Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Davin only had a moment of discomfort as he and the gorgeous bookshop owner Chloe Vance studied each other after the door closed.
“How are you?” he asked softly, easing closer to the bed. “Really?”
Her golden-brown hair was flat on one side and frizzy on the other. She looked beautiful to him, as always, but her long hair was usually arranged in smooth waves. Perfect. She seemed perfect, for him and to him. If only she felt the same.
“Fine.” Her unique green and gray eyes, with their flecks of gold, were closed off, but the heart rate monitor beside her beeped. Was he to blame for her pulse going so high? A man could hope.
“Liar,” he teased gently.
A slight smile crossed her lips. “You want the truth? My head, bum, and back all ache, and my throat and lips are dry. I want my own bed, real clothes, these monitors off my finger and chest, and the IV out of my hand. Oh, and I need to pee. Candid enough for you?”
He chuckled. “More like the Chloe I know.”
He bit down on his tongue before he added, ‘and love’.
That would never do. He could believe he was falling in love with her during their many interchanges at her bookstore, but recently she’d closed off and put up walls for no reason.
No. That wasn’t true. There was always a reason a person closed off or constructed concrete barriers. Davin knew this from writing a variety of characters. Chloe just wasn’t sharing her reasons or hurts with him.
Was it something damaging in her past, a man who deserved to be burned at the stake, or had Davin said or done something wrong?
Had he pushed too hard trying to chat her up every break, staring at her and getting caught far too often when he should be typing?
Maybe he’d worn out his welcome at Tome Raider.
What would she say if she knew that his rental home on the northeast coast was gorgeous, new, and spacious?
The two-story boasted massive windows to view the coastline to the east, the western mountains and pine tree forest, and the berry patches to the north and south.
Those windows let in ample amounts of light and there was a plethora of comfortable spaces to create beautiful scenes, storylines, and characters in.
Davin had trained himself to be productive in the afternoon hours spent at her bookstore, but he was only there to fraternize with and forge a relationship and attachment to the gorgeous owner, the brunette staring at him from her hospital bed whose uniqueness, humor, kindness, and hazel eyes tugged at his soul.
He accomplished infinitely more work in the mornings and evenings at the rental home, but he would never dare admit that to Chloe.
The day she accompanied him to his rental house for dinner or a walk on the beach or a kiss in the porch swing, he’d have to admit the truth of why he was the most frequent patron, or loiterer, at Tome Raider.
Imagining a kiss with her and admitting the truth of how he felt had his heart racing. Thank heavens he wasn’t hooked to a monitor. He smiled, thinking of her heartbeat increasing, and wondering again if it had anything to do with him.
Instantly his shoulders slumped and defeat traced through his bloodstream. What was he daring to hope for? Chloe hadn’t so much as agreed to go to dinner with him. Not that he’d dared to ask.
Davin had been strategizing about beginning with a morning hike invite, nonthreatening and something even friends did together, but he hadn’t dredged up the nerve to ask for that experience with Chloe either.
What excuse could he make? He was brave in all other aspects of his life.
He’d made plenty of excuses to his own mother when she demanded to know how he could be handsome and successful and not married.
His mom didn’t buy any of his reasons, but truthfully he was an introverted writer and not a prolific dater.
He was inept with romantic relationships and lightyears from a philanderer.
He thought that was in his favor, at least with Chloe.
She’d told him just last week that she couldn’t stand womanizers or disloyal men.
He hadn’t been able to interpret the significant look she gave him when she said that.
He didn’t even write romance into his novels.
Not even his beloved characters could give him ideas to win the woman’s heart.
He thought of Jack Sparrow in Pirates of the Caribbean telling Will Turner as they engaged in a rousing bit of swordplay, ‘You need to find yourself a girl, mate. Or perhaps the reason you practice three hours a day is that you already found one, and are otherwise incapable of wooing said strumpet.’
Okay, that wasn’t actually great advice, but the point was Davin didn’t personally have any characters giving him ideas, and sadly he’d distanced himself from most real people.
He had his parents back in Colorado Springs that he checked in with and visited for holidays and an occasional long weekend.
He had a few friends from high school and college that he texted or called to rehash the game when the Broncos won, but no ‘bruhs’ to give him dating advice.
Bookshop owner Chloe Vance was the first actual human he’d wanted to interact with on a consistent basis.
He thought she could be his ‘one’. If he could get past whatever wall she’d thrown up to protect her heart and miraculously gain the nerve to ask her on a real date.
Heck, he’d be happy even if he went the wimpy route and asked her to go on a hike with him.
Anything was better than the slow progress he’d been making hanging out at her shop every afternoon under the guise of working on his latest novel.
“Thank you for finding me and bringing me to the hospital,” she murmured. There was no sass or tease in her voice and eyes, as there usually was.
“’I’m your huckleberry’,” he said, and then his cheeks flared hot as he realized how cheesy the line from Tombstone sounded in this moment.
Chloe smiled and then laughed.
Davin grinned, feeling infinitely better about his silly line and loving that she could laugh about it. He really would be her huckleberry, if she was interested.
There was a quick rap on the door before he could fully join her in the laughter or say something else corny to make her laugh harder. Which for Chloe, he would do.
The door swung open before either of them said anything and a nurse bustled in. “All right, Miss Chloe. I’m Annabelle, and I need some blood and urine samples out of you.”
Chloe’s eyes widened, and the machine beside her beeped again. She looked to Davin and quickly away.
“Oh.” Davin backed toward the door, his palms growing clammy.
“Don’t you worry, handsome.” The forty-something nurse grinned and winked at him. “The blood draw won’t reveal anything you shouldn’t see, and I’ll take her into the restroom for the urine sample. You can stay right here with your lovely lady.”
“Okay. Thanks?” he managed.
Chloe smiled at his obvious discomfort. He was revealing what a nerd he was. That wasn’t great for his hopes of winning ‘said lady’s heart’.
Annabelle opened a drawer and started pulling out supplies. “So I’m guessing not married if he’s this worried about seeing you naked, not to mention no wedding ring,” the nurse teased. “Dating? Engaged?”
“Oh, no,” Chloe rushed out. “We’re … friends. Sort of. Davin comes to my bookshop every afternoon to write. He’s a famous author. Davin Ambrose.”
Davin’s gut flipped over. Sort of friends?
He was really not doing anything right in his pursuit of Chloe.
Truth be known, he’d done all the on-location research he needed for his series during the past three months on the island.
Yet he could make the excuse that it was better to stay while he continued to write the series.
He might even live on the island for years.
He’d been looking at any real estate that became available with the island’s only realtor, Robinette Valentine.
Sadly, there wasn’t much available and Robinette was overbearing and asked him to dinner on a regular basis.
He tried to come up with excuses, but as Robinette said, he couldn’t always ‘be on a deadline’ or ‘need to call his mother’.
Davin had no home of his own and had extended the rental stay for six more months after convincing himself he needed to spend a summer and fall there, even if locals had told him the weather didn’t change and the tourism only picked up a fraction.
In truth, he’d extended to have more time and a chance to secure at least one date with Chloe.
One date would never do. He wanted to know her inside and out.
He wanted to someday have the right to claim she was his.
And she didn’t even think of him as a friend? That was putrid.
“Davin Ambrose,” Annabelle mused, obviously wondering if she knew his name since Chloe had claimed he was ‘famous’. He could claim to be famous in certain circles and of course his mom spouted all his accomplishments, awards, and bestseller status to anyone who would listen.
Davin loved his mom, but he wasn’t outselling Tom Clancy or Robert Lundlum.
He wasn’t even a household name … yet. He did currently have a book in airport gift shops, but the options for his Lock Down series would take years to reach the big screen, unless the movie studio sold them or let them run out.
The fact that Lock Down, a series set in a Guatemalan prison, had brought a real-life crime lord to claim he was going to torture and murder Davin, made it not his favorite work any longer.
Securing a tourniquet around Chloe’s arm, having her make a fist, and cleaning the inside of her elbow with an antiseptic wipe, Annabelle said, “Sorry, I’m horrible at names. What do you write?”
“Christian action-adventure novels,” he supplied. “Similar to Dan Brown, Tim LaHaye, or Jerry Jenkins.”
“Oh.” The nurse stuck the needle in and started the draw. Chloe barely flinched. “I prefer Christian romantic suspense. Have you ever read Jennifer Youngblood or Robin Patchen?”
“I steer away from romance,” he admitted.
Chloe gave him an almost wounded look. He would become proficient with romance, for her. If only he knew where to begin.
“Boring,” Annabelle teased, grinning at him.
She finished draining Chloe’s veins. Davin had to look away. He could write about blood, but he wasn’t a fan in real life.
Annabelle wrapped Chloe’s arm with a bright green wrap and then led her out of the room for the urine sample. He averted his gaze again, afraid of glimpsing something he shouldn’t if her gown gaped open.
As soon as they returned, a different nurse walked in and they wheeled her out for the CT scan.
Davin tried to busy himself reading on his phone.
He Googled Jennifer Youngblood and quickly got invested in the action of chapter one of The Desperate Warrior.
He figured a Navy SEAL Romance would be up his alley.
Until he hit a romance snag and found himself blushing and quickly switching to a Tim LaHaye novel.
He couldn’t even read romance let alone write or instigate it.
The second nurse, who never introduced herself, brought Chloe back about twenty minutes later and got her settled with ice water, juice, and crackers.
They were alone for half a beat before Sheriff Bradley, who’d accompanied him from the island, rapped on the door then preceded into the room to question Chloe.
As the questions progressed, it became more evident than ever that she had some sort of amnesia.
Davin had written about amnesia, studied it on YouTube, and discussed it with AI, but seeing it in real life, in someone who was always so quick and with-it, was disorienting.
She and Jaxon were lifelong friends, so the sheriff was able to question her extensively.
Chloe knew every detail from her past, including kissing Dylan Knight on the dock when they were sophomores, which made her wince and Davin grimace.
She even remembered that Davin came in around twelve-thirty every day but the Sabbath.
She could recall the titles to his books, which made her cheeks turn an appealing pink and his chest inadvertently puff out.
Unfortunately, she could not remember anything that had happened today or how she could’ve fallen. Davin cussed himself for being late and getting roped into having lunch with his realtor Robinette.
He explained to the sheriff that when he found Chloe in the storage room, he hadn’t seen any chairs or stacks of books nearby, nothing for her to have fallen off of. He’d admittedly been a wreck, seeing Chloe unconscious with blood pooled under her head.
The sheriff put his recording device away. “All right. I’ll be taking off. I’ll head straight to your shop to investigate the scene, see if I can lift any prints, and lock up for you, Chloe.”
“Prints?” Davin’s neck tingled. “Do you think there was foul play?”
“Not ruling it out,” the sheriff said, dragging the vowels slightly in that Northwestern drawl. He wasn’t a cowboy but definitely a good-old-boy.
Chloe’s gaze darted to Davin and then quickly away.
Pinpricks of unease lifted on Davin’s forearms and neck. Who could possibly want to injure Chloe and why had she looked at him like that?
It couldn’t be anything related to him. It couldn’t be, but what if …?
Davin’s mind went to two years ago and his deep-dive research in a Guatemalan prison.
He’d never forget and honestly had nightmares about the threats Balam Garcia had issued.
What if this was related to him? He prayed not.
He couldn’t stand the thought of Chloe being hurt, especially if he was at fault.