Page 86 of The Autumn We Fell in Love

I wrinkle my nose, teasing. “That’s a lovely image.”

“I’m a writer, you know. Creator of lyrical metaphors to scintillate the soul.” Her words play, but her voice purrs.

My humor falls away as quickly as it overtook me. I hold still, every nerve in my body standing up straight, waiting to see what will happen next.

She leans in close so that her blonde hair brushes the collar of my jacket. I can feel her breath on my cheek. I inhale her scent of vanilla and fire smoke. I want to devour her.

“Isla.” I breathe her name, praying that it’s the first of many times I get to utter her name like an answered prayer. “May I kiss you?”

She lowers her eyes for a moment, thick lashes fluttering against her skin. When she meets my gaze, her eyes swim with fire and fear and — I hope I’m reading her correctly — desire.

“Yes.” The single heavy syllable sounds guttural, almost primal, when it leaves her pink mouth. “Please.”

I don’t hesitate. I weave my fingers into her hair, cupping her cheeks in my palms. I lower my face to hers and taste the lips I’ve always longed to. They’re velvet soft and the touch of them on mine sends goosebumps cascading down my back.

I kiss her gently, taking my time, savoring the moment I’ve waited years for. But a breath later she has her hands on the back of my neck and is pulling me closer. Our kiss turns harder — and so do other parts of me. I move to pull away, to gather myself, but she only tugs me back in and rewards me with a nibble on the lip. I crash my mouth into her, eliciting a moan from Isla that makes me growl.

She’s running her palms down my chest and I have a hand reaching under her shirt, caressing the softness of her belly, when a wave of air rolls over us, accompanied by a metallic hiss.

Isla freezes beneath my touch, then pulls away. I frown, then follow her gaze — and stiffen.

We have an audience. A curvy woman wearing a white coat and a name tag that reads Dr. Rosen stands inside the freshly opened curtain, grinning at us.

“Hi,” the doctor says brightly, eyes dancing with humor. “How’s it going?”

Isla’s face is crimson, and I’m fairly sure mine is the same. “I’m so sorry,” says Isla, voice hoarse with embarrassment.

“Nah.” The doctor waves her hand then closes the curtain, the rings at the top of it making that metallic sound again. “I just hate to be a buzzkill. I’ve got your results from radiology.”

I sit up straight, exchanging a glance with Isla. “And?” I ask.

“The good news is that your ankle is sprained, not broken.”

I release a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. When I squeeze Isla’s hand, she squeezes back.

Isla cocks her head at the doctor. “I get the feeling you’re about to tell me that there’s some bad news to go along with the good.”

“The bad news,” Dr. Rosen answers with a dip of her chin, stepping up to peer at Isla’s ankle, “is that your ankle is sprained, not broken.”

“Um. I’m confused,” Isla says.

Dr. Rosen runs careful fingers over Isla’s swollen ankle, examining it from different angles. Then she pulls a rolling metal stool from around the curtain and perches on it.

“Okay. So it really is good that your ankle isn’t broken. However, sprains can often take longer to heal than a break. Especially a more severe sprain, which is what we’re looking at with you.”

“Oh,” says Isla.

“Does that mean she’ll be on crutches for a while?” I ask

“Nope! No crutches. Or, if you were wondering, wheelchairs.” The doctor smiles. “But I do have a handy air cast to immobilize the joint and give it time to heal.”

“You mean . . . I can still walk around?” says Isla. “Go about my normal routines and everything?”

“Well, I don’t suggest that you go run a marathon,” Dr. Rosen says. “You’ll want to take off from any kind of exercise except short, gentle walks for about four weeks — longer if you’re still seeing swelling and pain. After that you can begin to ease —“ she shakes a finger at Isla, “—I repeat,easeback into more exercise. But yes, you can walk on it.”

I sit back. “Well, thatissome good news.” I look at Isla. “I thought for sure you’d get some fancy new crutches out of this.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” the doctor says, hopping to her feet. “The nurse will be by to fit your air cast shortly, and then we can get you two out of here.” She winks. “I get the sense that there’s something else you’d rather be doing than hanging out in a hospital.”

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