Chapter 3
IVY
I shut the door to Chad’s room as softly as possible and stand in the hallway to think for a moment.
Chad trusted me so much with that confession. That’s why the one thing spinning around in my brain right now is ridiculous. Because I can’t stop thinking about the fact that Chad Harrell was not wearing a shirt.
I don’t think he realized it. He’s clearly in immense pain, he hasn’t taken anything for it, he’s on the verge of a panic attack just thinking about medications, and he’s also probably concerned for his daughters.
His state of undress is probably far down the list of things he’s worried about.
Let me tell you, there was just enough light for me to see that Chad Harrell is in very good shape and he definitely works out, and I should be ashamed for how many times I had to force my gaze away from his chest.
Luckily, his eyes were closed most of the time.
I swipe a hand across my forehead. “Pull it together, Ivy.” I have never allowed myself to think about a client that way, and just because Chad is my friend doesn’t mean it’s okay to blur that line when he’s trusting me to help.
And not dating for the past six months doesn’t mean it’s okay to ogle someone who’s in physical pain and sharing something very vulnerable with me.
I shake my head, trying to get rid of the picture of him sitting there in sweats, his dark hair sticking up on one side of his head. I scurry across the hall to my room and open the door as silently as possible. Law booked our rooms for this trip, so we’re all next to each other.
I keep the light off, and the girls don’t stir as I find my travel first aid kit.
I’m going to take the whole thing over there.
If I can talk him into it, he needs at least four ibuprofen.
I grab a Coke from the mini fridge as I leave.
If he’s still nauseated, he might not be able to stomach it, but the caffeine will help.
I tiptoe to the girls’ bed to check on them. They’re both still sleeping soundly.
I slip into the hall and close the door. I listen for a second to make sure I didn’t wake the girls up when I left the room and then steel myself for being totally professional with someone who’s half dressed. It’s not his fault he can’t think straight. What’s my excuse?
When I come back in, a lamp in the main room of the suite has been turned on low, casting a soft glow through the room. Chad is still in his bedroom, sitting in bed and propped up against some pillows, his eyes closed.
He put on a shirt.
My cheeks flame. He realized he was shirtless. Does that mean he knows I was staring at him while we talked?
I keep calm. That’s irrational. I’m making up scenarios with no evidence. Now is not the time to abandon all my life-coach training.
“Hey, I checked on the girls,” I let him know. “Still sleeping soundly.”
“You don’t have to take care of them for me,” he says in a strained voice. “I did okay all day.”
Letting his migraine go untreated and then following two rambunctious little girls around is probably the reason this migraine keeps on going rather than fading away. “I know, but we’re friends and I want to help you.”
“Bet you didn’t come on vacation to be a babysitter.”
I chuckle—softly. “I don’t have anything else to do.”
He cringes. “Weren’t you supposed to go to dinner with Law tonight?”
I shrug it off. Law met me at a burger place after he was done with his practice, and we hung out with the girls. I didn’t get to spend time with him one on one, but being with the girls was fun.
“I think you’re avoiding what you don’t want to do—which is fair and a normal reaction.
” I drop down into the chair I was sitting in earlier and try not to think about the fact that the lamp is throwing more light into the room than the clock was and if Chad was still shirtless, I’d get a much better view.
I think I need to go watch a Marvel superhero movie after this; then maybe I can stop thinking of Chad as a thirst trap when he’s super sick.
“So,” I go on, glad that at least it’s dim enough that he can’t see how red my cheeks must be, “I have both ibuprofen and acetaminophen. What’s the next thing you can do?
Do you think you can choose which one you want to take?
” Normally when I’m working with clients to help them conquer something that’s triggering fear like Chad’s, we take weeks on these baby steps.
Chad could probably wait this out and hope the migraine goes away or at least fades by tomorrow, but I know he wants to celebrate Christmas with his girls, so I’m going to help him tackle this if I can.
“We could move the girls over here to their room. They’d probably stay asleep,” Chad says.
I’ll let him stall as much as he wants. If this takes longer than a few minutes, I’ll have to go check on the girls again, but Chad knows that. He’s their dad. He’ll take it into account.
“We?” I tease gently. “Only if you take something.” I keep my voice light.
He blows out a breath. “Ibuprofen.”
I beam at him. “Sounds good. I know this isn’t easy, Chad, and you’re doing great. Are you ready for another decision, or do you want to rest for a while?”
Chad slowly shakes his head. “Next step, Ivy.”
“Okay.” I shake out four ibuprofen. Chad’s closing his eyes again, so I say in a gentle voice, “Here you go.”
He opens his eyes and holds out his hand, which is shaking. “You’re good at this,” he says as I drop them into his hand.
“I hope so,” I say. “Otherwise I need a new career.”
He looks down at the medication. “Have you always wanted to be a life coach?”
“I knew I was good at talking to people, and I knew I liked helping them with things. And also, I’m pretty bossy. It seemed like a good path.” I keep the conversation casual and chill.
He chuckles.
“Ibuprofen isn’t addictive,” I whisper, a reminder to help him through this.
“I know.” His tone is resigned.
“What do you guys have planned for tomorrow?” I ask, another reminder: he needs to get well for the girls.
“Ice-skating,” he says. He stares at the ibuprofen in his hand with determination.
He dumps them in his mouth and then quickly chases them with water.
I scoot to the edge of my seat, worried that he did that all so fast they might come right back up, especially since he was nauseated earlier. He nods to himself, and I grin at him.
“Awesome,” I say.
He puts his hands on his knees. “Okay, let’s go get the girls.”
I eye him. The headache didn’t magically go away. Maybe he does deserve a reward. “Okay,” I agree. “You got some sunglasses? The hallway is still pretty bright for one a.m.”
“I’ll be fine.” He stands up slowly.
We prop the door to their suite open and then head across for the girls.
I can tell that every step is painful for him.
What would normally be a much dimmer hallway is lit by festive red and green lights strung along where the ceiling meets the walls.
But if having his girls in the room will help him relax, I won’t argue.
He insists on carrying Scarlett even though she’s tiny for a five-year-old and I could handle it, and I take Zoey. Like he predicted, neither one wakes up as we carry them across the hall and into their room in Chad’s suite. He leaves their door propped open and then turns to me.
“Thanks, Ivy. You went above and beyond today.” He shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweats and looks down at his bare feet.
Something about the fact that we’re standing here, so casual, makes warmth spread through my belly.
It’s kind of intimate, and it makes me shuffle back a smidge, even though I’m wearing socks.
“I’m glad I could be here to help.” I put a hand on his arm before I think better of it, but I don’t want to snatch it back or I’ll feel stupider. I’ve landed on the bare skin just below his T-shirt sleeve, and his skin is warm.
Have I left it here too long?
Why is interacting with Chad suddenly so difficult?
“Take two more in four hours, if you need it,” I say, and I finally pull my hand away.
I’ve always been a touchy-feely person, and maybe it’s arriving today and seeing Law for the first time in a while and overthinking our interactions, but I feel like I can’t judge what’s normal anymore.
It doesn’t help that I’m noticing how attractive Chad is.
His dark hair is sticking up in an adorable way, kind of at odds with the scattering of gray at his temples—boyish but still a sexy silver fox?
I mean, it’s not like he’s all gray or anything.
He’s not even forty yet. He’s the kind of guy who looks really good in a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, tall and toned.
Not huge and muscled like Law, but still strong.
It’s easy to picture leaning into his arms, and the way it would feel to be all wrapped up in him.
I pull my hand back before I act on that temptation. I have got to get it together.
“Good night,” I say, nodding at him. I need to get out of this room.
After all the work I’ve done on myself before I get into another relationship, a sudden crush on Chad feels like a step in the wrong direction.
Single dad, a lot older than me, dealing with a very messy ex situation.
Several factors that would put a wrench into a relationship if I was ready to date again.
Which I’m clearly not, if I’m getting all hot and bothered over Chad Harrell without his shirt on.
When I shut the door to my room, I lean against it and take a second to center myself, focusing on the mini Christmas tree resting atop the desk. What did I love about today? That will distract me from my silly thoughts.
Hanging out with Scarlett and Zoey again was fun.
It wasn’t just about babysitting—I enjoyed time with them.
The light show was beautiful, bright colors exploding from the dormant foliage of the botanic garden.
The girls’ excitement over it was contagious too.
Every new color thrilled them, and all the pretty patterns delighted them.
Dinner with Law was fun as well, even if it wasn’t just us.
The food was delicious, and the girls love him.
I nod and step away from the door. There, good job, Ivy. Now you can go to sleep and forget that this weird attraction ever happened.
Too bad my dreams are completely out of my control.