CHAPTER 23
Ian
Ian set down the cooking spoon and tapped his iPad to accept the FaceTime audio call, his heart beating faster even before he heard Claire’s voice.
“Ian!”
He felt his mouth stretch into a wide grin at the good mood he detected in that one syllable.
“Hello, Penny.”
“Am I bothering you?”
Was she kidding? “You never bother me.”
“What did I take you away from?”
“Stirring the pot.”
“What?”
He heard her musical little laugh, and his heart squeezed. “Literally. I’m cooking.”
“You”—she paused— “are cooking.”
“I am.” He picked up the spoon and gave the boiling carrots and potatoes a stir, then did the same with the broth in which lamb meatballs simmered. “Hang on a sec. This range hood blower is loud.”
He adjusted the burners to the lowest flame, picked up his iPad, and moved to the living room. “All right, that’s better. How are you?”
“The donor responded!”
Ian settled on the black leather sofa, smiling at the tremulous excitement in her tone. “Did he?”
“He did! Well, maybe it’s a she. There are even children who donate, apparently.
We don’t know. They won’t tell us anything.
They want to remain anonymous, and I wish that weren’t the case because I want to thank them!
What a gift!” Claire chattered faster and at a higher-than-normal pitch.
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that this person turned up, and they still want to go through with it.
I was afraid they’d changed their mind. They’ve started the final tests. Isn’t that great?”
“That is great, Penny. Excellent news.”
“Right? I didn’t dare hope too much in case nothing happened, and we’d be disappointed.”
“It’s good to hear you sounding so happy.”
He heard her inhale, then exhale slowly, and when she spoke again, she sounded entirely different. “You want to see me and not just hear me? I want to see you.”
His breath caught at the longing he detected in her tone, and his heart immediately responded, thundering in his chest. Jesus. Just the sound of her voice had power over him. On the very first day, he’d predicted she’d be his kryptonite. How right he’d been.
“You want to watch me cook?” he asked.
“Yes. I’d love to see you in action.”
He swallowed back a suggestive retort. A distant voice in the back of his mind said this would be a terrible idea, but Ian ignored it and tapped the green camera icon.
And there she was, her lovely face filling his screen, and he immediately noted that her shoulders were bare under the cascade of silky copper hair.
“There you are.” She smiled, her beautiful green eyes sparkling. “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself.” He drank her in, clearly saw pillows propped up behind her, and couldn’t help asking, “What are you wearing?”
She tipped her head. “I was going to ask you that.”
He chuckled, angling the camera down to show her the red embroidery on his striped black apron.
She laughed. “‘Hot stuff coming?’ Wow. That’s—” She shook her head and laughed again.
“I know. My sister, the gag gift queen, saw it online and thought it would be perfect for me. No idea why.” He studied her face, wondering if the shadows he saw under her eyes were really there or just a trick of the screen. “I have to finish my soup.”
“Take me with you.”
“OK.”
Picking up the iPad, he made his way to the kitchen and positioned the screen on an overturned bowl so that Claire could have a clear view of him at the range. Using a potholder, he carefully lifted each lid, waved away the steam, and probed the vegetables with a fork.
“Perfect.” He grabbed a slotted spoon and quickly transferred the carrots and potatoes into the steaming golden broth, where the lamb meatballs gently floated.
He covered the soup pot, dragged it to an unlit burner, and switched off the range hood blower.
He dumped the water in which the vegetables had boiled into the sink, then moved to the cutting board.
“What do you have there?” she asked.
“The garnish. Scallions and parsley.” He started chopping.
“Whoa. You’ve got some knife skills.”
“It happens when you do this to alleviate stress. You end up getting practice.”
“Looks like you’re stressed often.”
More than ever, lately. “So, how’s your mother?”
“She’s OK, considering. She lost a lot of hair.”
Ian half turned, knife in hand, to focus on Claire’s sad face. “I’m sorry. That’s always tough.”
“She wants to shave her head. She says it’s all going anyway, so she’d like to get it over with already.”
Sounded just like a tough Norwegian. Ian suppressed a smile and resumed chopping.
“It occurred to me to also shave my head in solidarity,” he heard her say over the noise of his knife.
His eyes widened, but he continued mincing the parsley.
Please don’t do that.
Her gorgeous copper crowning glory. What a shame that would be.
“You should have seen her. I thought she’d throw the burger I brought her at my head.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “So, when are they planning to do the transplant?” He tried to sound matter-of-fact as he opened a top cabinet and retrieved a soup plate.
“They’re prepping her with a ton of chemo. But it also depends on when the donor finishes going through all the medical workups. There’s a lot more screening than I imagined.”
He’d been checked for all sorts of infectious diseases and had gotten a comprehensive metabolic panel and something called a PTT test to measure how quickly his blood formed a clot, then an EKG and a chest X-ray. The clinic physician had quipped that he’d waive the pregnancy test.
“How are her spirits?”
“High. She’s convinced that this will work.” She squinted as he ladled some soup into the bowl. “What is that you made?”
“It’s a soup called sodd. It’s Norway’s national dish and goes back to the thirteenth century.”
Claire sat up higher, the sheet slipping lower across her chest. “Show me.”
He picked up the iPad and aimed it at the steaming bowl full of broth with meatballs, potatoes, and carrots. He added a couple of pinches of chopped scallions and parsley.
“It looks delicious. Are those meatballs?”
“They are.”
“Mmm. I can practically taste it.”
He saw her lick her lips and almost groaned.
“Well … I should go and let you eat,” she said.
Ian wasn’t ready to hang up. “How about you go get something to eat with me?”
“It’s after ten o’clock here. I already brushed and flossed.”
He chuckled. He’d learned in the Bahamas how conscientious she was about her oral hygiene. “Humor me. Be reckless, have a snack.”
“Well …”
He picked up the spoon and pointed it at her. “I dare you.”
She tipped her head and smiled. “OK, well, now I have to. Wait right there.”
He grinned. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Claire cast aside the sheet.
Ian’s breath caught, and his spoon froze in midair.
She wore a low-cut, rose-colored nightgown embroidered with something at the bust. He couldn’t see the detail because she moved so fast, but he caught a flash of her long legs and luscious thighs before she disappeared off-screen.
His mouth watered, and Ian knew it had nothing to do with the fragrant steam rising from his bowl.
Fuck. He stared into the soup. Seeing Claire in bed like that was almost worse than not seeing her at all. But he was glad to connect with her, he had to admit. He was starting to believe he didn’t have a hope in hell of getting her out of his system.
“OK, I’m back.” Claire settled against the pillows, smiling brightly.
He lowered his spoon and scooped up a meatball. “Changed your mind? Where’s your snack?”
“Right here.” She held it up, then slowly brought it to her mouth.
Ian’s jaw dropped, spoon wavering. The meatball plopped back into the bowl with a little splash. Because gripped firmly in her fist, with Claire’s lips closing slowly over the tip, was the largest banana Ian had ever seen.