Page 11 of That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe
“Of course you have a job,” Sara says.
“I can’t remember what I do right now, though.” I lift a hand to rub my throbbing skull. Everything entering my brain seems to be sifting through a layer of cheesecloth.
“You’re a high school history teacher,” Ford says. “Remember?” He’s talking at me slowly and loudly, like he’s communicating with a brick wall.
“Duh.” I harrumph. Except no, I didn’t remember. But I don’t want anyone to realize how messed up I am, or Sara might not give up on this idea of staying with me. “I have a few brain cellsss left. Like … three. Like my name again.” I hear snickering, then realize it’s me.
I’m the one snickering.
That’s when Nurse Hairy hands over a couple of plastic bottles to Sara. “Mr. Fuller’s pain meds are pretty strong.” She rattles the pills. “You’ll have to monitor hisfollow-up doses for those and for the antibiotics. He won’t be able to keep track of them himself. Also, he shouldn’t do any driving. No signing legal documents. No operating heavy machinery.”
A snort slips out of me. “What aboutlightmachinery?”
Oh, man.
That’s probably the dumbest joke I’ve ever told. I reallyamall kinds of loopy right now. So yeah, I guess I can’t stay by myself, but I also don’t want Ford’s trip to be ruined on my account. Same goes for the rest of my extended family which—let’s face it—is half the town. All my single friends who aren’t related to me are in Vermont. And I haven’t dated a woman seriously enough to stay with her since—well—let’s just say it’s been a long time.
My only real choice is …
I lift my gaze to Sara.
She’s staring down at me with her big eyes all wide open, and a wave of something unsteady crashes over me. Leftover heartache? Concussion fog? Either way, I can’t let Sara think she affects me.
She doesn’t affect me.
“You’re ssso pretty,” I murmur.
Oops.
Sara throws a hand up to her throat. “Oh!”
I crinkle my face, grimacing up at Ford. “What did I just say? Am I talking out loud? Did I?—”
“We better get you home,” Ford interrupts. “I have time before I need to go the airport.” He turns to Sara. “I’ll wait with Three over at his place while you grab whatever you need to stay there with him for the next few days.”
“But—”
“I’ll send you the address,” Ford adds. “His place is just a couple blocks off Main Street.”
“It’s just that … ” Sara’s cheeks and throat begin to flush. Pink. Soft. Shiny. “Someone’s coming to evaluate my parents’ property tomorrow morning,” she says. “So if Three can’t be left alone at his place, he’ll have to stay at the lake house with me.”
“Wait.” I pause, fumbling the right words. “What about my … thing?”
Sara’s brow lifts. “What thing?”
“Umm.” I shift my jaw. “My … thing. With the clothesss in it.”
Ford drags a hand over his face. “Your suitcase. I guess I can bring that over to the Hathaways’ house.”
“But I’m packed all wrong,” I tell him. “Fornotcold weather.” I lift a hand to count what I’m missing for the snow. “I need sweatssss. Beaniessss. Sockssss. Long underwear.”
Great. Of all the clothing items to start listing, I had to throw in underwear.
“I’ll repack for you,” Ford says, with a smirk. “You don’t sound like you’re in any condition to make wardrobe decisions anyway.”
“That’sss real sssswell of you, cuzzz, but?—”
Ford cuts me off. “If I can’t stick around and help out while you’re healing, the least I can do is swap out some stuff in a suitcase for you. It’ll make me feel better when I’m on that cruise ship indulging in the unlimited drink package.”
