Page 20 of Sweet Bred

I only make it two steps toward the register when a pair of big, strong hands grabs me by the hips and pulls me back.

I yelp as Shaw spins me to face him, his eyes boring into me with seriousness. “Juliet, I’m not letting you pay.”

I fold my arms, tucking the check away. “Why not?”

“It’s our first date. And it’s not gentlemanly.”

“Will you let me pay for our second date?”

“We’ll see. Probably not, though.”

“At least let me pay for the third.”

He looks amused. “Do you already have our second and third dates planned?”

“No.” I press my lips together. “I mean, I might have a few ideas, but that’s all.”

“Yeah?” His hands are still on my hips, radiating warmth across my body. He gently moves me out of the way so that he can stand up from the booth. “Good. I want to hear about your ideas while we’re heading to our next spot.”

I wait until we’re outside to ask Shaw where we’re going stargazing. In response, he takes my hand and says, “Somewhere darker. There’s too much ambient light around here.”

I love the feeling of our hands threaded together. Actually, I love everything about this moment. It all feels so right. We click.

Tonight feels like the start of something magical.

Maybe I’m letting myself be a little too daydreamy in that moment. Maybe, if I was more grounded, I would be more aware of my surroundings. Or maybe this would have happened regardless. In any case, my foot catches an uneven spot on the sidewalk, sending me flying and yanking my hand out of Shaw’s.

The next thing I know, I’m on the ground, searing pain screaming up my legs.

Shaw is immediately down by my side, his hands protectively wrapped around my arms. “Shit. Are you okay?”

Reflexively, I nod. I wince as Shaw helps me up onto my feet. The pain I feel is mixed up with embarrassment. I can’t believe that just happened. We were having such a nice date.

“Juliet—” he says.

“I’m fine,” I insist. I straighten my shoulders and take a few steps to show him that I can walk. Ow, ow, ow. “Oof. Okay. I think I might have rolled my ankle. But I’ll be fine.”

“You didn’t just roll your ankle.” Shaw frowns as he crouches down and gingerly cups my knee. “Sweetheart, this cut looks pretty bad.”

I’m not sure how much of my sudden lightheadedness is from him calling me sweetheart or the realization that he’s right—I do, in fact, have an alarming gash on my knee. Blood is dripping down my leg.

“You don’t happen to have a spare bandage on you, do you?” I say, managing a smile, trying to keep the mood light.

“I’m bringing you to the ER,” he says.

“What? No, Shaw, I’m fine. It’s just a scrape. I’ll wash it up, put a little antibiotic ointment on it?—”

“No. You need stitches.”

Before I can register what’s happening, Shaw is scooping me into his arms. I gasp, but I don’t fight it. It feels good to be lifted by him, feels good to be in the safety of his arms.

As he carries me, his arms wrapped around me with protective strength, I gaze up at him and finally admit to myself that I have a major, major crush on this man.

At the emergency room, we check in with a triage nurse, then find a spot to sit and wait. It’s not a very large waiting room and it’s almost full.

Shaw looks impatient, like he’s about to demand that a doctor see me right away. Which is sweet, but despite how bad my leg looks and feels right now, I know I can bear the wait.

I look around the waiting room and see a young kid who looks feverish and miserable. He’s leaning against his mom, who’s running her hand through his hair and saying something quietly to him.

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