18. Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Eighteen
Brochures, Boundaries + the Thousand-Dollar Sponge Bath
Aspen
The bell above the door of Novel Grounds usually sounds like a welcome, but today, it feels like a fire alarm.
I’m still ten feet from the entrance of the Cinnamon Grove coffee shop when I see him through the large front window. My heart doesn’t just skip a beat, it hits a brick wall at sixty miles per hour and stops dead.
Luca.
He’s sitting at a small corner table, his massive frame entirely too large for the delicate bistro chair.
He looks like a grizzly bear trying to join a doll’s tea party.
A pair of crutches leans haphazardly against the wood, and his injured leg is stretched out stiffly into the walkway, acting as a literal obstacle for anyone trying to get by.
He looks tired. He looks beautiful. And he looks exactly like the one person I swore I would never see again.
My hand dives into my bag, fumbling for my phone with shaking, murderous fingers. I dial frantically, my thumb nearly punching through the screen.
“Tatum,” I hiss the second she picks up. “You raggedy bitch!”
“Hey, girl!” Tatum chirps, sounding too bright for someone about to be drop-kicked. “Did you make it to the shop? Is the VIP—”
“You low-vibrational wench. You set me up.”
She actually has the audacity to laugh and I want to reach through the digital void and throat-punch her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says, her voice innocent.
“Luca is sitting in this coffee shop, Tatum! You knew exactly who needed a nurse and you didn't say a single word!”
“Aspen, listen—”
“No! You listen. Yes, I have bills to pay. Yes, I was seconds away from selling jars of my own farts on OnlyFans, but I still have a soul. You sent me into the lion's den without a suit of armor.”
Tatum finally drops the innocent act, her voice turning serious. “He's hurting, Aspen.”
“And he hurt me! You’re supposed to be on my side!”
“He’s a mess,” she counters. “He’s burned through four nurses in a single month.
You're the only one he can't intimidate, and frankly, you’re the only one who actually knows how to handle him. I need this win, Aspen. I need him in top condition because my job is on the line here, too. Please? Just...just go inside. Talk to him. If you want to walk away after five minutes, I’ll find someone else. I promise.”
I look back through the glass. Luca is staring down at a cup of black coffee, his jaw tight, looking like a king who’s lost his crown and doesn't even know where he dropped it.
“I hope you stub your pinky toe tonight on the way to the bathroom while you’re half asleep,” I curse, and then I hang up.
I take one deep breath, smooth down my scrubs, and push open the door. The scent of roasted beans and nutmeg fills my senses, but all I can focus on is the sound of my shoes against the floor as I walk toward the ghost of my husband’s past.
Well, future ex-husband.
I stop at the edge of his table. He doesn't look up at first, probably expecting another agency nurse he can scare off within the hour.
“So, I hear you're my new difficult patient,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
His head snaps up. The shock that registers in his hazel eyes is so raw it almost makes me flinch. He stares at me, his grip tightening on his coffee cup.
“Aspen,” he breathes, my name sounding like a blessing on his lips. Or a curse.
We shall see.
I take a beat to let him sweat, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder.
I need to look like a woman who has her entire life together, even if my business checking account is currently screaming for a miracle.
I can’t let him know that I actually need him as a client, and I definitely can't let him know that seeing him makes my heart perform a frantic, stupid gymnastic routine in my chest.
So, I pull on my “Professional Nurse” mask, square my shoulders, and pray my pheromones don't give me away.
“You look like shit, Chillmonger,” I say, pulling out the chair opposite him.
His jaw drops slightly. “Is this how you speak to all your prospective clients?”
I offer a sharp, practiced smile before sliding into the chair. “My apologies, Mr. Chidubem. Let’s try this again, shall we?”
He nods, his gaze fixed on me.
“I’m Aspen Hunter,” I say, making my voice sound smooth and clinical. “Tatum Black referred me under the impression that you were looking for a nurse who prioritizes discretion. Is that correct?”
He nods again. Is he broken? Has the ACL injury migrated to his brain?
“At Aspen and Oak,” I continue, “we prioritize patient security as much as care and safety. You can rest assured that your needs will be my...priority,” I say, stumbling slightly. My brain has apparently decided that prioritize is the only verb left in the English language.
“You settled on a name,” he says. It’s not a question. When things were unraveling between us, I was in the thick of the branding process. We’d called it quits before I ever got the chance to tell him what I’d chosen.
“Yes. Aspen and Oak,” I repeat.
“It’s perfect.”
I swoon a little at that but I don’t let it show. “Thank you. Now, since your mobility is currently limited, my services include standard vitals checks, light housekeeping, and transport if required.”
“I... I won’t need any of that,” he says, shifting uncomfortably. “And why do you sound so formal? It’s like I’m talking to a fucking brochure.”
“When I told you that you looked like shit, you had a problem with it. Now that I’m being professional, you don’t like that either. Make up your mind, Luca.”
“Can’t we find a balance?” he asks. “You don't have to be so buttoned up.”
“Actually, I do.” I pause, the real reason caught in my throat.
Being buttoned up is safer. It’s easier.
It’s the only thing keeping me from accidentally putting his dick in my mouth during a sponge bath.
“It’s just best if we maintain a professional boundary.
I apologize for how I started things off today. It won’t happen again.”
“Fine,” is all he says back.
As he broods, I can’t help but think about how spectacularly everything unraveled the moment Croix discovered our secret.
I know it was jarring, but for a guy who had spent months acting more like my platonic soulmate than a boyfriend, his reaction quickly shifted from shock to a full-blown toddler’s tantrum.
You would have thought we’d conducted a years-long affair behind his back, despite the fact that he and I had never even moved past second base.
His behavior was childish, but Luca’s was worse.
Because it never felt like he chose me. Not fully, at least.
I’m not an insecure woman, but I don’t do uncertainty.
I refuse to sit in a relationship wondering where I stand or where we’re going.
I stayed in the situation with Luca—hidden— longer than I should have because I actually believed what we had was real.
But clearly, he didn't feel it as strongly as he had in Vegas. Because he didn’t fight for me the way you’d think someone like him would.
He didn’t fight for our union as fiercely as he tried to fuck my devotion out of me.
In Vegas, he was confident, commanding, and damn-near knightly in the way he treated me.
I never could have imagined he’d become a different person the second we hit the real world.
He could have looked his best friend in the eye and told him that what we had was genuine.
That it was more than a fling. For us, it was “forever.” Instead, he let a misplaced sense of “noble” loyalty turn me into a secret, choosing a friend’s bruised ego over his own wife, until I didn’t even recognize the woman in the mirror anymore.
He must have lost his mind, thinking I’d accept that from anyone. And clearly, for a moment, I did too. But I’m back now. Back to being the woman who was raised to bring a man to his knees. Even if it is injured.
He wants a nurse? Fine. He’s going to get the best medical care his soccer money can buy. But he’s also going to get a front-row seat to exactly what he threw away. I’m going to be efficient, I’m going to be cold, and I’m going to make every single second of his recovery absolutely miserable.
I look at him again, watching him fail miserably at hiding his injury. “Are you taking anything for the pain?”
“Only at night,” he says. “I usually try to power through during the day.”
“Pain isn't a teammate, Luca. You don't ‘power through’ it. You’re just sabotaging your healing and making your physical therapy ten times worse.”
He lets out a rough breath, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his face. “Yeah, my physical therapist pretty much hates me. How’d you guess?”
“I’m a medical professional, Mr. Chidubem. It’s my job to know when you’re being stubborn and stupid to the point of making life miserable for yourself—and everyone else around you.”
He almost smiles. The ghost of a dimple threatens to appear, and I have to look at my tablet to keep my pulse from flatlining. “So, if I decide to go with Aspen and Oak—”
“We both know you will,” I interject, my confidence cutting through his fake hesitation.
I know he wants me.
“If I sign on,” he continues. “How is this actually going to work, considering our...history?”
“As far as I’m concerned, when it comes to business, we don't have a history. We’ll have a contract.”
He lifts a dark brow. “And this contract entails what, exactly?”
I scoff, leaning back. “It’s a standard corporate agreement. It outlines your expectations as the client and mine regarding payment terms and deliverables. Simple.”
With a flash of mischief I get a glimpse of the old Luca. The man who knew how to push my buttons the moment he met me. “Fine, then. I’d like to amend my original request for services.”
I roll my eyes, bracing myself. “Okay. What are we amending?”
“I'll need the light cleaning services.”
“Standard. Fine.”
“And,” he leans in, his gaze dropping to my lips for a fraction of a second, “I’ve been having a hard time getting in and out of the shower. I’ll require assistance with bathing.”
I suck in a sharp breath, my professional mask slipping just an inch. “I think you can manage a shower chair, Luca.”
“I can’t. I fell last week. Call my PT if you don't believe me.” He looks me dead in the eye, his expression dangerously innocent.
“I haven't been able to properly wash in days. I didn't trust any of those other nurses to help me, but since we’re still legally family, I’d be comfortable with a sponge bath from you.”
This absolute asshole. How is he weaponizing his hygiene, right now?
“I’ll wash your back,” I snap. “That’s the limit.”
“Full upper body,” he counters, “or the deal is off.”
“That will be an additional thousand dollars a week for the specialized labor.”
He doesn’t even flinch. At this point, I’m pretty sure he’d pay a million just to see me hold a washcloth to his torso. “I can manage that. And if I need transport for matches or events, I’ll need you for that as well. Do you cross state lines?”
I think about the pro bono clinic I run on weekends at Biddy Mason Charter School and how much of Luca’s “guilt money” could buy new equipment or supplies for those families. “Travel requires five-star accommodations and an additional two thousand a week.”
He nods, looking satisfied. “Very well. It’s a deal.”
I instinctively hold out my hand to seal it with a handshake, but as he reaches out, I see him angling to bring my knuckles to his lips. I snatch my hand back before he can make contact.
“No, Luca. I’m serious. This is business. You broke and abandoned the possibility for anything else.”
The pain that flashes in his expression is raw enough to make me feel a twinge of guilt, but his face turns back into a mask of granite instantly. “Understood.”
“I’ll draft the contract and send it over. Once the two-month retainer is paid, I’ll start Monday morning.”
“You’ll have the wire transfer tonight,” he says softly.
I nod, gathering my things. “Like I said, I knew you’d go with Aspen and Oak.”
“The choice was made the moment I realized it was you.”
“Stop it.”
“Last time,” he murmurs. “I'm sorry. I’ll be professional.”
I stand up, smoothing my scrubs one last time, feeling the impact of his gaze on me as I turn toward the door.
“We at Aspen and Oak look forward to serving you, Mr. Chidubem. Try not to fall in the shower before Monday.”