7. Brock
7
brOCK
I t shouldn’t surprise me in the slightest that Caroline’s top concern is for the kids, rather than her own well-being. She insists that I help get her situated in her rolling cart, then fusses with her wig and the blanket to make sure everything looks perfect.
Once she’s satisfied, she asks me to wheel her toward the house. As soon as the little girls get a glimpse of the mermaid, they forget about their half-eaten cupcakes and run outside to see her.
Caroline speaks to the girls, somehow managing to make each one feel special. It makes me wonder if she does this with our team, as well. She has always made me feel like I am her favorite patient. Do all the guys think they are important to her?
She’s a natural with the children. Their eyes light up as they ask her questions about her life under the sea and receive creative, thoughtful responses.
Not wanting her to overdo it too much, I say to the group, “It’s time for Sparkles to go home.”
A medley of high-pitched, disappointed sounds emerges from the pint-sized princesses.
Caroline saves the day by telling them an elaborate story of how her father needs her to help him find pearls for a magical necklace. By the time she finishes her tall tale, the girls are gazing up at her as if she is the most amazing being on the planet. I have to admit, I don’t disagree with their assessment.
When Caroline gracefully waves and blows kisses in the girls’ direction, I take that as my cue to wheel her to the driveway. The children squeal and wish her luck on her pearl-gathering mission before telling her goodbye.
Once we’re in front of the house, I ask the woman, “Do you need some assistance getting out of that tail?”
I’d thought I was being helpful, but she looks at me as if I’ve just suggested that she cut off her own arm. Her tone is outraged when she says, “I can’t risk having any of the girls see my legs.”
“Oh, right,” I mutter, feeling dense for not thinking of that.
Confusion furrows my brow as I stare between the woman and her car. “How do you drive home in that getup?”
“Normally, I talk someone into assisting me into my car. I shimmy out of the tail once I’m out-of-sight inside my vehicle,” she answers logically.
Although her answer makes sense, my mind can’t stop focusing on the mental image of her wiggling out of her colorful tail. I’m desperate to know what she’s wearing underneath it. Since I’m so busy picturing that, I completely miss the hint that she needs my help.
After awkwardly clearing her throat, she asks me, “Is there any way I could trouble you to lift me into my car?”
“Oh, of course,” I answer, immediately jumping into action.
After I open the driver’s side door, she says, “I’d rather get into the back seat because there is more room for me to maneuver.”
“Right,” I mutter, disappointed with myself for not being more intuitive and thinking of this myself.
After closing the driver’s door and opening the backseat door, I move to lift her out of her cart. She places an arm delicately around my neck. Despite the cool temperature of her skin, heat sears along my spine at her touch.
I deposit her into the backseat of her car, then stand there awkwardly for a long moment. Realizing that she probably doesn’t want me ogling her as she emerges from her tail, I offer to load her cart into the trunk.
Once she’s closed into the car, I move around to the back and use the hand latch to open the trunk. My eyes are drawn to the car’s back window as she scoots around in the back seat. I can only see the top third of her, but I’m vividly imagining what the rest looks like.
By the time I close her trunk, she is emerging from the back of her vehicle looking casual and adorable in tight-fitting leggings, and a white T-shirt. The bright colors of her mermaid bra are peeking through the thin fabric of her top.
I’ve never seen her dressed so casually before. My throat becomes parched as I realize the relaxed clothes look good on her––really good.
The dryness in my throat becomes an actual lump that I’m unable to swallow around when she gives me a wide smile and asks, “My place or yours?”