Jules.
The chill of the wood against the back of my neck did nothing to erase the memory of his fingers, the lingering trail of heat along that section of my spine. After my skin finally cooled, I pushed away from the door and eased down onto the bed.
Hopefully sleep would help redirect my errant thoughts. Even if the prospect of Henry peeking in to make sure I was breathing throughout the night gave wing to a riot of butterflies in my stomach, I trusted him.
And since his willingness to stay here had been the only thing that kept Libby from pushing the hospital angle, I owed him a debt of gratitude.
Whether from sheer exhaustion or the painkillers, I crashed so hard that I didn’t wake a single time during the night, even though I was sure Henry had obeyed his ex-wife’s orders to the letter.
I awoke to the aroma of coffee brewing and something else, something I hadn’t smelled since before my mother’s illness.
Holy shit, was he making pancakes out there?
Henry cooking in my kitchen filled me with conflicting emotions. I hadn’t been here long enough to make a huge mess, but the idea of him moving around in there, opening cupboards and pulling ingredients from my fridge, it felt strangely intimate. A certain warmth curled upward from my belly, wrapping around my insides.
For the first time in a long time, I felt almost pampered.
Then again, maybe he was bemoaning the pathetic state of my cupboards and trying to keep himself from starvation.
As I drew a deep breath, letting the inviting lure of pancakes bolster me, I turned my head to look at the clock on the bedside table. It was just past eight—for once, I'd slept through the rising sun sneaking past the curtains I had yet to replace.
Gingerly, I bent and straightened my knee a few times. It felt significantly better than the night before, even if it was a bit stiff. I moved slowly as I sat up at the edge of the bed, not willing to risk collapsing to the floor with bedhead.
Henry might be more of a gentleman than I'd given him credit for, but I could just imagine his expression if he saw me looking like Medusa when he had to rush to my rescue.
Again.
I grabbed my hairbrush off the bedside table, wrestled my hair up in a fresh ponytail without tweaking my wrist too badly, then stood—very carefully—and breathed a sigh of relief when no streak of pain shot through my leg. Curious, I pulled up the cuff of my pajama pants to inspect my knee. It was more of a dull twinge at this point, crowned by a remarkably ugly bruise radiating outward from the center of my kneecap.
Though I was determined to shower before putting on fresh clothes, I wasn’t willing to walk out into the kitchen to greet Henry wearing just a thin t-shirt without a bra. In the end, I grabbed the biggest, softest hoodie I could find and pulled it on over my pajamas. It would do for now, so I slipped quietly into the bathroom to brush my teeth.
When I caught sight of my face in the mirror, I grimaced. The cut on my forehead still looked gruesome beneath the butterfly bandages and my cheeks were hideously pale.
I stuck out my tongue at my reflection, but the memory of Henry’s expression in the mirror last night caused me to snap my mouth shut and turn away.
The sweet smell of breakfast drew me straight to the kitchen from there. Henry had his back to me as he stood in front of the stove, spatula in hand. He was flipping pancakes like a pro and had an apron tied around his waist. Out of respect for his efforts to feed me, I limited myself to a swift once-over, admiring the view of his strong shoulders moving beneath a white undershirt and the snug fit of his jeans over his ass and thighs, then focused hard on the back of his head.
While my hair frizzed like I’d stuck a finger in an electrical outlet first thing in the morning, his fell in enviable waves that brushed the back of his neck.
When he turned to place the pancakes on a plate, I stifled a snort. He was, in fact, wearing a frilly, flowered apron over his clothes. He looked unfairly attractive in this domestic setting, with his dark hair disheveled from sleep and threatening to fall into the warm hazel eyes that twinkled as they traveled over me from head to toe.
At least I wasn’t alone in my perusal.
“Hi,” he said. A soft smile curled his lips upward, though it was unclear whether it was because of how ridiculous I looked in unicorn pajamas and a hastily tied ponytail or because he was actually pleased to see me upright and steady on my feet.
“Hi,” I replied, soaking in the warmth of his expression, no matter the cause.
I wished I'd thrown on jeans instead of staying in what I’d slept in. Then again, I'd spent the past few minutes reminding myself that I didn’t need to impress him, so why did I feel so self-conscious now?
“How’s your head?”
His gaze lingered on my forehead for a moment before he turned back to flip the next batch of pancakes. I sat carefully on one of the bar stools along the counter.
“It doesn’t feel too bad, actually. Just looks terrible.”
Henry didn’t hold back an incredulous scoff in response to that. “Yes, you are truly hideous to look at, Juliet Morrison. How about your knee?”
“Ah,” I mumbled, still basking in the glow of the unexpected compliment. “It’s okay. Feels better than yesterday, at least, but pretty impressive bruising.”
Henry lifted the pan and flipped a pancake high in the air. I applauded politely as he set the pan back down on the burner, gave an elegant bow, then slid a mug of coffee in front of me.
“Seemed like you must be a coffee drinker,” he said, nodding to the bag of gourmet coffee I had left beside the coffee pot.
“So you’re a detective,” I mused. “And an accountant, and a good samaritan. And you cook? I should have visited this part of the country sooner.”
He grinned. “What can I say? I'm a man of many talents.”
I slipped awkwardly off the stool to grab a bottle of flavored creamer out of the fridge. When I sat back down, I turned my coffee to the perfect shade of beige.
“So, where’d you learn to cook?” I asked.
His brows quirked upward. “Why, Ms. Morrison, personal questions? You’d think we had spent the night under the same roof,” he teased. I blushed and he added, “Nan taught me, actually. A chef to make breakfast at the inn was actually the first employee she added when she made the shift from a one-woman show, but she showed me a few tricks over the years.”
“Oh.” I studied him for a moment, picturing Nan and a very young Henry with their heads bent together in this very kitchen.
Henry grinned at my surprise and turned briefly to load the last of the pancakes onto a plate before responding. He slid his own plate over so he could hop onto the stool beside me.
“Anything else you want to know? Credit score, genetic markers?” he asked as he dug into his giant stack of pancakes.
“All in good time, Mr. Walker,” I drawled as I took a deep swig of coffee.
This was the best breakfast I’d had in weeks—even better than the inn’s, which shocked me. Maybe it tasted better because I was relaxing in my own environment, maybe it was Henry’s easy camaraderie, but either way, I was happy.
Simply, wonderfully, stupidly happy.
Henry glanced up from his food to smile at me. “All in good time,” he repeated. “Does that mean you’re going to stop avoiding me?”
There was a certain gleam in his eyes that made it hard for me to tear my gaze away from this handsome stranger who’d saved the day, especially when he looked so damn adorable in that ruffled apron. I couldn’t think of a way to change the subject smoothly, so I took a deep breath and turned back to the pancakes, clearing my throat.
Henry, on the other hand, seemed to have moved on from breakfast to playing twenty questions.
“Excellent, I’ll take that as a yes. So, you’re an artist?”
I hurried to swallow the giant bite I was chewing. “Yes.”
“Paint? Pencil? Watercolor?”
“I like to sketch things out first, hence my overly dramatic hiking trip, but my true love is oil paints.”
“I see,” Henry said softly.
I lifted a brow. “Let me guess—just like Nan, huh?”
All he could offer was a helpless shrug, but his expression grew serious. I set down my fork and studied him for a moment. The interest in his eyes seemed genuine.
“What about your mother?” he asked gently. “Was she an artist too?”
A wave of grief rushed through me at the mention of her. I took a steadying breath, but Henry didn’t push for a response.
“No, she was terrible at most forms of art,” I replied, once I was sure I could do so without crying. “She was a seamstress. I shouldn’t discount the artistic ability needed for that kind of work, though. She made really beautiful creations. Clothes, decorations, all sorts of stuff.”
I didn’t want to see the sympathy in his eyes, so I returned to my breakfast and, after a moment, he did the same. When we finished eating, Henry loaded the dishwasher, giving me a warning scowl to keep me from trying to assist. He pulled off the apron and hung it inside a narrow cupboard next to the pantry.
“Do you have any plans today?” he asked finally, looking at me intently.
“I don’t plan to go hiking again, if that’s what you’re asking.” When he grinned, I shrugged and said, “Normally I would get started on sketches today from the photos I took, but I feel like I deserve a few days off to recover.”
He leaned a hip against the counter. “I wondered if I could take you for a drive?”
Surprise flooded my body and I echoed, “A drive?”
“There’s a different place I’d really like to show you sometime, but we’ll have to walk there. That one can wait until you’ve recovered fully. I know you’ve been out exploring, so I thought you might like a little tour of the area.”
“Oh. That sounds great, actually.”
The prospect of spending time with him was growing on me, too. When Henry's responding smile practically lit the room, I couldn’t hold back one of my own.
“I’ll run over and pick up Blue while you get dressed,” he said, then his gaze intensified until I could feel the heat of it brushing my skin. “Unless you think you’ll need some help?”
“Thank you, but I’m sure I can manage.”
A flush crept up my neck and I tried my hardest to look dignified. He laughed as he helped me down from the stool, and I shivered at the same tingle of awareness that zipped along my skin every time he touched me.
“If you’re sure,” he teased.
My scowl only broadened his beautiful smile.
“I’ll be back within the hour. I added my number to your list on the fridge. Now might be a good time to program it into your phone so I can rescue you next time you’re in need.”
“Very funny,” I said dryly. “Go get your dog before I kick your ass out.”
Henry clutched a fist to his chest and winked. “Straight to the heart, and after I made you breakfast. See you soon, Red.”