Page 69 of Take Me to the Wedding

“The longest,” came her muffled reply.

She was way too used to handling everything alone, and I knew how she struggled to accept help. That made my heart hurt for her. And right then and there, I vowed to cure her of that.

She pulled back, starting to scratch her arms until she realized she shouldn’t. “Thank you for my medicine. You’re taking care of me, but who’s going to take care of you?”

I held her at arm’s length, staring into her good eye. “Sam. You threw yourself down a cliff for me. You brought me a lifesaving cheeseburger. And you just drove us home, which was a little scary seeing as you only have one usable eye. So I feel very taken care of. But it would make me feel great if you’d let me stay and help you get settled, okay?” Before she could protest, I steered her to the couch and sat her down. Then I brought her a glass of water so she could take her pills. Finally, I went and filled up her old claw-foot bathtub, tossing in a packet of the oatmeal stuff, and guided her into the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, she walked out in a fluffy blue robe, carrying a bed pillow, a white towel wrapped around her head, and spied me on the couch with my foot propped up on her ottoman. “You’re still here?”

“I was afraid you’d fall asleep in the bathtub or something.” Not really. Truth was, I wanted to be here—I didn’t want to leave her alone. And to be honest, I wanted to be with her.

She sat down beside me, tossing her pillow nearby. The intoxicating scent of soap and shampoo filled the air. Feelings churned deep within me, warm and exhilarating, desperate and overwhelming, feelings that I had no control over, dashing every which way like water in a drive-through car wash.

She grabbed the tube of steroid cream and touched my arm. “The oatmeal stuff helped. Thank you for everything. I’m going to slather this all over me and go to bed.”

I blinked a few times quickly.

“Do you have something in your eye?”

“I’m blinking away all the inappropriate thoughts that the wordslatherignited.”

She stared at me.

“Look, I can’t help it if I still think you’re sexy even if I have a throbbing pain in my leg and your face is as puffy as a ski jacket.”

She shook her head. “Men are weird.” But I could tell from the expression in her eye that she sort of liked it.

I made a circling motion with my hand, indicating that she should turn around. “Let me do your back.”

She hesitated. I knew what she was thinking. That this was a little awkward. I didn’t care. “Say one little word.O…kay.” I said it slowly as I reached over and moved her jaw as if to sound out the word. “O…kay. Got it?”

“Okay,” she said. I must’ve worn her down, because she surrendered the tube without a fight.

She took off her robe and lay belly-down on the couch. I lifted up her T-shirt and whistled.

“How bad is it?” Her voice was muffled from the pillow.

“Nasty bad,” I said. Her back was loaded with raised, red, weepy bumps that were starting to blister. I snapped a photo and handed her the phone, then began rubbing ointment all over the inflamed rash.

It took a while. While I was focused on the task, I couldn’t help noticing what a pretty back she had—elegant, beautiful lines. She sighed once, probably from exhaustion and from the fact that she was falling asleep.

I, however, was definitely not getting more relaxed. I was having the opposite problem, and I was having thoughts that had zero to do with poison ivy.

So I finished up quick and washed off my hands. By the time I came back, Sam was fast asleep, the towel off her head, her damp hair tucked over to the side. I grabbed a blanket from her bed and covered her up.

I took a few seconds to take in all her features without fear that she’d catch me. She had pretty arched brows, long lashes. Her full lips were parted in sleep, her breathing calm and even.

A flood of emotions washed over me—mainly, the strong desire to protect her. To stand guard over her, even though she’d proved time and again that she didn’t need anyone to do that. These tender feelings—I didn’t know where they came from. I didn’t want them—they seemed reckless so soon after Lilly, but I couldn’t stop them from coming. Before I could think, I bent to kiss her forehead and let myself out the door.

* * *

Samantha

When I woke up, it was dark, and I was hot and itchy all over. I had a room air conditioner, but it was in my bedroom, and I’d fallen asleep on the couch. I was parched, my throat so sandpapery that I could barely swallow. Through my grogginess, I heard rapping at my door.

“Sam? You okay in there? Open up!”

Caleb. Caleb in a panic. “Coming!” I managed. As I got up, my feet tangled inside a light blanket that I didn’t remember putting on myself.

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