Food for the Soul

by Ceri Grenelle

  Everything he’d done and said up to this point wasn’t enough to ease Flynn’s concern. Theo should do more, place his other hand on Flynn’s opposite shoulder, squeeze tighter, support him through his need.

  As Theo was about to say something else, anything else, a small voice cut through the tension. Theo thought an interruption would shut the unexpected connection down completely, but when he spotted a pair of big brown eyes looking hazily up at them, it was redirected into something grander, something miraculous that encompassed all three of them. He hadn’t seen her awake. When the nurses had revived her, he’d been preoccupied with another emergency, trusting in his staff to keep her from falling into a coma. But now that she was looking at him with eyes the color of dark chocolate that seemed to see straight through to his heart, his world narrowed and there were only three people left in the universe.

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Doc.”

  Theo’s instincts as a doctor took over, and he rounded the bed to survey his patient. “Welcome back, Ms. Pettinger.”

  “Did I go somewhere?”

  Theo anticipated her move and gently placed his hand on her chin. “Don’t move. It won’t feel nice when you do.”

  “You have a concussion, Harper.”

  She frowned. “Flynn?” Despite his warning, the damn woman looked toward Flynn’s voice, and her tanned skin went sheet white, sweat breaking out over her. Theo quickly grabbed a small receptacle and helped her sit before she vomited. Flynn was there on her other side, holding back her long black hair. As she settled down, Theo relied on Flynn to hold her steady. He set the dirty bowl down, then grabbed a small washcloth, dipping it in the ice water sitting on her bedside table. He gently wiped the filth from her lips, unfazed by the unpleasantness, as he was used to these things in his line of work. But he’d never taken such care with a patient in this way before, had never wanted to clean and care for someone in such an intimate manner.

  Theo wasn’t known for his bedside manner in this hospital. He was damn good at his job, and no one would ever challenge that, but he’d overheard the nurses call him a variety of names. “Detached loner robot” was a favorite among them. He didn’t care. He was there to do a job, which he did, and their opinions on his personality didn’t diminish the respect they had for his work. He didn’t treat them unfairly, but he didn’t pretend to be best friends with them either. All his patients had received the same distant yet professional respect, until Ms. Pettinger and Flynn Raine arrived in his small ER.

  Flynn and Theo helped Ms. Pettinger lie back down. A concussion was not something to laugh at, but there wasn’t any swelling in her cranium, meaning she would be able to go home in a day or two. She would recover, and while she was at the hospital, Theo would ensure she received the best care he could possibly provide.

  “The kitchen…”

  “Don’t worry about that, Harper.” Flynn squeezed her hand as her lids drifted shut once more. There was definitely more than friendly affection between them, at least on Flynn’s part. “Just rest.”

  “The money. I won’t be able to make this month’s…”

  And with that, she was out. Theo noted the time and set his watch to make sure he returned in an hour to wake her up. He doubted he’d need the alarm, feeling he wouldn’t be straying far from Harper Pettinger’s side that night, but he was nothing if not efficient.

  “Shit,” Flynn groaned, rubbing his eyes. It was well past midnight, and the poor guy looked strung out and exhausted.

  “Is there somewhere you need to be?” Theo asked. “Can I call anyone for you?”

  “No. I need to be here, but I also need to go make sure the Full Spoon is locked up for the night. It’s probably already been looted. Fuck. Harper is going to be pissed at me for that.”

  “You saved her life, Flynn.” Theo couldn’t help his tone of sarcasm, though it felt out of place with Flynn. “I’m sure she’ll forgive you.”

  Flynn grinned up at him, making Theo’s stone heart crack a bit. The sensation was odd, like he was waking up after being buried for years. “Harper has a wicked tongue when someone gets on her bad side. It’s sharp as a knife and can cut you with a simple jab. I’ve seen the casualties.”

  Theo glanced at the address written on the chart. His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Working in that area, she’d have to keep on her toes.”

  “Somebody must have forgotten to lock the back door at the end of the day. That’s how the bastard who did this got in. It could have been much worse. She could have been…” Flynn took a long, shuddering breath. “I’m gonna kill whoever was that careless.” Flynn stood, slightly taller than Theo. “You’ll look after her while I’m gone.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Theo nodded and said, “Of course. It’s what I do.”

  Flynn stared at him for a moment, like he was searching for an aspect of Theo’s personality that was inappropriate, untrustworthy. Theo couldn’t blame the man. There were many stories of persons of authority taking advantage of those they perceived to be weaker than them. Some of those tales had regrettably occurred in this hospital. Theo was not that type of man, but he couldn’t expect Flynn to trust a stranger he’d met moments ago, no matter Theo had an irrational and desperate desire for Flynn to do just that.

  In another out-of-character moment of need, Theo clasped Flynn’s bicep and squeezed reassuringly. “She’s safe here. I swear it.”

  Flynn nodded, then after one last glance at Ms. Pettinger’s prone body, quickly turned around and left the room. Theo checked in with the nurses, seeing if he was needed elsewhere, then decided it would be all right if he took a small break. His shift wasn’t over for another eight hours, but he suspected once it was, he wouldn’t be heading home to his empty apartment as he usually did. No, today he would sit by Ms. Pettinger’s side and keep Flynn company when he returned.

  For the first time in as long as he could remember, Theo had an impulse to do more than go through the motions. He had begun to think his life would be nothing but work and every now and then a night of satisfying yet meaningless sex. He hadn’t been particularly affected by the bleakness of that prediction, but he also hadn’t known what it could feel like to want someone, two someones, with a sudden urge so strong he should have been afraid of it. Theo didn’t know if anything would come of his unconventional desire, but he wasn’t going to let the divergent warmth in his heart fade for lack of trying.

  Chapter Two

  Harper woke to a fog of sounds. Others had pulled her from sleep frequently throughout the night, but this time it was her troubled mind that forced her awake. The reality she woke to appeared off. There was no beeping of hospital machines or the antiseptic, sick-person smell her room had been saturated with when they first brought her in. Pain was a thing of the past, yet she couldn’t focus. It was as though she was peering through a veil into an alternate universe, one where beauty and majesty were keys to survival.

  When Harper was a child, her Ireland-born grandmother had told her stories of fae and leprechauns, worlds where magic was law and beauty was evil’s mask. Grandma Eithne had been warning her to focus on her current life and pay attention, using fairy tales in place of words of wisdom, as her grandparents had done when she was a girl. But in true rebellious-teenage fashion, Harper dismissed the old woman’s words, like she had with all the elders of her youth. At fifteen, she knew the world better than any of them; a feeling in her gut told her she was ready for the real world. What could they have taught her anyway?

  Since opening the Full Spoon, Harper had become singularly focused on helping anyone who walked through her doors. The time she had left for herself, she spent thinking of ways to raise money to keep the kitchen going, or she was physically and emotionally exhausted by the day’s work and collapsed into bed without a thought for her personal well-being. For the past year, a kernel of anxiousness, one familiar to the feeling she’d experienced before deciding to run away, began to bloom in her stomach. She was c
ontent in her work, but something spiritually wasn’t right. As anxiety sometimes grew within her, recklessness followed. She was the one who stupidly left the back door open. An instant of haste and carelessness had put her on the streets at fifteen. Now it would destroy her life’s work.

  Now, instead of swimming upstream as she had done as a teenager, she decided to listen to her Grandma Eithne for once and pay attention to the images she was being shown through a pain-medication haze.

  When the fog cleared away, she began to have second thoughts about this whole paying-attention thing, as it seemed the world her grandmother spoke of was more than a fable. She saw a man, an ethereal being with dark skin and a sharp jaw adorned by a dusting of facial hair. He wore a cape of white silk that fell across his throne like ice tripping down a mountainside. The being’s silken hair was pulled back in an intricate design and decorated with bloodred roses. He was glorious. But the man could have been the ugliest person in the world and she still would have been captivated by his sheer presence and the way he looked at her. He gazed at her as though she were the most beautiful and confounding creature he’d ever seen, as if she were the one who turned his world on its axis. Who was she to evoke wonder from such a creature? She found it difficult to breathe in his presence, unable to comprehend the sheer force of need awakened in her weak heart.

  She turned to look away, afraid she would become bewitched by his small but powerful smile. Pain and dizziness assaulted her. The creature’s hands were there, supporting her through the moment of feebleness. But he wasn’t the only one guiding her through the agony. There was another splendid creation on the other side of her. This one was fair-skinned with eyes that glowed a green as deep as forests in the Pacific Northwest. They were a lush color, and she could feel her soul sinking deeper into their warmth. He didn’t have the same dynamism of personality the other had, but his strength wrapped around her in a sly and comforting aura. He was crafty with his magic, but he used it for the betterment of others.

  She wanted to let herself fall into him, knew it would be simple, but all she could think of was the beauty on her other side. She couldn’t have both, but she wanted both. Discomfort and a disoriented state were not enough to render her mindless, and believing she could have everything she wanted was a mindless fantasy. Yet she let the two help her lay back on the bed. One cleaned the sick from the corners of her mouth; the other steadied her with his hands. They worked together as they cared for her, their touch gentle and their expressions full of concern.

  Eventually, the befuddlement of pain meds receded, and she remembered who she was and that a psychic ability to see through dimensions was not in her skill set. That was a fantasy, and this was the real world, the world Grandma Eithne had wanted her to focus on. The real world was nothing like the sparkly, mystical hallucination, and she would have much rather lived there.

  In the real world, the Full Spoon had been ransacked and she had been put in a hospital. Her ethereal angels…Flynn was there…and the doctor, he’d barely left her side, though she was sure he must have other patients to care for. They tended to her as if she were a member of their family, the most important person in their lives. It touched her heart, helped her see past the morbid reality she would have to face come morning. She would never forget the dire circumstances of her situation now that the month’s payment was gone, but she could put it aside to enjoy the men’s attention.

  Harper had been serving the community since she had been financially able. It wouldn’t be a crime if she took this moment for herself, allowing two beautiful men to coddle her when she was weak and in need. Being a feminist didn’t mean she couldn’t accept help when it was offered. It was her stubborn pride that usually erected that barrier. But not now, when her defenses were down and her body was fragile. She basked in their simple affection and clutched it to her heart, unknowingly opening a door that had been shut for a long time.

  * * * *

  Upon waking in the hospital the next morning, her wits finally back in alignment, Harper thought there might never be reason to smile again. She had an acute and aching fear that she was going to lose the soup kitchen and become homeless once more. That month’s already late payment was gone, and if the bank didn’t give her an extension, she didn’t know how she would keep the place open. The stuck-up bastards had become less lenient in recent years, refusing to give her an extra day or two to put the money together.

  It had been a shit day, but the cherry on top of the sundae came when Flynn told her the building had been tossed by vandals. Nobody in the neighborhood would have done that to her joint while she was there, but if the building was abandoned and unlocked, all bets were off. The one who robbed her, she didn’t know him. She had a good memory for voices, inflections, and intonations, and the man from last night was definitely a stranger to her.

  Flynn told her he’d been able to drive the delinquents off, chiding them for messing with a spot they visited frequently for a good meal. He hadn’t said, but Harper felt in his heavy gaze that he’d recognized most of them. There was no reason for her to smile.

  But watching Dr. Theo Backstrom fuss and fiddle as he moved around her room, checking her vitals and playing with the machines to ensure her comfort, persuaded her to give in to happiness a little. He was handsome, more handsome than any successful and intellectual doctor had any right to be. It was almost unfair. An intelligent, accomplished, good-looking man who cared was the keenest of weapons to use against any man or woman. His skin was a deep chocolate. His large dark eyes were a lovely almond shape, tilting up slightly at the edges. He had silky black hair cut in a short, practical style, but it now seemed to be growing past the appropriate length, suggesting he wasn’t frenzied over his appearance. The curious, reckless side of herself, the one she’d repressed in order to get herself off the streets, beckoned her to reach forward and run her fingers through the strands. She tested her body’s mobility when he wasn’t looking, her hand rising involuntarily with a desire to touch. She quickly folded her hands up into her lap when he turned back.

  “You need a haircut,” she said, keeping her tone low. Earlier she’d found raising her voice above certain decibels resulted in flashes of pain. She didn’t want to repeat that mistake.

  He smiled down at her, his eyes crinkling and his straight white teeth gleaming. “Not a fan of the shaggy look?”

  “You could be shaggy, bald, or have leaves growing out of your head, and you’d still be attractive.” She cursed herself. What kind of person flirted with their doctor? Weren’t there laws about that somewhere? “Don’t listen to me. My brain is not cooperating.”

  “Are you in pain?”

  “No more than what seems normal.” She didn’t want the good-looking doctor to think she wasn’t improving. As much as Harper enjoyed his company, she needed to get back to the kitchen and formulate a plan to raise enough money for this month’s mortgage payment. Maybe she could do a citywide fundraising event. “I’m actually feeling a little better than earlier.”

  “Then you can’t blame your injury for making you say I’m attractive.” His grin was crafted by the devil, gorgeous and playful, sinful.

  “Touché.” She watched as he noted something on the chart hanging at the end of her bed. His fingers were long and slender, and what she could see beneath his doctor coat and fitted button-down shirt was toned, not overly muscled. She liked that. She appreciated strength and a well-toned body, but she never needed a man bulging with muscles to satisfy her.

  What the hell was she thinking about? Satisfy her? Her brain must have been more swollen than she thought.

  “What’s wrong?” He hurried over to her side and looked into her eyes, not in a sexy way but as a professional doctor, not someone out of a porn.

  “Huh?”

  “You groaned. Are you sure you’re not in any pain?”

  “What are you?” she asked out of the blue, attempting to keep him from probing her embarrassing thoughts.

 
“Homo sapiens, bipedal male.” He didn’t miss a beat.

  She snorted and was pleasantly surprised it didn’t cause any pain. “I mean your nationality. Sorry if it’s rude or prying. I tend to ignore whether I’m rude or not.”

  “I’ll try not to hold that against you.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “My mother’s family is Indonesian, and my father is from South Africa.” He said South Africa with a delightful accent, perfectly mimicking the tone of a native South African. Again, he made her smile when her thoughts were heavy. This doctor healed more than her swollen head.

  “How did they meet?” She attempted to sit on her own, but the doctor was there, pushing up her pillows and ensuring she moved slowly. She nodded in gratitude, relieved when there was no nausea or dizziness accompanying the motion. They grinned together at the small triumph, her lack of pain bringing as much joy to him as it did her.

  He cleared his throat before answering her question, looking away after their exchange. Perhaps she wasn’t the only one feeling a sudden attraction. Surely as the person of authority in this situation, he was feeling the impropriety more keenly than she was.

  “University. They were both studying to be historians.” He smiled to himself, but Harper could see there was sadness accompanying whatever memory his story conjured. “Their focus was on different time periods, but they made it work anyway.”

  “What made you become a doctor? They didn’t want you to follow in their footsteps?”

  He leaned forward slightly, a gleam in his eye. “They couldn’t have forced me to become a historian if they’d tied me down with medieval shackles and tortured me like a victim from the Spanish Inquisition.”

  He was close. She could skim her lips against his if she could only sit up a bit further. His gaze moved down to her mouth, and he swallowed, focusing all his attention on her, as though he were performing complex surgery. Without warning, he pulled away, and the speed of it nearly gave her whiplash. She continued their conversation, though, not wanting the severed tension to interrupt their previous line of discussion.