Page 34 of Her Redeemed Protector

My spirits falter for a heartbeat, but they don’t crash. The fact that Huxley is here is what prompts my smile. And the thoughtfulness of Sam and Mark, sending flowers to express their care even though I haven’t met them in person, reinforces the amiability I’ve started to associate with Red Mark.

“Oh, how kind of them,” I say, taking the bouquet in my hands, my gaze dancing over the vibrant petals. “Thank them for me, please,” I reply, tipping toward gratitude.

“Of course,” he says, his eyes roaming across the hospital room, a silent judgment on the pale walls and fluorescent lights. “Ready to leave this place?”

I nod, making a firm decision to put what happened at Juliet’s place behind me. If anything, it should push Fabian to focus on his daughter rather than pestering me with whatever he had in mind.

Huxley hoists my bag over his shoulder and then extends a hand to steady me. Not that I need it, but I accept his gentlemanly gesture. The man before me is remarkable—my very own ‘Hugs’ who has shepherded me through a disaster I never saw coming.

Then, as we leave the room, I pull away from his grasp. “I’m fine,” I murmur with a smile. I’m still embarrassed by my overeager hug right after the accident, and now his care feels like an overwhelming tide, one I’m not accustomed to allowing myself to be swept into.

“You’re just like your father,” he comments.

“And what did he do?” I inquire.

“At the prosthetist’s yesterday, he wouldn’t let anyone help him.”

I laugh. That’s Dad, all right.

“Stubborn to the core,” he adds, his voice tinged with respect. “But he’s a good man.”

Huxley’s simple words nudge me to see Dad in a different light. I really shouldn’t blame him for our decision to leave Lakefall Valley behind. He simply wanted to keep his daughter safe.

Yet, like father, like daughter, it’s not my style to be dependent. But with Huxley, I find myself willing to make an exception. He is ‘Hugs,’ after all.

So, I reach out, slipping my hand into his, letting it rest upon his arm.

“Your truck’s over at the shop,” he casually mentions as we head toward the exit. “Should have it back by tomorrow, latest.”

“Really? You handled that for me?” I’m genuinely surprised by his thoughtfulness.

“Least I could do.” He flashes a brief smile.

“Thanks, Hux.”

Something in his gaze pins me to the spot, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “I picked up something else too. Your dad calls you Grasshopper.”

My stomach does a little flip, that childhood nickname pulling at a string of memories. “Oh, you caught that? You speak Spanish?”

He scratches the back of his neck, his grin turning sheepish. “Uh, nope. Had to Google it.Saltamontes?”

The way he pronounces it cracks me up. It’s just too charming, him trying like that.

We both burst into laughter. “I’m sorry. Languages aren’t my forte. My family comes from Italy, and I can barely handle Italian.”

As our laughter fades, I shake my head with a smile. “Please, don’t call meSaltamontes.”

He leans in a bit, curious. “Did I butcher it?”

“A bit, but it’s more that. The nickname’s taken,” I tease.

He chuckles, mostly at himself. “So, is ‘Sav’ okay instead?”

Others have tried to shorten my name before, even Fabian, but it never felt right, always insisting on Savannah. Yet when Huxley says it, the way he shapes the syllable, ‘Sav’ feels just right, almost like he’s meant to say it.

“Yes, you can call me Sav.” I grant him the liberty, already craving the next time my name will grace his lips.

The drive to my home is a silent journey, with Huxley steering and me submerged in contemplation. Have the past day’s intimate exchanges been merely fleeting, the byproduct of his nurturing nature, or could it be the start of something enduring?

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