Page 13 of Surrender
“Thanks,” she said, clutching at her robe as it gaped around her knees. She smoothed it out and tucked the fabric tightly around her chest.
Keefe sat at the foot of the bed, hands resting on his knees. “Ginny, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to—I mean, I wasn’t spying or anything. I didn’t really see anything.”
Ginny laughed softly and blushed.
“So…” he began, folding his hands on his lap, “do you always listen to Christmas music in the summer?”
“No,” she said, “But this morning, some magpies were pecking at my window—they really are loud little buggers aren’t they? One flew off, and then I saw this absolutely beautiful, perfect rainbow stretching across the sky and it just made me so happy. Which made me think of Christmas. Which made me want to listen to Christmas music.”
“Makes sense,” he said with a lopsided smile. It didn’t really, but hey.
“Was I playing the music too loud? I’m sorry.”
He shook his head, amused. “Not at all. I’m just sorry I startled you.”
“That’s all right. Really.”
Keefe studied her a beat longer. “Are you sure you’re okay? Does it still hurt much?”
Ginny’s smile faltered. The truth was inescapable—her ankle was visibly swelling, already turning pink beneath the skin. She followed his gaze and let out a small sigh.
“Well, maybe,” she admitted, pointing to her left ankle.
“Where? Here?” He leaned forward, brushing his fingers lightly over the spot.
She flinched. “Yeah. Right there.”
“Does it hurt anywhere else?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“All right. I’ll get you some ice.” He stood, then turned back as she shifted with discomfort. “You stay there. Don’t move.”
Moments later, Keefe reemerged from the kitchen balancing a tray like he was auditioning for a job at the Ritz. On it sat an ice pack wrapped in a clean towel, a tall glass of sweet tea with a lemon wedge, a warmed slice of cherry pie with a scoop of melting vanilla ice cream, and—because he couldn’t help himself—a small bunch of wildflowers he’d swiped from one of the pub’s dining tables. They were a bit droopy, but colorful enough to count as a gesture.
He was just stepping into the hallway, feeling rather pleased with his efforts, when the front door swung open without warning.
Nan.
Of course.
She let herself in, as always, like she paid the mortgage. “Hi, Keefe, love,” she chirped, not even pretending to be surprised to see him. “I was just passing and thought I’d stop in, seeing as your lights were still on.”
Her sharp gaze landed on the tray in his hands. She zeroed in on the pie, the flowers, the whole production.
“That’s a pretty tray,” she said, suspiciously. “Do you have a guest staying? I didn’t see a car out front.”
“No,” he said, trying to pivot past her. “This is for Ginny.”
Nan froze mid-step. Her eyes narrowed like a hawk sighting a mouse. Then she jabbed a finger straight into his chest. “Don’t you even think about it.”
Keefe blinked, caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Dating Ginny, that’s what!”
He tried to walk toward his office, tray still balanced in both hands. “What makes you think I was considering that?”
Nan followed close on his heels, shutting the door behind them as he placed the tray on his desk. “Don’t play innocent with me, young man. You have that look in your eye.”
