Page 62 of A Touch of Charm
Mary, sensing the shift in atmosphere, clapped her hands and whispered, “See, you are a prince! And Thea is a princess!”
Well, he wasn’t, that was the problem. But Andre laughed softly, the sound easing the lingering tension in his chest. He extended his hand to Thea, his fingers barely brushing hers.
Thea placed her hand in his, her touch sending a pleasant tingle through him. They stood there, surrounded by luxurious fabrics and the remnants of a child’s playful chaos. The moment was simple, a testament to life’s unexpected beauty.
In that instant, amid the laughter and elegance, Andre realized this was true happiness: unplanned, unrestrained, and utterly natural.
“Aaaahhhh!”
A crash.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Andre tensed.
Thea looked in the direction of the shop’s front.
They rushed back, and Mary clutched her wooden cat amidst the chaos.
Shelves lay overturned, glass shards sparkling like dangerous stars on the tiled floor. Rolls of fabric lay strewn across the counter, their vibrant colors spilling from the shelves to the counter and the floor in a messy heap. Ribbons of every shade and width spilled from their spools, forming a mismatched rainbow that snaked through the shop.
“What happened?” Thea asked when she nearly stepped on some buttons that glittered from unexpected places, having spilled from their containers and scattered.
“I found Lady Whiskers,” Mary approached her and raised her arms.
Despite the elegant gown that made Thea look like the princess she was, she bent down and picked Mary up as if nothing mattered as much as her care for the little girl.
At the center of the chaos, a woman lay on the floor, his face contorted in agony, her leg twisted at an unnatural angle. The ladder she’d been using lay beside her, its wood splintered.
Andre’s mind sharpened into focus. He needed to act fast. Dropping to the woman’s side, he assessed the situation with quick, practiced movements.
“Madame, can you hear me?” Andre asked, his tone calm and authoritative.
She moaned in response, her eyes squeezed shut against the pain. She pulled her leg inward, unwilling to allow a man to touch her.
“I’m a doctor. Dr. Andre Fernando, let me help you.”
She relaxed instantly, opened her eyes, and let him look at her leg. It wasn’t hard to see that it was her ankle sprain. She’d landed on her foot when she fell from the ladder. Considering how the ladder’s rungs had broken off, it hadn’t taken much to break. The swelling on her lower leg started showing, and a slight bruise was staining her skin blue. “This is going to look much worse before it’ll heal. But it’s not as bad as it looks,” Andre concluded when he saw that she grimaced. “Is there any sturdy fabric that you can spare?” Andre asked Madame Duchon. “I need long strips, like bandages.” He showed the length and width with his hands. The woman nodded. Andre directed, not taking his eyes off his patient. “What’s your name?”
“Margaret Brown, Doctor.” She leaned backward when Andre straightened her leg.
“Well, Margaret, you were lucky because this will heal independently. But you should not put much weight on the ankle for two or three weeks. I’ll wrap it in a splint for you, alright?”
She nodded.
With deliberate swiftness, Andre broke off a piece of the ladder splintered on the tiled floor beside him. The crash had reduced it to fragments, yet Andre saw utility in the wreckage even amid the chaos. He rubbed the jagged edge of the wood against the broken remnants of the ladder, smoothing out any sharp protrusions. Then, he wrapped the splintered end in fabric torn from a nearby roll. This would prevent any loose splinters from causing further injury.
He pushed back a damp strand of hair clinging to his brow, his hands smudged with the evidence of effort. For a moment, his gaze shifted toward Thea, hesitant yet filled with a quiet yearning—not just for her recognition, but for her to see his strength, his skill, the way his hands could heal, and understand him as someone capable of more than protecting her. He wanted to be so much more for her.
Everything.
Just then, Madame Duchon arrived, her arms full of a neat stack of mismatched fabrics. Though their colors clashed, they were all the right size for bandages. Andre glanced up and nodded quickly. “Thank you, Madame,” he said, his voice steady despite the situation’s urgency.
He secured the proffered fabrics around Margaret’s ankle, creating a makeshift but effective bandage. His hands moved with the precision of someone who had done this countless times before, each motion purposeful and efficient. Margaret winced slightly but held still. He felt her trust, and it was precious. A patient who put their injury into his hands always received his utmost attention and care.
Once satisfied with the immobilized ankle, Andre turned his attention to the longer part of the ladder. He got up and examined it briefly, judging its strength and length, then snapped it over his knee with a decisive motion. He again wrapped the top end in fabric, ensuring it would be comfortable to grip.
“Use this as a crutch,” Andre instructed, handing Margaret the newly fashioned aid and helping her up. Margaret seemed to take the makeshift crutch with gratitude and hesitation.
