Page 59 of L.O.V.E

“Regardless, you are our number one choice, and I understand it’s a big move, so take some time to consider the offer.”

Had he made an offer? “Thank you.”

He rose to stand, and Janet followed suit, shooting me a wink before making her exit.

Caleb waited for me to see him out. Halfway through the door, he turned, pulled my hand between his in a gentle shake and said, “I hope you’ll join the team in Idaho. We need that spectacular brain of yours.”

I only nodded, mesmerized by the spark in his eyes but mostly by his name. Caleb. Could he be? No, no, no. Ridiculous.

Mom’s story was absurd. But there he stood, Caleb, my possible soulmate, offering a free right turn at the exact time I needed a change of course.

A quick glance at his hand, and there was no ring on his finger. “I’ll give your offer serious consideration.”

His smile widened and, holy shit, what a fabulous set of pearly whites. “I hope so. I look forward to getting to know you better.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Griffin.”

“Likewise, Miss King.”

I watched him saunter down the hall, and when I should’ve been thrilled, nausea hit and my lungs constricted. What if he wastheCaleb?

He was attractive, no doubt, but where were the butterflies? The zing of electricity when he shook my hand? The clouds didn’t part, no birds sang, my knees were steady.

I needed to clear my head.

I grabbed my handbag and told Janet I was taking my lunch, then headed outside before she could wrangle me into a conversation.

I rounded the corner, unsure where I was headed, but craving the fresh air. There was no place more beautiful than Seattle in the spring. When the gloomy gray cleared and the sun shone, the city came alive, a kaleidoscope of bright, happy color, the buildings, the people, the energy. I lifted my face to the brilliant blue sky. My heel caught on the uneven sidewalk. White hot pain shot up my left leg. My right knee landed with a crack on the cement, but my palms took the brunt of the fall, my Coach shoulder bag landing between my hands.

Time froze while I accessed the damage, the searing points of pain. My ankle, my knee, my hands. My head?

Wait.

Drops of blood pitter-pattered over the leather. I looked to my right and, yep, there was blood and even a chunk of hair on the raised planter where my skull had connected on the way down.

Not since the infamous scissor incident in high school had I seen that much of my own gore. Funny. Last time, I’d been able to stay conscious.

“Thanks again, Mom,” I mumbled through the fog of painkillers flowing into my veins.

“You thirsty?” She lifted the plastic cup to my lips before I could answer. “The doctor wants to keep you overnight. Keep an eye on that head.”

“Okay.” I squeezed her fingers. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course, baby.” Mom leaned close, studied my face. “Are you in pain?”

“Not too bad.” The room blurred. I found her eyes and focused. Mom had beautiful eyes. “Thanks for coming.”

“You’ve said that already, honey.”

A deep, sleepy voice came from behind the green curtain, his speech sloppy, like his mouth was packed with cotton. “Yeah. Twenty-one times to be exact.”

Mom rolled her eyes, and I stifled my laugh.

A nurse came by with her machine on wheels, bypassing my bed and heading to the man behind the cloth barrier.

“Well,” Mom said, dusting a finger over my cheek, her smile sad, “now you have matching scars.”

“That, I do. Lucky me.”

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