Page 25 of The Love Dose
“I also don’t expect you to heed my advice, I have no choice but to . . . aid and abet.”
Once again, his pragmatism is showing.
“You brought my car?”
“Of course.”
I can’t argue. If Paul wants to drive me home, I will accept even if I can’t pay him. Because he’s more than my bodyguard.He’s my guardian angel. My Fairy Godfather. Maybe that will be the title of the next Coppola film.
Paul leans into the hallway and checks both ways as if he’s about to cross a busy highway on foot. “The coast is clear.” His tone is conspiratorial.
Knowing he’s now on my side gives me the guts to go through with the Great Escape.
“Ready?” he asks, taking hold of my purse and bag of clothes. I’m wearing a sweater over a hospital gown. No time for a wardrobe change.
I slip into my shoes and button up my coat, feeling my nerves spark with excitement. Paul is supporting my unauthorized discharge. Bet this isn’t the first time he’s pulled something like this.
“Ready,” I say.
I follow my seventy-year-old ex-driver out of the hospital room and book it down the hallway, all the way to the elevator, down to the lobby, and out the building. I hope never to come back here.
Paul holds open the back door of the polished Mercedes and I get inside, relief washing over me. As he pulls into traffic, I spot Calvin, standing in the front of the hospital entrance, out of breath, hands on his hips. He looks so painfully handsome in his scrubs and unshaven jaw.
Our eyes meet. My heart melts a little.
I want to shout out a thanks, tell him I’ll call soon. But all I can muster is a finger wave just as Paul buzzes up my window and drives me home.
Chapter Eighteen
Caroline
I’m furious.”
The words are far from necessary. If I’m not mistaken, steam is emerging from Calvin's ears.
He's standing in my doorway, his lips pursed. The hint of antiseptic tells me he came over right after his shift. How he got into the building past the doorman without my knowledge is beyond me. My guess is Calvin and Larry are becoming buds.
“What were you thinking leaving like that without telling the nurses . . . or me?”
It’s not lost on me that since Calvin resurfaced following his African vanishing act, we’ve been through the gamut of emotions from vulnerable, scared, simpatico . . . and angry with each other.
“Caroline?”
I’m still getting my bearings. My hair is wet—flat as a pancake—from the shower. When the doorbell rang, I assumed it was Mrs. Reinhold down the hall, armed with a litany ofcomplaints about the out-of-service incinerator. As if I have any control over building maintenance.
I’m trying not to look at Calvin, but it’s impossible. Holding his coat in hand, he looks even better than when I saw him earlier this morning, standing outside the hospital entrance, watching me leave. The beanie over his near-shoulder-length hair. The ridiculous teeth necklace, peeking out from beneath his cashmere sweater. Along with a worn leather bracelet I haven’t seen before, he’s part hippy heartthrob, part guru, and completely disarming.
If you don’t account for the expression on his face. The Zen smile is AWOL, like he’s skipped savasana and went straight into warrior pose.
Still, I can’t help myself. “Now you have a taste of your own medicine.”
I’m pleased with the play on words. After all, he left me—I mean, the States—and didn’t say a word for weeks!
Calvin doesn’t appear to be quite as enamored with my wit. I cinch my robe belt tighter, hoping it shows off my narrowing waistline. Even a day in the hospital is more slimming than ten on the elliptical. But I’m facing Calvin with my clean makeup-free face.
I need to create a diversion away from my appearance. “I have a thirty-year-old bottle of whiskey.” It sounds like a peace offering which I suppose it is.
His brow lifts, the rest of his face softens. I stand aside.
