Page 95 of (Not So) Famous in Paradise

I grab my purse and burrow through it, pulling and pushing its contents aside while walking toward the door. But it’s darker in the front room. Because of the storm, Adam came by and put the old door back up to keep out the snow. The windows are taped and covered to get ready for painting, so there’s no light in here. I kneel down to dig through my purse again, then remember I set my phone on the kitchen counter.

I make my way back there, carefully since I can barely see what’s in front of me, and I’m in heels. I pat the counter until I find my phone. As soon as it’s in my hands, I don’t waste any more time. I tell Siri to call Zach.

My phone rings followed too close by a second, echoing ring.

“Hello?” Zach says, and I realize his voice isn’t coming from my phone. It’s coming from the front room.

“Zach!” I rush into the other room. Or, at least try to. It’s dark, I’m in heels, and my ankle still hurts.

His phone gives off just enough light for me to see his face break into a smile, as he holds out his arms.

I kick off my shoes and I run toward his arms.

I run forhim.

There’s nothing I want more than to feel his arms around me and hear him say everything’s okay.

And I’m within inches of launching myself into his outstretched arms when something else sends me flying instead. It hooks my foot, and before I can catch myself, I’m skidding over the object and onto the floor. Whatever I’ve tripped over crashes to the floor too. I don’t know where it lands, but I end up at Zach’s feet.

Within seconds he’s on the floor with me gently turning me over into his lap. “Are you okay? Does anything hurt? Did you break anything?”

I hear his questions, but in my daze they’re just words. I can’t make sense of them or anything else. “What happened?”

“You tripped,” he says, and I look around for the culprit.

But there’s something hard and uncomfortable under my back. I twist my arm underneath my hips and feel what it is. One touch and I know. I pull it out from under me and hold up the screwdriver from my purse.

“Whoa,” Zach says. “I think I know what you tripped over.”

“Me too.” I look down to my feet and see the perpetrator: my purse. With a groan, I push myself up.

“Careful.” Zach lifts my shoulders and scoots under me for support. His legs stretch on either side of mine. My head is spinning, so I lean back into his chest.

Everything from my neck down hurts. My hands and knees where I hit the cement subfloor, my back where I was laying on the screwdriver, my ego. But the sharpest pain comes from my ankle.

“I think I hurt my ankle again,” I mumble, my head growing light again.

Zach shifts slightly, but he can’t go far with me leaning into him. And I can’t sit up without passing out.

“Can you lift your foot?”

I raise it a few inches, but when I move it in any direction, pain sears through my entire leg. “Ow, ow, ow,” I cry.

“You’re okay.” Zach holds me tighter and kisses the top of my head. “I’ve got you.”

The gentleness in his words brings tears to my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Zach. I yelled at you, I treated you like an employee instead of a business partner, or even a friend.”

My emotions roll out in giant waves, rivaling the waves of pain in my ankle.

“Shh. Shh.” Zach kisses my crown again. “It’s okay. I should have told you what was happening with the permits instead of trying to make it some kind of gesture.”

I laugh-cry and it echoes through the empty room. “I really wish I could kiss you right now.”

“What makes you think you can’t?” Zach attempts to slide around me, but I bump my ankle trying to make room for him and yelp in pain.

“I’m sorry! Are you okay? What should I do?” He goes still, afraid to move.

“I think I need you to take me to the doctor,” I whisper. I hate doctors. I’ve spent my life avoiding contact sports to make sure I never ended up with broken body parts.

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