Page 29 of All Her Broken Pieces

Blinking up at him, I’m at a complete loss for words. “I’ve never really thought about it before,” I reply, unsure of where he’s going with this.

“Cool. It looks like you’re low on coffee too, and I didn’t see any creamer in there.” He strides toward the door.

“I don’t take creamer in my coffee.”

“I do.” He turns back to me and asks, “Is there anything you’d like me to cook for you this week? I can grab some ingredients while I’m out.”

“Week? I’ll give you the night, pup. You’re not staying a whole week.”

He taps his knuckles twice on the doorframe. “We’ll see about that.” With that, he leaves my apartment before I can offer a retort.

Grabbing for the water, I swallow two pills and lie back on the couch, waiting for them to take effect and usher me into a painless sleep.

____________

The smell of something delicious tickles my nose and brings me back to consciousness. I can hear Ethan moving around in the kitchen. “How long was I out?”

“About four hours,” his sexy voice calls back. “It’s dinner time.”

“That smells delicious,” I say, gingerly attempting to prop myself up on my elbows.

Ethan comes rushing over from the kitchen. “Here, let me help you. Your discharge papers mentioned that you may need help sitting up for the next couple days.”

“I’m fin—” A sharp pain stabs at one of the incisions on my right side as I try to sit all the way up.

“Careful, hellcat. I kind of want you in one piece,” he croons, flashing me a boyish smile. “How’s your pain?” He gently places his hands around my back and shoulders as he helps guide me to sit up.

“It was better after I took my pain pills, but I think I tweaked something,” I admit.

“Do you think you can walk to the dining table, or would you like dinner here?”

“I can walk, you don’t have to baby me. I’m a grown woman.”

I hear his soft chuckle as I cross toward the kitchen, and I freeze when I see an assortment of ice cube trays on the kitchen island. He places his hands on my shoulders as he comes up behind me and whispers in my ear. “I thought we could figure out which ice you prefer. I borrowed a bunch of different ice cube trays from the bar at the restaurant. You have tons of options. Giant round spheres and cubes like what we use for whiskey. Long cylindrical cubes for a water bottle. Little tiny pellet cubes. I’ve got round ice, square ice, big ice, small ice. I’m the Dr. Fucking Seuss of ice.”

I laugh, then clutch my side as pain lances it. “Don’t make me laugh, it hurts.”

“Sorry,” he says as he runs his hands from my shoulders down my arms, squeezing lightly. “Since I wasn’t sure how hungry you’d be and your discharge papers mentioned starting with a simple diet, I grilled you some chicken with rice. Admittedly, it’s not my best dish since I only seasoned it with a little bit of salt, but I promise to add more spice as you heal.” He crosses around the island and begins putting food on plates for us.

“Are you flirting with me?”

“Maybe. Is it working?”

“No.” I laugh lightly, pushing a palm to my side to ease the pain.

“Brutal.” He smiles. “Did you decide which ice to try in your water?”

I didn’t tell him earlier, but I know exactly what kind of ice I like in every possible scenario. But I’ll throw him a bone since he put in some effort to get this right for me. I just can’t figure out why he’s doing it. I get that he’s smitten and our chemistry is intense, but what does hewantfrom me? People aren’t this nice for no reason. There’s always an ulterior motive. Give me time, and I’ll figure out his.

Shit, what am I saying? This has already gone on long enough. I’m not giving him any more time, if I do, he’ll get attached and then there’s bound to be drama when it ends.

And it will end, because I’m old enough to be his mom.

Because I don’t want kids, and he probably does.

Because people will judge us like Nurse Maggie did.

Because I’ve worked too fucking hard all my life to be reduced to a fucking stereotypical label like “cougar.”

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