Page 120 of That Time I Kissed My Beachfront Boss

Hudson lays his free hand on my leg and gently rubs my shin through the blanket. As disoriented as I am, his touch is an anchor. Solid and sure. “How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Not sure,” I choke. My head’s throbbing. That much I know.

“Hold on.” Natalie gets the big tumbler of water from the rolling tray and holds the straw up to my lips. I take a tentative sip, and water dribbles down my chin. Lovely. I squint up at Hudson, and try furrowing my brow, but OUCH. That hurts. “What happened?” I manage to croak.

“You were in an accident.” His words are stone-filled and heavy, and I dig back into my memory for the last thing I can recall.

Nothing.

I scrunch up my nose, and Hudson must realize I’m still confused, because he squeezes my hand. “You were headed to the airport, on your way to Colorado,” he says. “You had a meeting with your old boss—Francine—and plans to see your roommates. Any of this sound familiar?”

I press my eyes shut, thinking, thinking, thinking, but my mind is like a freshly erased whiteboard.

“Jacqueline was with you,” he adds. “You were going to drop her off at a rental car place on the way …”

I’m rumbling toward the intersection just before the bridge. The steering wheel vibrates when I press the brakes. I keep pumping, but the truck won’t slow. We’re almost to the three-way stop sign …

“Is she …” I can’t finish the sentence.

“Jacqueline’s fine,” Hudson hurries to tell me. “The impact from the other cars and the guardrail all happened on the driver’s side and the back of the truck.”

Good. I exhale with relief.

“She’s actually been checking in on you every day,” he adds.

Wait. Every day?

There’s been more than one?

I try to lift my head again, but my vision blurs, so I drop back against the pillow. “How long?” I moan.

Hudson grimaces. “You’ve been in and out over the past three days. We’d try talking to you, but you’d drift off again. I’m not surprised you don’t remember.” He runs his thumb along my thumb. Soft and steady. A stroke of certainty in the haze. “Your Glasgow scores—or whatever they’re called—kept improving, though. And the doctors were really optimistic you’d regain full consciousness today. Which you did right on schedule.” He leans toward me. “Nicely done, Liv.”

He’s rambling in a way I’m not used to hearing from him. I must’ve really done a number on his poor nerves. “Teller and Winnie send hugs and love too,” he adds. “They’re sorry they didn’t get to thank you personally or say goodbye.”

“They’re so nice.” My voice is a rasp.

“They are,” he says. “And would you believe, they’re the ones who ended up taking Jacqueline back to the city? I think Teller and Jacqueline might’ve even called a truce, but I’ve been a little preoccupied with you here, so I can’t be sure.”

“Ha! A little preoccupied?” Natalie makes a noise that’s half laugh, half scoff. “Hudson’s been way more than that. He’s barely left your side.” She lays a hand on his shoulder. “We don’t usually let non-family stay overnight, but Hudson’s got friends in low places. Meaning me.”

I shift my head just enough to see a blanket and a pillow on the chair beside him. There’s a book tucked between them too.

“Oh,” I squeak, softly. “Jane Eyre?”

He ducks his head. “Yeah. I’ve been reading it. Sometimes out loud to you.”

“He hasn’t slept much since you got here,” Natalie says.

I clear my throat, swallowing hard against the dryness. “What day is it?”

“Tuesday.”

My eyes widen. This is the week before the reopening. “What about The Beachfront?” I yelp.

“Everything’s fine there.” He slides his thumb down to rub gentle circles on my wrist, and my heartbeat slows. “All the online stuff you set up can be handled remotely,” he says. “So I’ve stayed on top of that here. And the Johnsons have been onsite. They weren’t the most efficient business owners, but they still know how to direct the grounds crew and housekeeping. The chef’s got the whole staff trained and prepped. Guests won’t start arriving until Saturday. We’ve got this, Liv. Don’t worry.”

I offer a tiny nod as a sloshy combination of relief and regret bubbles up for me. I’m grateful that everything’s still going smoothly with the reopening, but it’s all too obvious the Johnsons don’t need another full-time manager at the inn. Hudson doesn’t need me either. He’s got everything handled. So I did my job, maybe a little too well.

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