Must Be Fate: (Cody and Clover) (A Jetty Beach Romance Book 3)

by Claire Kingsley

  I finish up and go to the restroom to splash some water on my face—I’m not sure when I’ll have a chance to shower again. I think about asking the waitress if she knows of any other hotels, but she’s really busy, so I just pat down my curls a little and head back out the door.

  Mr. Delightful Dimples looks up right when I walk out. My eyes lock with his, and he draws his eyebrows together, making a sexy little furrow between his eyebrows. My heartbeat speeds up and I gasp in a little breath. He doesn’t look away. Should I smile? Should I say hello? Should I run away?

  I take a step forward and slam into something solid. Blinding pain shoots through my head, and my legs crumple as my vision goes dark.

  ***

  My eyes flutter open. A circle of faces looks down at me, but the only one I can focus on is Mr. Delightful Dimples.

  “Hey,” he says, his gentle voice full of concern. “Stay with me. Can you open your eyes?”

  His hand is behind my neck, holding my head. I nod, wincing at the stabbing pain coming from my forehead.

  “Ow.”

  “Don’t move,” he says. “What’s your name?”

  “Clover.”

  “Clover?” he asks. “What’s your last name?”

  “Fields.”

  His dimples pucker with his grin. “Your name is Clover Fields? Are you sure?”

  “My parents were hippies.”

  “All right, Clover,” he says. His eyes travel up to my forehead and his other hand touches my head softly.

  I try not to wince again but it hurts.

  “I’m a doctor,” he says. “You took a pretty bad blow to the head. I’m concerned you might have sustained a concussion.”

  Oh my god. I hit my head and passed out. “What did I hit?”

  “You crashed into a waiter,” he says. “He was carrying a tray of food up on his shoulder and I think your head hit the edge of the tray. You must have hit pretty hard. You lost consciousness for a few seconds.”

  I groan. I want to die right here. How many people were watching? Dozens? This is awful.

  “Listen, I want to take you to my clinic and check you out, okay? I need to make sure you’re all right before I let you go.”

  I gaze into his gorgeous hazel eyes. “I’ll go anywhere with you.” What did I just say? “I mean, sure. That’s probably for the best.”

  He grins at the guy who looks like him, who’s part of the group standing over me, then looks back at me. “Do you think you can stand?” he asks.

  “I think so.”

  He grabs my hands—his are so strong—and helps me to my feet. A few of the other patrons clap.

  I smile and give a little wave. “I’m okay.”

  He takes my arm, as if he’s afraid I won’t be able to walk, and leads me outside. I’m a little unsteady on my feet. The people from his table follow behind us.

  “Here,” the woman says, handing me my purse. “You dropped this.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “I’m such a klutz.”

  “Well, I’m Nicole,” she says. “I hope you’re okay. Cody will take good care of you. Promise.”

  Mr. Delightful Dimples holds out a hand. “Sorry, I’m Cody Jacobsen.”

  I shake his hand, if only to feel him touch me again. “Clover Fields.”

  “Yeah, you said that already,” he says.

  “Oh, sorry.”

  The guy who looks like Cody steps up beside Nicole. “You got this, Cody? Do you want us to come to the clinic?”

  “No, I don’t think you need to do that,” Cody says. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “Text me and let me know how she is,” Nicole says.

  Cody nods. “I will.”

  The third guy, the one I thought might be Cody’s boyfriend, waves as he walks away. “If you’ve got this, I gotta run. Later, man.”

  “See you, Hunter,” Cody says. “If you see Mom, just … you know, be casual.”

  Well, that doesn’t sound gay at all. Are they brothers?

  Hunter laughs. “Right. Take care, Clover. Hope your head is okay.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  Cody turns back to me. “Look, I know this is kind of awkward because you don’t know me, but I’m not comfortable letting you drive with a head injury. Can I drive you? My clinic is just up the road. I swear, I’m not a serial killer or anything.”

  I feel so dazed and out of it. For a second, I think maybe I should be more cautious. Just because he’s gorgeous, doesn’t mean I should automatically trust him. But my gut is telling me this is fine.

  “Here,” he says, pulling out his wallet. He hands me a business card. “I’m really a doctor. This is my clinic.”

  Dr. Cody Jacobsen, Jetty Beach Family Practice.

  “You really don’t have to do this,” I say. “I, um … I don’t have insurance or anything.”

  He puts a hand on my elbow. “Don’t be silly. I wasn’t going to charge you. Come on. You look pretty disoriented.”

  I am disoriented, but I’m not sure if it’s from the knock to the head, or the man standing in front of me. His hand on my arm is making me all tingly.

  He keeps a firm grip on my arm and walks me to a sleek black BMW sedan. He opens the door for me, and helps me into the passenger’s seat. I settle back into the soft leather.

  Cody gets into the car and backs out of his parking space. As soon as the car moves, my stomach rolls over. I clamp a hand to my mouth. Oh, no. I am not going to throw up in this nice man’s beautiful car.

  “Do you feel like you’re going to vomit?” he asks. There’s no alarm in his voice—just the straightforward question. “Just take deep breaths through your nose.”

  I nod, still keeping my mouth covered. Cody casts concerned glances at me, the little divot between his eyes standing out.

  “Hang in there, Clover,” he says. “We’re almost there.”

  I pull into the dark lot of my clinic, parking near the front door. Clover sits next to me, her hand covering her mouth. The welt on her forehead keeps looking worse. I hope she doesn’t throw up, although I’m not worried about my car. I’m worried about her. Vomiting after a head injury can be a symptom of a serious problem, although nausea is a normal response. I’m pretty sure she has a concussion, particularly since she lost consciousness for a few seconds. I was halfway to calling 911 when her eyes fluttered open and she looked at me.

  And when she did ... oh my god, those eyes. They’re huge and blue, and she gazed at me with such a mix of confusion and wonder, it made my heart race. Her curly hair was wild around her face—and that smile. It’s a traffic-stopping smile, with her full lips and perfect teeth. But it isn’t just her features. She looked up at me, flat on her back in the middle of a crowded restaurant, and her smile lit up the entire room.

  I help her out of the car, putting a protective arm around her shoulders, and tell myself I’m only doing this because she’s hurt. It’s the right thing to do. I’m a doctor, and I took an oath.

  But damn it, she’s beautiful.

  I unlock the door, lead her around the front desk into the first exam room, and flip on the lights.

  “Go ahead and sit up here,” I say, helping her up onto the exam table. Her eyes are sad and she hugs her arms around herself. I grab a plastic basin from a cupboard and hand it to her. “Just in case.”

  She takes it with a weak smile. Damn it. I want nothing more than to bring back the light in her eyes.

  I wash my hands, put my stethoscope around my neck, and grab an otoscope and its attachments.

  “How are you holding up?” I ask.

  “I don’t know,” she says.

  “Any changes to your vision?” I ask.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “What state are we in?”

  “Washington.”

  “Good. Do you have a middle name?”

  “Yeah,” she says. “Sunshine.”

  I stop. Of course her middle name is Sunshine.

  “Hip
pie parents,” she says with a little shrug.

  “It suits you,” I say.

  Her expression softens and some of the spark returns to her eyes.

  I take one of my scopes and use it to check her pupils. I hold up a finger next to my ear. “Look here.”

  Her pupils dilate properly, and her eyes look fine. I still need to make sure her memory isn’t compromised.

  “Do you remember how we got here?” I ask.

  “Yeah, you drove,” she says.

  “And how about your head. How did that happen?”

  A little flash of confusion crosses her face. “I … honestly, I’m not sure. You said I ran into a waiter, but I don’t remember that. All I remember is…” She trails off.

  “What?”

  “The last thing I remember is you.”

  I grab a blood pressure cuff. “Me? That was after you hit your head.”

  “No, I saw you sitting at your table when I came out of the bathroom. The next thing I knew, I was on the floor.”

  I know exactly what she’s talking about. She came out of the restroom and hit me like a lightning strike. Our eyes met and I felt this crazy sense of foreboding. Like something huge was about to happen. And then, of course, she walked into that waiter.

  “Well, what do you expect when you go toe-to-toe with a waiter’s tray?” I ask.

  She rewards me with a soft laugh.

  I push up her sleeve, holding her arm out so I can put on the cuff. Her skin is silky smooth. Keep it professional, Cody. But fuck, touching her skin is making me hard. This is so bad.

  Her blood pressure is a little elevated, but nothing alarming. I check her ears and carefully probe the bruise on her forehead. It’s swelling, which is to be expected, and I get her a small cold pack to hold on it.

  I put my stethoscope in my ears and hold the chestpiece up, hesitating. I should not want to touch her like this in the middle of an exam, but there’s nothing to do except get it over with. I place a hand on her back and gently hold the chestpiece just below her collarbone so I can listen to her heart. It beats with a steady rhythm. I move the chestpiece lower and listen again, trying to ignore the fact that my hand is close to her breasts. My own heart pounds so hard I’m pretty sure she can hear it.

  I clear my throat and pull the stethoscope out of my ears, leaving it to dangle down my chest. “Heart sounds fine. Where do you live?”

  “Um,” she says. “I don’t really know.”

  I look at her in alarm. She can’t remember where she lives? That isn’t good. “You don’t know where you live?”

  “Well, not exactly,” she says. “Until this morning I lived in an apartment in Walla Walla. But I moved out and drove here.”

  “Oh, I see,” I say, feeling a lot more relieved than I need to. She must not have gone to her new place yet. “Did you just get into town today?”

  “Yep,” she says. “I’ve been here a whole four hours.”

  “So where’s your new place?” I ask. “I take it you haven’t moved in yet, since you’ve been so busy taking dangerous blows to the head.”

  “Um, no,” she says. “What I meant is, I don’t have a new place.”

  “You drove here from Walla Walla without a place to stay?” I ask.

  “Sure,” she says with a shrug. “This is a tourist town, I figured I’d find a hotel once I got here. I’ll need at least a few days to find a job and a place to live.”

  I stare at her. “You just showed up in town with no job and nowhere to live?”

  Those liquid blue eyes gaze at me. “Uh huh.”

  I’m not sure what to think of that. I can’t fathom doing something so spontaneous. “Well, it’s a Friday in the middle of summer. There won’t be any rooms available.”

  “Yeah, I discovered that this afternoon,” she says. “I went everywhere.”

  “So, you’re telling me you have nowhere to stay tonight?”

  Her eyebrows lift. “Well, no, but that’s not so bad. I figure some rooms will open up by Sunday and then I’ll be fine.”

  My mouth drops open. “What were you planning to do, sleep in your car?”

  “Something like that, yeah.”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “You are not sleeping in your car.”

  “It’s okay. I spent most of my childhood living in a big RV. I’m used to sleeping on wheels.”

  I rub the back of my neck. This is probably a mistake, but there’s no way I’m leaving her to sleep in her car—especially with a concussion. I’m in grave danger of crossing a line with her as a patient. But she isn’t actually a patient. Not technically.

  “Why don’t you come crash at my place?” Her eyes widen and I put up a hand. “I know, you just met me. But you have a serious head injury. The fact that you lost consciousness, even for a few seconds, is pretty bad. You seem to be doing all right, but your symptoms could get worse. What you need is to lie down and minimize brain activity for at least several days, maybe a week—dark room, no reading, computer use, or TV, and certainly no driving.”

  She lowers the cold pack and her eyes shine with tears. They nearly crush me. “I can’t lie around for a week. I need a job. I need a place to live. I can’t—”

  “Hey,” I say, stepping forward. I take the cold pack and gently hold it to her forehead. “You need to rest so you can heal. If you don’t take care of this, you could get worse. I really don’t mind. I’ll even sleep on the couch downstairs, so you’ll feel safe. Hell, if you want I’ll go sleep at my parent’s place across town.”

  “No, no, no,” she says. “I’m not kicking you out of your own house.”

  “Okay, just…” I take a deep breath. “Come home with me tonight. Get some sleep. We’ll see how you feel in the morning, okay? Then we can figure out what to do next.”

  Her bright blue eyes look up at me, crazy blond curls framing her face. Her mouth turns up in that brilliant smile, and I feel like I just won the fucking lottery.

  “Okay.”

  Cody’s house is gorgeous. A little plain, perhaps, but it has so much potential. He leads me up the stairs to the front porch—all it needs is a nice bench or swing, and it would be completely adorable. Inside are gleaming hardwood floors, a stairwell with a beautiful dark wood banister, and an open living room, dining room, and kitchen. He doesn’t have a lot of furniture, just a couch and a dining table with four chairs. The walls are bare and there isn’t anything on the kitchen counters. It hardly looks like he lives here.

  “You can help yourself to anything,” he says, showing me the kitchen. “Although you really need to try to lie down as much as possible. And not too much TV or screen use. Music is fine.”

  He leads me upstairs. There are three bedrooms, a hall bath, and a closet. The master is furnished, but the other two bedrooms are empty.

  “You can have my room tonight,” he says, gesturing into the master. “I’ll put on clean sheets for you.”

  “No,” I say, emphatic. “You’ve been so nice to me already. You are not giving up your bedroom.”

  He takes me by the arm and gently leads me into his room. Oh holy hell, it smells like him in here—subtle but fresh.

  “At least for tonight,” he says. “We’ll see how your head is doing in the morning, but I won’t take no for an answer.”

  I would never say no to you. “Honestly, I’m fine.”

  He takes my shoulders and nudges me so I sit on the edge of the bed. “Are you?”

  I’m not. My head is killing me and I still feel sick. I can’t quite think clearly. All I really want is to lie down and sleep.

  With a gentle hand, he touches my forehead. “The swelling isn’t too bad, but you’ll have a bump for a few days.”

  Instinctively, I touch it. “Ouch.”

  He takes my hand, holding it in his own. I try so hard to control my reaction, but his touch makes me tremble.

  “Careful,” he says. “Don’t touch it.”

  He could drop my hand, but he doesn’t.
He holds on for a long moment. His closeness makes my heart flutter.

  He lets my hand go and clears his throat. “So, I’ll get sheets. Do you want something to wear? I guess we should have gone back to your car to get your things. Do you want me to run down there for you?”

  “No, it’s fine,” I say. “Please, you’ve already done way too much for me.”

  He leaves and comes back with a set of folded sheets and a white t-shirt.

  “I don’t, um…” he says, looking around. “I probably don’t have the toiletries you need, but there’s an extra toothbrush, still in the package, in the bathroom. There’s regular soap and stuff in the shower, but maybe don’t shower tonight. We need to make sure you’re not going to lose consciousness again.”

  “I don’t even know what to say,” I tell him. If my head didn’t hurt so bad, I would probably jump him, but I really need to lie down.

  “Don’t say anything, then,” he says. “Just get some rest. I don’t have to work tomorrow, so I’ll see you in the morning. If you, um … if you sleep late, do you mind if I wake you? I kind of want to check on you.”

  My heart melts into a big, sloppy puddle inside my chest. “Sure.” I meet his eyes and smile.

  He smiles back, delicious dimples and all.

  I move off the bed while he changes the sheets. I kind of don’t want him to—the thought of smelling him all night while I sleep is so tempting. But how do you ask something like that? Thanks, but I’d like to roll around in your dirty sheets, if you don’t mind…

  When he finishes, he grabs one of the pillows and an extra blanket out of the closet. “I’ll let you get some sleep. The door locks from the inside, if that makes you feel safer.”

  “I’m fine,” I say. “I think if you wanted to hurt me, you would have done it already.”

  He smiles again and a chill runs down my spine. “Good night, Clover.”

  “Good night.”

  He leaves, closing the door behind him.

  I slump down on the freshly made bed, blowing out a long breath. I grab his t-shirt and hold it up to my face. Oh my god, it does smell like him, a little bit at least. I debate whether I should put it on, or just take off my bra and sleep in my own clothes. I don’t know if I can sleep with his scent all over me.