Not Quite Charming: A Secret Billionaire Beach Romantic Comedy (Once Upon a Time on Lavender Beach Book 1)
Page 16
“A little over a week,” said Jen.
A week. Trees didn’t go from summer lush to winter barren in a week. Before I had a chance to question them further, though, there was a skirmish at the door. It flew open, and a brassy, bossy bleach-bottle blonde pushed her way into the room and over to my bed. She sobbed as I reached my hand out.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Oh, my sweet Annie bear.” She collapsed onto me in a huge hug, and I winced as the tubes pulled at my skin. Over her shoulder, though, I could see my dad sidle in next to Jen. He waved apologetically. He was usually the one to reign in my mother’s melodrama, but we both knew there was no holding her back with her daughter waking from a coma.
“Glad you’re awake, honey,” he said as the nurse pried my mother off of me.
Behind Dad, my older brother Jack squeezed in, looking uncomfortable. And behind Jack, another man, this one holding a clipboard and pen. He clicked the end of the pen in and out. In and out. He wasn’t wearing a lab coat or scrubs. But he definitely looked like he was familiar with the room and my family. A social worker, maybe?
Whoever he was, hot diggity damn. He was the most attractive man I’d ever seen. Tall and lean but with well-defined muscles. Not the kind of muscles you get from being a gym rat. The kind you get from working with your hands. I had no idea how I seemed to know or sense that, but I did. His hair was mussed and ruffled, like he’d woken up and run his fingers through it without bothering to look in a mirror, and he had a scruffy beard. Even from a distance, I could tell that his eyes were a rich, deep hazel.
Apparently, all the better to stare at me with.
He reached over and squeezed Dad’s shoulder, but he didn’t take his eyes off me. I felt my breath catch in my throat and glanced up at the monitors to make sure my heart hadn’t skipped a beat. My cheeks flushed, and the nurse noticed.
“Do you need a cool cloth? Ice chips?” she asked.
“No, I’m fine.” For a few seconds there, I had felt better than fine, but wondering whether post-coma lust was normal didn’t seem like an appropriate conversation topic surrounded by family and hospital staff.
“Your vitals have been stable and strong,” said Dr. Anand. “That’s excellent. The coma was actually the best thing possible to keep you immobile and help your ribs heal. We’ll keep you for another couple days of observation, but I’ll put in the orders to move you down to a regular room. There’s more space for visitors, but let’s restrict that to two at a time. And only one at night.”
I glanced around and noticed how exhausted they all looked. My mom hadn’t even bothered to apply makeup, which was right up there next to sacrilege in her book.
“Even though you’re awake, I want you to focus on rest,” said Dr. Anand. “Don’t push yourself. And no brain strain.”
“So that means I need to cancel the chess tournament I signed her up for this afternoon?” asked Jen.
“Oh, how I’m going to miss that irreverent wit.” Dr. Anand grinned at Jen, but I could tell she’d fallen under my best friend’s sarcastic spell like everyone else. Even that felt weird, knowing that this stranger was friendly with my loved ones.
The nurse backed away so my family could cluster around my bed, all of them touching a part of my body like they were clutching a talisman. The gorgeous social worker stood near my shoulder and took my hand in both of his.
Okay, then.
That was a little odd. I mean, maybe he had been helping my family this whole time and felt close to me somehow. But still . . .
“I need to do a more thorough mental state eval after everyone leaves, but so far, so good,” said Dr. Anand. “Any questions?”
“I have one,” I said. “What date is it?”
“It’s January nineteenth, sweetie.” Hottie McSocial Worker rubbed his thumb gently in the center of my palm as he said it. Worn callouses confirmed my earlier assessment of a man who knew his way around physical labor. Tingles shot up my arm, and I snatched it away.
“Look, holding my hand is one thing,” I said, “but sweetie? And you’re practically making love to my wrist. Who do you think you are?”
All the color drained from his face. Everyone in the room froze, mouths ajar. It was Jen who answered.
“He’s your husband.”
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About the Author
Becca lives with her family and ridiculously spoiled dogs in the southern U.S. She loves reading, running (okay, she doesn't actually love it, but she does it), swooning over Jamie Fraser, and coming up with sassy, sexy stories to share with readers.
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Also by Becca Barnes
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